Says the hatless youth: “I sells ‘Nooses,’ sir, an’ I ’ave ter give one er ter me mother, and one er ter me sister.” He continues: “I sells more ‘Sunday Times’ ner ‘Nooses.’ I gets a dozen ‘Times’ fur a thick ’um and a narf, and I sells em fur three shillin’.”
“And if you don’t sell your papers?”
“I’ll get a hidin’, that’s all.”
“Does your father whack you?”
“No, mother does the lickin’.”
“Does your father do any work?”
“Mostly no, mister. He ain’t much out of the ’ouse. He’s a wool-packer, an’ he’s mostly out of work.”
“How old are you and your friend there?”
“I’m ten, Don’s ’bout nine.”
It is the same old story which one can get repeated from hundreds of children in the busy Sydney streets. Another phase of the utter neglect to which the parents of the poorer classes consign their children, to the danger and trouble of the State. Grim old London cannot show, in proportion, so many unhappy human fledgelings slaving and starving through the dusty streets,—driven out to work for their parents’ gin money, or hired out to slave-drivers with the same end in view.