"Eight. But he didn't do nothin'. He was out with some bad boys, but he didn't do nothin' and the cop arrested him with the others. That's all. I came down to get him off, if I could." He smiled frankly.
"What's your name?" I inquired, for ingenuousness of that sort is uncommon among the Jews.
"Abraham Aselovitch—my father is Isidore and my mother she is Rachael Aselovitch."
"And this little fellow—is he your brother?"
"Sure."
"When does his case come up?"
"Next Monday in the Children's Court." He shifted his position.
"Well, even if he is found guilty they will probably only send him to the Juvenile Asylum."
"That's it—Juvenile Asylum. It's a bad place. I don't want him to go there," replied the boy with determination.
"Why not, Abraham?" I inquired.