“Anything tastes good when you’re hungry, Mike.”
“That’s so.”
“And I haven’t eaten anything except an apple, since morning.”
“Is dat so? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stood treat at de Boss Tweed eatin’ house.”
“I had money, but I didn’t dare to spend it. I was afraid of having nothing left.”
When Rodney had eaten his supper he felt that he could have eaten more, but the craving was satisfied and he felt relieved.
He looked around him with some curiosity, for he had never been in such a motley gathering before. There were perhaps one hundred and fifty boys recruited from the street, to about all of whom except himself the term street Arab might be applied.
The majority of them had the shrewd and good humored Celtic face. Many of them were fun loving and even mischievous, but scarcely any were really bad.
Naturally Rodney, with his good clothes, attracted attention. The boys felt that he was not one of them, and they had a suspicion that he felt above them.
“Get on to de dude!” remarked one boy, who was loosely attired in a ragged shirt and tattered trousers.