“Don’t you know anything,” said Jimmy to a friend, who was trying to investigate how a typewriter was made, “let that meechine alone.”
It was soon in evidence that Jimmy’s word meant something, for each boy obeyed him without saying a word, except a little grunt of dissatisfaction, to show he hated to obey. Not one of the eight boys had clean hands. Not one a coat with a button. Three safety-pins held holding positions in some of their coats. Not one used a handkerchief, and the slang would puzzle many a lawyer.
As one of the boys lost his cap he said: “Some kid five-fingered it.—took it with his hand.” It was an interesting crowd.
“Well, you are on time, Jimmy, and I see you have brought some of your friends with you,” said the gentleman.
“These is part of de gang,” said Jimmy.
“Do you boys all want to be my friends, just the same as Jimmy is?”
They replied, “Sure thing; cert. Yes’m.”
These friendly words brought the gang closer to the gentleman’s desk. And more papers were disturbed. The ink was investigated and one of the boys wanted to know why it wasn’t red ink. Another poked his finger in the ink stand and made black streaks down the smallest boy’s face. The gentleman was shown quite a number of articles they had in their pockets. Nails, buttons, marbles, pieces of slate-pencils, etc., all of which had to be admired.
“Say, you, mister,” said a nine-year-old dirty-faced, bright-eyed boy, “I had trouble gittin’ here. De con. wus onto me an’ I had to take two lines ’fore I rode into de office wid out blowin’ in a cent.”