Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 110: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE THIRTEENTH PENNY. lame boy. The lad had made his pur- chase of hot cookies and as he came toward the old man he held one of the cakes out to him. “These cakes is right out of the oven, old man,” he said; “don’t you want one? They’re bully!” The cookies were indeed right from the tins. The spicy odor of the warm ginger of which they were made was irresistible, and as the boy broke one of the cakes and began to eat it the old man succumbed to the tempting scent. It had been many a long year since the old peddler had tasted a ginger cookie. “You might give me just a bit of a taste of the cake,” he said, looking down at the boy. “ Oh, take a whole one; you bought ’em, you know,” replied the lad. “ Just taste it. It’s bully, ain’t it?” The old man was almost afraid to break the warm cake. It smelt good and was soft as he handled it ; but when he carried it to his mouth and bit a large piece from it the expression of his face made the lame boy laugh. “ Ain’t it bully? ” he asked. “ Didn't think it was so good, did you? I tole you it was good, didn’t I? Get two for a cent.” The old man had followed his first mouthful with the remainder of the cookie and just now his mouth was too full to speak. He could only say “u-u-gh.” But in a second he an- swered the boy by shoving his hand deep into his pocket and then by giving him five of the pennies he brought therefrom. The lad needed no instructions as to how the wealth was to be invested ; he simply shouted: “ All for cookies? ” and hobbled away toward the corner. The old man shook his head to mean ves. , The lad was back in a minute and in his hand a paper bag of cookies. “ Better wait until we get to your house before we eat these, hadn’t we, old man? ” he asked as he came up, out TO. of breath. “ My! don’t they smell good?” he added, holding the bag up to the old man’s face. The old man sniffed them and grunt- ed a reply and the two hurried on along the street. It was night now and dark and misty. There was an uncertain light in the street that made the tall buildings look ghostly. The lamplight at the corner behind them was only a blur. Before them the street was almost black. Where do you live, any way?” the boy asked when they had gone some distance without a turn. But just then the old man stepped into a side alley and in a minute more was going up a rickety pair of steps into a tumble down old shanty. “I’m glad we’re getting there,” said the boy, “ cause these cakes is getting cold, and they’re better when they’re hot.” The glow of an electric lamp some- where in the neighborhood shone into the room they entered and fell in a white space of light across the floor. There was an old table and a couple of rickety chairs in the light and over in a corner, where it was dark, there was an old mattress spread over with a dirty blanket. The boy hobbled to one of the chairs and sat down before the table. He made no comments on the room—he was used to its style of furnishing. As he untwisted the bag of cookies he re- marked that a little water wouldn’t go bad with the cakes; but the old man shook his head negatively. He had water in his room, he told the boy, only when it rained; he drank at the foun- tain by the post office and he washed his hands in the trough at the corner. “Well, you is poor,” said the boy, looking at his aged companion, “ didn’t think any one was so poor as they couldn’t have water to drink; but never mind,” he went on happily, “these cookies is good any way you takes them.” ECORRIC OO© eo