Johnny had but one tie to bind him to the city. He had a father
living, but he might as well have been without one. Mr. Nolan was
a confirmed drunkard, and spent the greater part of his wages for
liquor. His potations made him ugly, and inflamed a temper never
very sweet, working him up sometimes to such a pitch of rage that
Johnny's life was in danger. Some months before, he had thrown a
flat-iron at his son's head with such terrific force that unless
Johnny had dodged he would not have lived long enough to obtain a
place in our story. He fled the house, and from that time had not
dared to re-enter it. Somebody had given him a brush and box of
blacking, and he had set up in business on his own account. But he
had not energy enough to succeed, as has already been stated, and
I am afraid the poor boy had met with many hardships, and suffered
more than once from cold and hunger. Dick had befriended him more
than once, and often given him a breakfast or dinner, as the case
might be.

"How'd you get away?" asked Dick, with some curiosity. "Did
you walk?"

"No, I rode on the cars."

"Where'd you get your money? I hope you didn't steal it."

"I didn't have none."

"What did you do, then?"

"I got up about three o'clock, and walked to Albany."