“Just that bun. And say!! I only got half of it! That big cop was so rough!”
“Did that cop, as you call him, hurt you?”
“Hurt!! I should say not!! I put up a good stiff scrap! I paid him back, blow for blow! No big gas-bag of a cop is going to wallop this kid and not pay for it!”
“But, boy, don’t your folks bring you up to know that it is wrong to rob anybody?”
“Naw! My Dad robs folks, and just got six months for it. So why shouldn’t I? It’s all right to do what your Dad will do, isn’t it?”
“Not always, boy,” and our girls in row two and our boys in row four sat sad and glum at this portrayal of youthful sin. Finally that big kindly man, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, said:—
“Whom did your Dad rob?”
“I dunno. It was a Ford car. Nobody wasn’t in it, so why not grab it? That’s what Dad said. You can pick up a bit of cash for a car, you know, boss. And say, if a car brung only six months, how long will I squat in jail for swiping this half bun? Aw! Go slow, boss! I ain’t no bad kid! Only just a hungry mutt. Gosh!! How I wish I had a glass of milk!”
From row two a young, vigorous girlish form shot out, dashing for a doorway; and as that
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