After this scene, the freedom with which I had ejected
my new acquaintance, and the precipitation with which I
had followed him, the least I could do was to propose
luncheon. I have forgot the name of the place to which
I led him, nothing loath; it was on the far side of the
Luxembourg at least, with a garden behind, where we
were speedily set face to face at table, and began to
dig into each other's history and character, like
terriers after rabbits, according to the approved
fashion of youth.
Pinkerton's parents were from the Old Country; there,
too, I incidentally gathered, he had himself been born,
though it was a circumstance he seemed prone to forget.
Whether he had run away, or his father had turned him
out, I never fathomed; but about the age of twelve he
was thrown upon his own resources. A travelling tin-
type photographer picked him up, like a haw out of a
hedgerow, on a wayside in New Jersey; took a fancy to
the urchin; carried him on with him in his wandering
life; taught him all he knew himself--to take tin-types
(as well as I can make out) and doubt the Scriptures;
and died at last in Ohio at the corner of a road.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76