Page:Malot - Nobodys Boy, Crewe-Jones, 1916.djvu/102

 The public had quickly dispersed. A few stragglers remained to discuss what had happened.

"The old man was right."

"He was wrong."

"Why did the cop strike the boy? He did nothing to him; never said a word."

"Bad business. The old fellow will go to jail, for sure!"

I went back to the inn, depressed. I had grown very fond of my master, more and more every day. We lived the same life together from morning till night, and often from night to morning, when we had to sleep on the same bed of straw. No father could have shown more care for his child than he showed for me. He had taught me to read, to sing, and to write. During our long tramps he gave me lessons, first on one subject then on another. On very cold days he shared his coverings with me, on hot days he had always helped me carry the bags, and the various things which I was supposed to carry. And when we ate he never served me the worst piece, keeping the best for himself; on the contrary, he shared it equally, the good and the bad. It is true, he sometimes pulled my ears more roughly than I liked, but if I needed the correction, what of that? In a word, I loved him, and he loved me. For how long would they send him to prison? What should I do during that time? How should I live?

Vitalis was in the habit of carrying his money on him, and he had not had time to give me anything