"Ye'll no dae that again!"
It was a challenge. The lad rebuilt his sand castle very deliberately. The Prince waited until the thistle was stuck on the top story, then kicked it over as deliberately as it had been built.
"Ye'll no dae that a third time!" challenged the little Scot, beginning to rebuild with even more deliberation.
The Queen had been noticing the affair. She set aside her brush and palette, but said nothing; only watched with a firm, studious expression on her maternal face.
A third time Prince Edward kicked over the Highland lad's sand castle. No sooner was it done than its kilted builder closed his fists and lowered his head. In another moment the two boys were hammering one another.
The Queen sat there and never interfered by word or act. The little Prince presently returned, weeping, bruised, and bloody-nosed, while the rebel Gael stood apart, himself considerably frayed, waiting to see if any further service were needed in the training of royal children.
To the little Prince's plea for speedy justice and vengeance, the motherly Queen merely replied, as she wiped the blood from the future King's nose with a pocket hand-*kerchief:
"It served you right!"—New York Times.
(279)
BOYS' CHAMPION
Pages, messenger boys, newsboys and bootblacks
have a champion in a member of
Congress who never lets pass an opportunity
to help them along. If a messenger boy
should happen to drop into the office of Representative
William J. Cary, of Milwaukee,
in the House office building, he would get as
much consideration as a member of the
United States Senate.
Mr. Cary is the friend of the little chaps because he knows from experience what it means to get out and hustle for a living when some of your pals are off playing baseball in the back lots, and whenever he gets a chance to give a youngster a boost he boosts hard.
Mr. Cary was left an orphan when he was thirteen years old, together with five younger brothers and sisters who were placed in an orphan asylum.
In chasing around Milwaukee as a messenger boy he became acquainted with the political leaders of the city and by the time he was old enough to vote he was a full-*fledged politician. Machine methods do not appeal to him and he would rather mix up in a fight with the Cannon organization than to take a cruise to Europe.—Boston Journal.
(280)
Boys and Saloon—See Chance for the Boy.
Boy's Courage, A—See Loyalty.
Boys, Influences Upon—See Youthful
Tendencies.
BOY'S CLUB, VALUE OF THE
I was talking once with an East Side boy,
one of the keenest and quickest fellows I
have ever met. He told me the story of his
early years. There was no good reason why
he should have been a newsboy; his father
was a fairly prosperous tailor; but he loved
the adventure of it, and used to play hookey
from school and from home to sell papers.
Union Square was his center, and from there
down to Washington Square he ranged. He
was the quickest and the most fearless of the
newsboys in the neighborhood, and soon became
a leader among them. His brightness
and wit won him entrance into most of the
saloons and restaurants thereabouts, when
the other boys were excluded; and in many
of these the waiters or the barkeeper would
save the dregs of drinks for him. He stole
when he could, just for the excitement of the
thing; and with great glee he told me how
he once had picked the pocket of Mr. Robert
Graham, the general secretary of the Church
Temperance Society, as that gentleman stood
talking at the window of the society's coffee-*van
in the square. At the time he told me
this, he and I both belonged to a company
of the Church Temperance Society which
claimed Mr. Graham as its adjutant commander.
His story was not all of such proud
recollections, however. For after a pause he
said, rather slowly, "The boys I used to go
with around here, my gang, have all gone to
the devil, and mighty fast." "Well, John,"
I asked, "how is it that you didn't go to the
devil, too, with them?" "Well, I'll tell you.
I belonged to a boy's club down near my
house. It wasn't much of a club; we used
to steal and have rough house all we pleased.
But I was there every night." And then he
added, with a momentary seriousness I shall
not soon forget: "Mr. Bartlett, if you want
to save the boys, keep them off the streets
at night." It was expert testimony; he knew
whereof he spoke. And what he said puts
in a nutshell the whole philosophy of the
