Hot corn: Life Scenes in New York IllustratedRobinson, Solon
General
Hot corn: Life Scenes in New York Illustrated
Robinson, Solon
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Temperance -- Fiction
He drew her forward into the light, and looked upon as fine a set of
features as he ever saw. Her hair, which, as a matter of course, was
black almost as the raven's wing, and subsequently, when cleaned of dirt
and its accompaniments, became almost as glossy, overshadowed a pair of
the keenest, yet mildest, black eyes I ever met with. Her skin was dark,
partly natural, and partly the effect of the sun upon its unwashed,
unsheltered surface. Her teeth, oh! what a set of teeth! which, she
afterward told me, she kept clean by a habit she had of eating charcoal.
She was about twelve years old, slim form, rather tall, but delicate
structure. Her dress consisted of a dirty cotton frock, reaching a
little below the knees, and nothing else. Barefooted, bareheaded, almost
naked, at the hour of midnight, of a cold March night, a little innocent
child, wandering through the streets of New York, vainly plying the
words, "Please give me a penny, sir," to well-fed, comfortably-dressed
men, whose feelings have grown callous by constantly hearing such words
from such objects, to whom to give is not to relieve, but rather
encourage to continue in the pursuit of such ill-gotten means of
prolonging life, without any prospect of benefit to themselves or their
fellow-creatures.
"Then you don't want to beg, Madalina! Why not?"
"Because people push me, and curse me, and to-day one man kicked me
right here, sir." And she laid her hand upon her stomach, and a little
groan of anguish and accusation against the unfeeling monster who had
done the deed, went to the recording angel, and was set down in the
black catalogue of rum-selling crimes, for a day of retribution yet to
come.
"Kicked you! What for? Were you saucy?"
"No, sir; I am never saucy. My mother says if I am saucy, men won't give
me anything. I must be very quiet, and not talk any, nor answer any
questions."
"Then how came he to kick you?"
"I don't know, sir; I did not say a word, I only went into one of those
nice rooms in Broadway, where they have such beautiful glass bottles and
tumblers, and looking-glasses, and such a sight of all sorts of liquor,
and where so many fine gentlemen go and sit, and talk, and laugh, and
drink, and smoke; and I just went along and held out my hand to the
gentlemen, when one of them told me to open my mouth, and shut my eyes,
and hold out my hand, and he would give me a shilling. Now look what he
did--he put his cigar all burning in my hand, and shut it up and held it
there."
Horrible! she opened her hand, and showed three fingers and a palm all
in a blister.
"Oh, sir, that is nothing to what another one did. He put a great nasty
chaw of tobacco in my mouth, and then I could not help crying; then the
man who sells the liquor, he ran out from behind the counter, and how he
did swear, and caught me by the hair, and pulled me down on the floor,
and kicked me so I could hardly get away. But he told me if I did not he
would set the dogs on me and tear me to pieces."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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