"Going 'round again?" asked John.
The boy nodded. "What'd he give you?"
John displayed his pencil box; the boy, a discordant reed whistle.
"Want to trade?" No sooner offered than accepted. What was the use of a school pencil box anyway?
Again they fell in with the Santa Claus line, hoping devoutly that the sentry would not recognize them. But on the third trip as they nodded toward an unkempt, brown-shawled Italian woman, the clerk bent over.
"Three times and out," he whispered as the boys' hearts went pitapat. "See?"
They saw, and went off in search of new pleasures. First they stopped at the mechanical train booth. When the operator of the miniature railroad was engaged, John's new found friend threw over a tiny switch and caused an unlooked for wreck on the line. A floorwalker pounced on them and ordered them away, so they sauntered down the aisle to a crowd which courted investigation.
"Kid lost," explained the street gamin, who possessed an uncanny trick of working his way through a throng. "They're taking him away now."
Along counter after counter, the boys wandered, past the dollar typewriter booth, through the doll carriage aisle, where a little girl tried to carry a vehicle away with her and made things momentarily exciting, and over by the electrical toys, the building blocks, and the sleds.
"Gee," said the dirty-faced boy as they stooped to examine a price tag, "My legs are 'most off me."