“'Dat's d' number two d'gree,' says d' bloke of a Captain to me mudder. 'Now where did dat husband of yours skip to?'
“But me mudder couldn't tell.
“'Give d' old goil d' dungeon,' says d' Captain; 'an' t'row her in a brace of rats to play wit'.'
“An' now dey locks me mudder in a place like a cellar, wit' two rats to squeak an' scrabble about all night, an' t'row a scare into her.
“An' it would too, only she goes dotty.
“Next day, d' Captain puts her in d' street. But w'at's d' use? She's off her trolley. She toins sick; an' in a week she croaks. D' sawbones gets her for d' colleges.”
Melting Moses shed tears at this.
“Dat's about all,” he concluded. “W'en me mudder was gone, d' cops toined in to do me. D' Captain said he was goin' to clean up d' fam'ly; so he gives d' orders, an' every time I'd show up on d' line, I'd get d' collar. It was one of dem times, w'en d' w'itechoker, who passes me on to you, gets his lamps on me an' begs me off from d' judge, see!”
Melting Moses wept a deal during his relation, and I was not without being moved by it myself. I gave the boy what consolation I might, by assuring him that he was safe with me, and that no policeman should threaten him. A tale of trouble, and particularly if told by a child, ever had power to disturb me, and I did not question Melting Moses concerning his father and mother a second time.
My noble nonentity—for whom I will say that he allowed me to finger him for offices and contracts, as a musician fingers the keyboard of a piano, and play upon him what tunes of profit I saw fit—was mayor, and the town wholly in my hands, with a Tammany man in every office, when there occurred the first of a train of events which in their passage were to plow a furrow in my life so deep that all the years to come after have not served to smooth it away. I was engaged at my desk, when Melting Moses announced a caller.