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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"The Under Dog"

But when I asked him, with some
surprise, if he knew the Bowery, he looked at me quickly, with the
slightest trace of offended dignity in his eyes, as if I had meant to
overstep the line between us, and answered quickly:
"I knowed Abe Condit," and immediately changed the conversation.
And yet I must admit that there was nothing in the way he answered this
and all my other questions that weakened my confidence in his sincerity.
If there were any blackened pages in his past record that he did not
want to lay bare even to me, they were discolored, I felt sure, more by
privations and suffering than by any stains he was ashamed of.

II
One morning at daybreak I was awakened by Jim swinging back my door. He
had on his heavy overcoat and carried a lantern. His slouch hat was
flattened on the back of his head; the rim flared out, framing his face,
which was wreathed in smiles. He seemed to be under some peculiar
excitement, for his breath came thick and fast.
"Sorry to wake ye, but I'm goin' to Plymouth," and he lowered his head
and stepped inside my room.


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