Bloomington High School, The Gothic, 1913, Page 42

Description:	When A Bodys GotterBY NINETTA ILLINGWORTH, 9A.Saturday Evening Post! Saturday Evening Post!All day the cry had sounded up and down the crowdedstreets of busiest Chicago. Its monotony was varied onlyby the quality of emphasis and reflection, rising and urgentas Shocky Landers grew instantly alert when a possiblecustomer hailed in sight, or again dropping back to therecurring regularity of the trade cry which placed theemphasis on the second word, and died away with a fallinginflection on the last.The voice of the boy was strong and clear for hisrather diminutive size. He was alive to every openingdoor, to every window, to every hand that he saw feelingits way into the vest pocket for the chance nickels, and toevery trick of the trade for halting a pedestrian, deaf tothe allurements of his news-boy call.Finally, as night was closing in, Shocky sat down onthe edge of the side-walk to take stock of the days work.The stake for which he had been working all day was agreat one. The Saturday Evening Post had offered a prizeto the first boy that reported the sale of one-hundred Postsbetween eight oclock in the morning and eight at night.In seven minutes more, according to the big clock on thePolk Street Station, the time limit would be up. Shockysinventory disclosed the fact that he had sold ninety-ninepapers. Had the number been a few more, he wouldprobably have yielded to the spell of weariness and presentcomfort, and given up the contest,-but one paper,-Pshaw! Surely I can sell one paper in seven minutes!With the exclamation he threw off weariness, and shoul-dering his sack, rushed to meet the passengers who werealighting from the train which had just come in.Post! Post! Satday Evnin Post!Shouting his cry, Shocky darted here and there in thecrowd, attracting passing notice to that poor little fellowselling papers, or receiving a curt,-Get out of the way,kid, from another not so sympathetically inclined.Vaguely he realized that precious time was slippingfrom him, and his voice, which he tried to keep strong,wavered ever so little. The voice of a comrade hailedhim tauntingly, Aw there Shock, givtup; you aint nogood. I sold ninety-five Posts; youll never beat that.Shocky cast a scornful glance toward the sample ofthe larger boy that had been guying him all day, andshouted back,-You go soak yer head in butter-milk, Dander; go washyour feet. Im goin to sell ten more Posts while yer gettindown to bed rock. I gotter-thats all, and when a bodysgot to do a thing, he genly does it.A gentleman coming through the gate was struck withthe last words, and paused. His interest was caught by thelittle shock headed fellow whose title of Shocky fittedhim so well.The boy noted the pause and was at his side in aninstant, holding out a paper.What was it you said just now, youngster, about doinga thing?Shocky was nonplussed for a bare instant, as he glancedanxiously at the clock.I said when a bodys gotter do a thing, he genlydoes it.Have a Post, Mister!-quick-before the clock strikes.A matter of life and death, it seems; give me ten.Shocky waved his hand in grand salute to the back ofPage Forty-two
Source:	http://cdm17129.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/hs-bloom/id/1459
Collection:	Bloomington High School

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