He had a shock of
jet black hair, tumbled all over his head, a pair of bright eyes, round
full face, not over clean, strong limbs and a well knit body. His
clothes hung on him like gunny sacks, and the crudity of the many
various patches indicated that they had not been put on by woman's deft
fingers. He didn't wait for me to speak, but blurted out:
"Say, mister, I have just heard tell as how you wants a call boy. Do
you?"
He took my breath away by his bluntness; he looked so honest and
sincere, so I simply replied, "Yes," and waited.
"Well then, I wants the job. See!"
"What's your name, youngster, and where is your home?"
"My name's Dick Durstine; I hain't got no home, no father, no mother, no
nothin', just me, and I wants to learn the tick tick business. It looks
dead easy."
This was really funny, but I liked his impudence, and, while I had no
intention of hiring him, I determined to draw him out, so I said:
"Where were you born, when did you come here, and do you know where any
of the crews live?"
"I was born in St. Louis; mother died when I was a kid, and Dad was such
a drunken worthless old cuss and beat me so much, that I brought up in a
foundling asylum.
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