Jimmy had interrupted his information to dispose of a paper to a man.
"Jimmy Small," repeated the man. "Where do you live?"
"Oh, I've got a swell joint on upper Fifth Avenoo," replied the boy, with a wink, "but it's rented fer de season, an' I ain't livin' in it."
"No, I am serious," said Mr. Crosscrab. "I would really like to know."
"Honest? No kiddin'?" inquired Jimmy.
"No what?"
"No kiddin'. Is it de real goods? Youse ain't tryin' t' run up an alley on me, is yer?"
"I don't exactly understand you, but I am really asking because I am interested in you. I have a brother about your age, and I was wondering how he would make out if he had to sell papers for a living."
"Say, take it from me, mister," spoke Jimmy earnestly. "Don't let him do it. Dere's too many in de business now. Don't let him come t' N'York an' sell papers!"
"Oh, he's not very likely to. But you haven't told me where you live."