"Well, what are you doing here? What do you want?" said the great
man, keeping his eyes immovably on the shivering child, enraged at
himself for having opened the door for a miserable beggar like that.

He was in the habit of extending these little condescensions to the
voters of his ward; it had a touch of republicanism in it that looked
well; but from that wretched little thing what was to be gained? Still
the child might have a father, and that father might be a citizen,
one of the sovereign people, possessed of that inestimable
privilege--a vote. So the Mayor was cautious, as usual, about
exhibiting any positive traces of the ill-humor that possessed him.
He had not groped and grovelled his way to the Mayoralty, without
knowing how and when to exhibit the evil feelings of his heart. Those
that were not evil he very prudently left to themselves, knowing that
they could never obtain strength enough in his barren nature to become
in the slightest degree troublesome.

Had kindly feelings still lived in his bosom, they must have been
aroused by the sweet, humble voice that answered him.

"They have turned me out of doors. I am hungry, sir. I am very cold."

"Turned you out of doors! Where is your father? Can't he take care
of you?"

"I have no father--he is dead."

No father, no vote! The little beggar had not the most indirect claim
for sympathy or forbearance from the Mayor of New York. He could