He could work
at times, though he did not like it, and once pursued the vocation of a
bootblack for several months with fair success.
But Jerry's companionship was doing him no good, and it seemed likely
that eventually he would become quite as shiftless as Jerry himself.
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.
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