“What is he doin’?”
“He has been selling papers on the Bowery.”
“That’s a mis’rable business. Like as not he doesn’t make over twenty-five cents a day.”
“I think he must make more than that.”
“Did he say he was sorry he left a good home?”
“No, he didn’t say so.”
“He’s too proud, I reckon. When you write him tell him that if he’ll come home and apologize for runnin’ away I’ll take him back.”
“I’ll tell him, Mr. Winter.”
“Here he had enough to eat, and likely he don’t get it where he is. Have you got his letter with you?”
“No, sir.”