"Abraham, you are up against it, I guess. Don't you think you can go without the little feller for a year? I'll do what I can, but even if he goes up they won't keep him longer than that at the asylum, and probably when he comes out he'll be more of a help to your father and mother."
The big tears stood in his eyes and he twisted his hands together as he answered:
"I guess—maybe—maybe, I could give up going down to Coney for a year, if it was going to do him any good. Don't you think the asylum's so bad?"
"No, indeed," said I. "It's fine. He can learn to play in the band. He'll have a good time. Let him go."
For an instant I thought my words had made an impression. Then the two tears welled over.
"You don't know—" the voice was low and passionate—"you don't know what it is to have nothin' but a little feller like that. And way off there—he would wake up in the night maybe—all alone—a little feller——"
"Abraham!" I exclaimed, "the Juvenile be hanged! I'll see the judge and do my best to have the little fellow remanded in the custody of his brother. And Abraham——"
"Yes, sir."
"Where is the little feller? Out on bail?"
"Yessir."