Leading the way, he was followed by the boy into a small private office at the back end of the big mission hall. Offering the lad a seat, he turned to his desk, on which stood two telephones. In an instant that boy was again upon his feet. Looking with wide-open eyes, he inquired, "Be yer goin' ter call der bull? I ain't as't yer fur nuthin'. Me Pa said yer was a good guy and wouldn't squeal. I mus' go."
Morton intercepted the boy at the door. But it was some time before he could persuade him that it was not his intention to turn him over to the police, "the bull," for begging.
"I want to help you," he said. "I'll be your friend, and I won't squeal on you either."
"Well, be yer Mister Morton?" asked the boy.
"Yes, that's my name," replied the superintendent. "And now I want you to tell me all about your trouble. Who sent you to me?"
"Me Pa. He heard your talk on der gospel wagon down at der square. He don't talk about nuthin' else and he wants yer ter come an' see him."
"Is he sick?"
"Sure he's sick. He's been in bed ever since Wednesday. Ma says he's outer his head. Tuesday night he didn't come home home from work, and Ma says, 'I guess he's drunk ag'in.' We waited fur him till eleven o'clock and den I couldn't stay awake no longer. 'Sides, der wood was all burnt up and we had ter go ter bed ter keep warm. At five in der mornin' Mike Hardy, der bar-keep' at Fagin's, saw Pa layin' in Rice's wagon box, out in front of der market. It snowed on Pa, and he was near frozed. Mike calls Bill Cook and dey brings Pa home. Bill and Pa is chums; an' Bill gets drunk, too. Ma says dey bot' works fur Fagin. When dey gits paid dey take all der money straight to Fagin's and spends it for booze."
"Well, what's your name and where do you live?" interrupted
Morton.
"Me name's Jimmie Moore, and we live down in Bucktown near der market."