Sunny Boy held out his pennies silently.
The boy whipped a paper from the pack under his arm, folded it neatly and gave it to Sunny, taking his money as he did so.
"You'd better scoot," he advised him kindly. "If your father's waiting for that paper he'll think you're reading it. Hurry up—get a move on!"
Sunny Boy sat down sociably on an old soap box.
"Daddy isn't waiting," he said.
"Papers! Here you are, sir!" the boy made change quickly with not too clean hands. "Then what do you want a paper for? You can't read, can you?"
"Well some writing I can," admitted Sunny Boy modestly. "That is, if it's printed. I thought maybe you'd talk to me."
"Talk to you!" repeated the newsboy. "Say, kid, you ought to be home running errands for supper."
Sunny Boy doubled a small foot under him.