![]() ![]() But at this hour everyone was in a hurry to get to bed. Now and then a person or two would come down one of the many stairs that led from the street and dart through the station. The bustle of the day had long since subsided, and even the nighttime crowds, returning from the theaters and movies, had vanished. “The poor kid might as well go home,” murmured Tucker Mouse to himself. Papa hoped that by staying open as late as possible his newsstand might get some of the business that would otherwise have gone to the larger stands. On weekdays, of course, the boy had to get to bed early, but over the weekends Papa Bellini let him take his part in helping out with the family business. “Such a pity,” he sighed.Įvery Saturday night now for almost a year he had watched Mario tending his father’s newsstand. Tucker finished the last few crumbs of a cookie he was eating-a Lorna Doone shortbread he had found earlier in the evening-and licked off his whiskers. And when he wasn’t collecting, “scrounging” as he called it, or sleeping, he liked to sit at the opening of the drain pipe and watch the world go by-at least as much of the world as hurried through the Times Square subway station. Back a few feet in the wall, it opened out into a pocket that Tucker had filled with the bits of paper and shreds of cloth he collected. The mouse’s name was Tucker, and he was sitting in the opening of an abandoned drain pipe in the subway station at Times Square. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us./piracy. ![]() Copyright infringement is against the law. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. ![]()
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