Jerry, having no breakfast, strolled down to one of the city
markets. He frequently found an opportunity of stealing here,
and was now in search of such a chance. He was a dexterous and
experienced barrel thief, a term which it may be necessary to
explain. Barrels, then, have a commercial value, and coopers
will generally pay twenty-five cents for one in good condition.
This is enough, in the eyes of many a young vagabond, to pay for
the risk incurred in stealing one.
Jerry prowled round the market for some time, seeking a good
opportunity to walk off with an apple or banana, or something
eatable. But the guardians of the stands seemed unusually
vigilant, and he was compelled to give up the attempt, as
involving too great risk. Jerry was hungry, and hunger is an
uncomfortable feeling. He began to wish he had remained
satisfied with his old shirt, dirty as it was, and carried the
new one to some of the Baxter street dealers, from whom he could
perhaps have got fifty cents for it. Now, fifty cents would have
paid for a breakfast and a couple of cigars, and those just now
would have made Jerry happy.
"What a fool I was not to think of it!" he said. "The old shirt
would do me, and I could buy a bully breakfast wid the money I'd
get for this.
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