Kansas Shorty continued to speak in this petting and almost flattering
vein, while at the same time he fed the feverish and maltreated lad with
pieces of choice candy and other tidbits for which he had sent while Jim
was yet unconscious, and stroked the boy's hair and dressed his wounds
with vaseline-soaked rags and showed in every possible manner how true a
friend he was to Jim, to whom he repeated over and over the fact that he
had clothed and fed him in Minneapolis when he and his brother Joe were
on the verge of death by starvation. He never stopped his flow of
pleasing language, ever harping upon the good he had done and would do
for Jim, if the latter would only trust him, until forced by sheer
friendless loneliness the boy folded his bruised arms around Kansas
Shorty's neck and amid heart-broken sobs begged his pardon for having
tried to leave him, and while the other hoboes in the room, old as well
as young, who had all passed through the same sort of treatment, had a
hard time to suppress their smiles, he solemnly promised to never again
attempt to escape.

Then the poor boy sank back upon the bed and gradually, urged on by
Kansas Shorty's assurance that sleep would heal all the quicker the
bruises and marks the terrible beating had left on him, a reminder of
his promise, and a warning of far worse punishment should he dare to
break it, he fell asleep.

Then the other plingers sent down to the slum saloon for a new supply of
beer and "whiskey", and while they took care not to make noise enough to
awaken the new recruit to the army of professional beggars, they drank
to Kansas Shorty's health and congratulated him upon the successful
culmination of the first step necessary to make a good-for-nothing
parasite of society out of a respectable boy. This inhuman brutality is