"Daddy's gwine to lick me now fo' a fac'."
"He won't do it half as quick as I will," roared the fireman, evidently enraged by the astonished way in which the boy stared at him, his eyes seeming to increase in size each moment.
Before Andrew Jackson Washington Jones had any idea as to what was about to be done, the man had seized him by the collar of his jacket, and he felt blows compared with which those from the willow switch would have been pleasure.
"Now shovel over that coal," shouted the man, as he released his hold of Andrew Jackson's collar so suddenly that the boy spun around against the iron-clad sides of the room like a top in a box.
"Mammy says I's to come right back," blubbered Andrew, as he rubbed coal dust over his face in his efforts to wipe his eyes.
"It'll be quite a spell before you do get back, for the steamer left the dock ten minutes ago."
"Den I mus' shinny along, fur I carn't stay here," said Andrew, hurriedly, as he started toward the door.
"Come back here," and the man made sure he would obey by catching him by the jacket, and pulling him toward him. "Didn't you hear me say that the boat had left the dock? We're two miles away by this time."
"Wha—wha—wha'll I do?" and Andrew Jackson burst into a fresh flood of tears, as the most lonely feeling he ever had in his life came over him.
"You'll take hold of that shovel and exercise it as lively as you know how," replied the man, and from the way in which he spoke Andrew did not think it prudent to make any objections.