Anyway I slapped a dollar's worth of whipped cream on the top of this chocolate fudge sundae and put it in front of Judy, and then I notice she's watching me, with a queer look on her pretty face.
"Gale," she says, "do you ever think about your future?"
Now, ain't that funny, when that's just what I been thinking about?
"Sure!" I says. "I think my future is all behind me."
"No—I'm serious," says Judy. "And this whipped cream is delicious! What did you do before you came to Drew City, or is that too personal?"
"Not at all, Judy," I says. "It ain't often I get a chance to—well, get this kind of stuff off my chest. They is nothing very exciting in my life's history, so far. I was born of poor but American parents and I begin earning my keep at about eight—in the morning and of age. I've sold papers, split bobbins in a cotton mill, been a errand boy, printer's devil, and took out orders for a butcher—that being about the only time I actually delivered the goods!"
"But when did you go to school?" asks Judy.
"Before I got into the newspaper business—selling 'em," I says.
"And that was when you were only eight years old?" she asks, and her eyes gets wider.
I nods.
"Well," says Judy, very severe, "I think you must have been a very, very bad little boy to stay away from school just to sell newspapers for a few pennies!"
