There are many interesting cases coming to the attention of persons
interested in newsboys, and they all have a tendency to awaken sympathy.
Two little boys, ages nine and ten, were brought to the president
one morning by an officer of the association. They were accused of
fighting, “almost to a finish.”
Between sobs and tears they both tried to tell why they were fighting.
While telling their story, a boy about fourteen years of age entered
the office. He was also crying, but more seriously. The president
turned to him and sympathetically asked, “what is the matter?” With his
hands rubbing his eyes he answered: “One of the newsies run out of the
alley and throwed my papers into the gutter and they’re all spoiled.”
“Where did the boy go?”
“He runned away and left me alone.”
“How many papers had you?”
“I had four.”
The two boys that were crying, forgot their troubles and became
interested in the other boy. Calling the two boys, the president asked
them if they would run out and try to find the bad boy who threw the
papers in the street. Of course they were delighted to go. Taking the
crying fourteen-year-old newsboy by the hand, the little fellows left
the office.
After waiting an hour, and no signs of the boys returning, the
president went upon the street and to his surprise saw the two little
boys, who were to hunt down the villain, playing together.
“Well, what was done with the boy who ruined Joe’s stock of papers; did
you find them?”
“You see, we went to the alley, we looked ebery place fur the kid as
what threw de papers into de gutter, but he had skipped. So me an’
Skinny talked it over quickly an’ we just gave Joe eight cents an’ told
him to go home, to fade away, to forget it. As de case wus settled we
thought it no use ter bother you wid dis trouble, an’ we resumed our
bizness.”
Certainly a new way of settling troubles.
There is a small boy who has the reputation of being a little boss in
the territory in which he sells, owing to his desire to settle all
disputes in his own way. He goes upon the idea that it is absolutely
necessary to resort to pretty severe punishment to gain a point.
One evening a boy about fifteen years of age came into the office,
crying as a boy only can; the tears found considerable trouble in
working their way down his cheeks, making his face look as if furrows
were established for a time at least. On the left side of his forehead
were several clear spots, round in shape, which he pointed to with
considerable feeling. The president’s sympathy was aroused, and to the
question, how he was hurt, he replied:
“Firetop—licked—me. He—hit—me—with—his—fist.”
Firetop was not over nine years of age, and the president knew of his
fighting qualities, but somehow no one ever presented any charges
worthy of investigation. His name, the boys said, “came to him on
account of his red hair.” His reputation for honesty was never
questioned. He was simply a fighter. He was one of the most successful
sellers on the street. Because he was a “pusher, he went every place,
and asked every person he met to buy a paper.” While the boy was
telling his story, three other members dropped into the office. They
stood for sometime looking at the poor boy.
“Do you boys know Firetop?” asked the president.
“Certainly, we all know him.”
“Well, you go out and try to find him and tell him I want him to come
here immediately.”
Out the boys went and when on the sidewalk started in different
directions to find Firetop. Ten minutes passed when Firetop came
running into the office. The boys had found him but he was too fleet of
foot for them.
“Pres., they tell me you wants me, what fur?”
“Look at that boy’s face,” said the president, pointing to the injured
lad who began to cry in earnest.
“I see it. I did it. But say, kid” turning to the boy, “what did I do
it fur. Look up at me; say, what did I do it fur?”
“For nothin’,” came a faint reply.
“Come off, I hain’t going ’round doin’ things fur nothin’. Answer me,
you kin talk, what did I do it fur?”
No reply.
“Didn’t I punch you fur swearing at a lady?”
It was some moments before the boy answered, and he drawled out, “yes.”
Firetop then told the story. The boy was selling papers on the street,
he asked a lady to buy a paper, and because she refused he swore at
her, using language seldom seen in print.
“I heard it, an’ I told him it was against the rules, an’ if he
didn’t cut it out I would punk him. What did he do but swore at me.
He violated the rules before my face. I punked, gently at first, an’
then I punked him again. He ran into the alley, I followed him, an’ de
boys come from the street, I told them he was my game, an’ I punked him
again. I told all the boys I would punk de gang ef they came to help
him. Say, pres., wasn’t I right in punking him?” The boy acknowledged
he swore and Firetop kept at him until he promised he would never do
it again. This was accomplished with very little trouble. The boy’s
face was washed and as there was no traces of a wound the matter was
amicably settled. The boys left the office, good friends.