I made an involuntary ejaculation as I read the words on
the sign, and the boy looked around at me.
"Little boy," said I, solemnly, "do you see that sign?"
He turned his head, and, reading the ominous warning, nodded sullenly, but
said nothing.
"Boy, what does it mean?" said I. "Boys must be allowed to come into this
railway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under
the sign."
The latent sympathy in my tone touched his heart. He left his seat, and,
coming to mine, edged in past me; and, putting his head out of the window,
read the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a
peanut, which I took; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the
sign.
"Boys not allowed!" said he. "That's just the way 'tis everywhere; but I
never saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though,
whether they put the sign up or not. Why, in New York (you live in New
York, don't you?) they won't even stop the horse-cars for a boy to get on.
Nobody thinks any thing'll hurt a boy; but they're glad enough to 'allow'
us when there's any errands to be done, and"--
"Do you live in New York?" interrupted I; for I did not wish to hear the
poor little fellow's list of miseries, which I knew by heart beforehand
without his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed
boyhood all my life.
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