Anderson—What! Does your father live in the Fourteenth Ward?
John—Yes, sir, and that’s just where I was born, and have always lived, and always mean to, and die there also, and, if possible, I intend to be buried there, in some beautiful cemetery, because I most fondly love the good and generous people of the Fourteenth Ward. And now, Mr. Anderson, have I not often seen you at my father’s, on winter evenings, telling each other funny and pleasing stories of the past?
Anderson—Seen me at your father’s, you young rogue? Why, to be sure you have. I came to America with your father and mother, and my wife was present when you were born in Mott street, and after your mother got well, we had a great frolic at your Christening, and went to the Park Theatre, and you were the fattest and prettiest baby I ever saw.
John—You don’t say so? Give me your hand—
Anderson (jumping over the counter)—and a kiss, too, you rosy little rascal. (Kisses him, and then turns to Bennett.) There, Bennett, take your papers, and give me your old dumb silver turnip once more, but I’ll be hanged before I will ever take it again. And you may attribute your good luck this time to this bright and pretty and honest little boy, whom I have loved since his infancy. (Bennett and John take the papers, and let the boys outside have some, and then depart for No. 20 Wall street.)
Bennett (on his way to Wall street)—Well, my lad, you have saved me to-day, and I’ll remember it with gratitude as long as I live. Tell your father and mother that I will come and see them on Sunday evening, and take tea with them. You can tell them that I will let you have money enough on Saturday night to get you a pair of shoes, as it won’t do for you to be my clerk with naked feet. Besides, I’m afraid you will get nails or splinters in your bare feet, and have the lock jaw. So, John, you had better ask your father to let you wear his shoes until Saturday.
John—Daddy hasn’t got any shoes. He has been sick a long time with inflammatory rheumatism, and he can’t work any more, and he is obliged to go barefooted like myself.
Bennett—Good Lord! Then ask your mother to let you wear her shoes until Saturday.
John—Mother aint got but one pair, and they are slippers, and nearly worn out.
Bennett—Well, then, I must try to get you some second-hand shoes in the morning. I have only one pair myself, but I think I can borrow some that are considerably worn from one of my room-mates. So, good day, Johnny, and come down early in the morning, and I guess I’ll have some protection for your tender feet.