Instinctively he pulled off his cap, but he made no attempt to
attract the attention of the bishop. He uttered no word or sound. He
only stood with all his loving heart in his eyes, and looked.
The bishop's expression was very grave, as he gazed over that vast sea
of faces. He turned to speak to the gentleman who sat beside him, and
as he did so, his eyes fell on Theodore's eloquent upturned
countenance. A quick, bright smile flashed across his face, and
reaching down, he laid his hand for a moment gently upon the boy's
bared head.
Before he could speak the silence was again broken by a cry from many
lips--a cry of warning now, rather than a threat, though again the
words were,
"Stop the car! Stop the car! The bishop! The bishop!"
The bishop's carriage had come to a standstill directly across the
track, the crowd being here so dense that it was impossible for the
driver to go even a yard farther.
The policemen had cleared the barricade from the track, and then
sprung hastily on the car again. Evidently they had not noticed the
dangerous position of the carriage, and now the motorman started the
car forward. The man was a stranger in the city. He knew nothing about
the bishop--cared nothing about him. He was there to run that car, and
he meant to do it or die in the attempt, so when the crowd shouted,
"The bishop! The bishop!" he yelled in reply,
"Get out of the way then if you don't want him hurt.
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