* * * * *
No, it was not opium, nor night-mare, but chloroform, a dentist, three
obstinate molars, a pair of forceps, and a lively set of nerves.
TITEE.
It was cold that day; the great sharp north wind swept out Elysian
Fields Street in blasts that made men shiver, and bent everything in its
track. The skies hung lowering and gloomy; the usually quiet street was
more than deserted, it was dismal.
Titee leaned against one of the brown freight cars for protection
against the shrill norther, and warmed his little chapped hands at a
blaze of chips and dry grass. "May be it'll snow," he muttered, casting
a glance at the sky that would have done credit to a practised seaman.
"Then _won't_ I have fun! Ugh, but the wind blows!"
It was Saturday, or Titee would have been in school--the big yellow
school on Marigny Street, where he went every day when its bell boomed
nine o'clock. Went with a run and a joyous whoop,--presumably to
imbibe knowledge, ostensibly to make his teacher's life a burden.
Idle, lazy, dirty, troublesome boy, she called him, to herself, as day
by day wore on, and Titee improved not, but let his whole class pass him
on its way to a higher grade.
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