" He told me how he had given up his job on Eighth Avenue
around 125th Street the day before. He had had a "run in," as he called
it, at home, and had determined to get out. His mother had married a
second time, and his stepfather and he could not agree on a single
thing. He loved his mother, but could not stand the stepfather. He had
drawn his pay at the jewelry store where he was working and had spent
the night before at a hotel uptown, intending to look for a job the next
day.
He had risen at 8 A. M. intending to get work before his eight dollars
was all gone. Well, the money was burning a hole in his pocket. He
wanted to see a show and he came down on the Bowery and got into a cheap
vaudeville show, and quite enjoyed himself. "I came out of that show,"
he said, "and went into a restaurant to eat, and when I went to pay the
cashier I did not have a cent in my pocket. The boss of the place said
that was an old story. He was not there to feed people for nothing. I
said I had been robbed or lost my money somehow, but he wouldn't believe
me. He wanted his twenty cents, or he would have me arrested. Oh, he was
mad for fair, Mr.
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