The Prodigal Imp
"on what you want. You see, they may keep you at the station and carry you to the—the—the place where they take people who are all alone with no—no aunts or anything with them, you know; and they keep you till you're identified, and it's very hot and stuffy, and then they send you home with a policeman, and he's very cross at having to take you—and that's all."
The Imp gasped. "But I'm going to run away!" he said excitedly. "I'm going to—to earn a great deal of money!"
"Ah?" said the man, politely. "By selling papers? That's what little boys do in New York. They rarely do anything else."
"Why?" whispered the Imp, terrified at the solemn manner of the man. "Why?"
"It's about all they can do," said the man.
The Imp leaned back in his seat. He did not wish to sell papers. The paper-boys he had seen were very ragged and dirty, and ate queer things.
"Now, if you cared to," said the man, still looking out of the window, "you could get out here at the next station, and in a few minutes there'd be a train home, and you could take it.
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