Produced by Benjamin Klein Jimmie Moore _of_ Bucktown By Melvin E. Trotter Chicago The Winona Publishing Company MCMIV Copyright, 1904 by The Winona Publishing Company _August._ Contents I. The Invasion Begun II. "Der Gang" III. "The Busted Funeral" IV. Jimmie's New Pa V. Mrs. Cook's "Opery" VI. Mrs. Cook's First Prayer VII. Floe VIII. Bill's Pension IX. "Auntie's Favorite Horse" X. Jimmie's Education XI. The Meeting in the Market XII. Fred Hanks XIII. "Fagin's Meetin'" XIV. Fred and Doc XV. The Picnic XVI. Dave Strikes His Gait Jimmie Moore of Bucktown CHAPTER I _The Invasion Begun_ "Please kin yer tell me where is der boss of dis Mishun?" The superintendent turned sharply about and beheld a boy of singularly striking appearance. His stature was that of a child of ten or twelve years and his face that of a worn-out, heart-broken, disappointed old man. His eyes, set far back in his head under heavy eyebrows, indicated an almost abnormal development of the perceptive faculties. In other respects the contour of the head was not remarkable; but the face was one, once seen, never to be forgotten. The nose was pointed and pinched, the cheeks hollow, and the glance of his eye at once appealing and defiant. There could be no doubt that this boy was a bread winner, and that the burdens he carried were altogether too heavy for such young shoulders. From the ragged cap which he turned nervously in his hands to the large pair of sharp-pointed ladies' shoes on his feet, every garment was a misfit. The loss of a button from the neckband of his blouse-waist permitted it to gap wide open and disclosed the fact that he wore no underclothing. The day was bitterly cold; and the boy's shivery look showed how greatly he suffered. As the superintendent took in all these facts he realized that, despite his unseemly attire and generally distracted appearance, the boy was by no means an ordinary character. Down deep in the dark gray eyes that never wavered under his steady gaze he saw the making of a man mighty for good or evil. "I guess I'm the man you want," said Morton, kindly. "Come into my office." Leading the way, he was followed by the boy into a small private office at the back end of the big mission hall. Offering the lad a seat, he turned to his desk, on which stood two telephones. In an instant that boy was again upon his feet. Looking with wide-open eyes, he inquired, "Be yer goin' ter call der bull? I ain't as't yer fur nuthin'. Me Pa said yer was a good guy and wouldn't squeal. I mus' go." Morton intercepted the boy at the door. But it was some time before he could persuade him that it was not his intention to turn him over to the police, "the bull," for begging. "I want to help you," he said. "I'll be your friend, and I won't squeal on you either." "Well, be yer Mister Morton?" asked the boy.