'Of course he can't; we'll put him in a car,' began John; when the boy wheezed out,—
'No; I've got ter wait for Sam. He'll be along as soon's the theatre's done. He said he would; and so I'm waitin'.'
'He's the feller I lives with. I ain't got any folks, and he takes care o' me.'
'Nice care, indeed; leaving a baby like you to wait for him here such a night as this,' I said crossly.
'Oh, he's good to me Sam is, though he does knock me round sometimes, when I ain't spry. The big feller shoves me back, you see; and I gets cold, and can't sing out loud; so I don't sell my papers, and has to work 'em off late.'
'Hear the child talk! One would think he was sixteen, instead of six,' I said, half laughing.
'I'm most ten. Hi! ain't that a oner?' cried the boy, as a gust of sleet slapped him in the face, when he peeped to see if Sam was coming. 'Hullo! the lights is out! Why, the play's done, and the folks gone, and Sam's forgot me.'
It was very evident that Sam had forgotten his little protégé; and a strong desire to shake Sam possessed me.
'No use waitin' any longer; and now my papers is sold, I ain't afraid to go home,' said the boy, stepping down like a little old man with the rheumatism, and preparing to trudge away through the storm.