The woman saw his gesture. “Ah! sir,” she said, “it’s cruel to keep them so late. They begin work at nine in the morning.”
“Work!” echoed Titus.
His clear young voice reached the deaf woman’s ear.
“That there child,” she said, pointing to the little boy, who was sitting on a small stool stifling yawns, “has been at work sence nine this morning with bare an hour for lunch—just as sure as I’m a livin’ woman.”
“What work does he do?” asked the Judge.
The woman did not hear him, but she guessed what his question would be.
“From nine to five is the hours, and in the sight of my Maker I vow I’d not let any child in my care go to sech slavery, if it weren’t that I’m so hard pressed that upon my word the soul is fairly racked out of me to get victuals for my children.”
“What does he do?” roared the Judge in her ear.
“Do, sir—makes paper boxes. You know about Christmas time how the rich folks must have boxes to put their candy in. The contracts for boxes is let out to men who swallow up the poor. There’s dozens of poor children a-slavin’ in this city, agin’ the law and unbeknownst to the law. I wish the Lord had never made Christmas. It’s a good time for the rich. You take out your fat pocketbooks an’ order presents for each other, an’ you wait till the last minute, an’ then the poor has to go to work.”
The Judge wrinkled his white brows.