"I'll have you yet!" said Tom, through set teeth; "I haven't trained at
school for nothing!"
A thud of fast-flying feet in his rear didn't divert him an instant
from his game, although it might be a rescue party for the thief, in
the shape of a partner,--who could tell? And realising, if he caught
the man at all, he must do one of his sprints, he covered the ground by
a series of flying leaps,--dashed in where he saw his prey rush; one
more leap with all his might, and--"I have you!" cried Tom.
The man under him, thrown to the ground by the suddenness of Tom's leap
on him, was wriggling and squirming with all the desperation of a
trapped creature, when the individual with the flying footsteps hove in
sight. It was Jasper. And they had just persuaded the robber that it
would be useless to struggle longer against his fate, when the parson,
running as he hadn't run for years, appeared to their view. And after
him, at such a gait that would have been his fortune, in a professional
way, was the little doctor. His hat was gone, and his toes scarcely
seemed to touch the ground. He was last at the scene, simply because
the news had only just reached him as he sauntered leisurely up to meet
Mr. King in his promenade.
When the thief saw him, he looked to see if any more were coming, and
resigned himself at once and closed his eyes instinctively.
He was a miserable-looking man--tall, thin, and stoop shouldered--they
saw, when they got him on his feet.
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