At one of the auxiliary meetings the vice-president of the association,
who was always practical in his talks to the boys, gave a little advice
to the sellers.
It is worth remembering.
“Boys,” he said, “rain or shine be at your post, at your corner. Never
be out of papers, and never be out of change. Many a good boy who needs
money loses a sale for want of having change. Keep your eye peeled. If
a man wants a paper, you should see it, though he is a square away. I
know of one little boy, smaller than those who were selling with him,
who always saw a customer a block away, and when the evening’s work
was over he generally had ten to twenty cents to the clear more than
others. Be polite and always cheerful. Keep your face and hands clean,
and you will get many an extra nickel. If you are polite and civil you
will get a regular line of customers who will always wait for you.
Thank everyone who buys a paper. Tip your hat to the ladies and they
will speak well of you when they get home. Any little favor you can do
for a man or woman on the street (and not look as though you expect
something), will always bring you business. The wind blew off the hat
of a gentleman one day, and a little seller saw it. Quick as a flash
he ran after it, took his own cap to wipe the dirt off the gentleman’s
hat, and handed it to him. The gentleman said: ‘How many papers you
got?’ ‘Twenty-four, sir,’ said the boy. ‘Give them all to me.’”
On the membership card it reads: “He does not approve of swearing, etc.”
A probation member, a boy who received his membership card, and had
thirty days to wait for his badge, brought an old member to the
president, one evening, with this plea.
“President, this boy swears like hell. I heard him on the corner.”
“Aw, what you given us, you swear yourself.” replied the accused.
“Yes that’s all right. Tell me something; how would I know what
swearing was if I didn’t know something about it,” proudly answered the
new member.
“Well, you have no right to bring me here and accuse me of doing what
you yourself do. Read your card, kid, read your card.”
[Illustration: FIRST SALE OF THE DAY.]
Without showing any signs of worry, the little fellow said.
“President what can you expect of a bationist. When I get my badge
things will be different. I cuts swearing out then.”
“Yes, but you better wait instead of buttin in before you are a live
member,” said the carrier.
They talked some time about the matter between themselves and finally
they locked arms, slowly walked out of the office saying:
“Guess we better cut out swearing all around.”
The following story illustrates a good method of treating boys who
disobey their parents. It may not meet the approval of many fathers and
mothers, but the sequel has in it the success of the work among the
street-boys. We regret that we cannot give due credit to the author for
the suggestions embodied in the story.
A young boy was left alone in the yard to play. Everybody had gone
and left the house in his care. He was given the key and told not to
enter the house until the family returned. After a while he became
tired of the birds, the flowers, the the trees, the sunshine. The
spirit of disobedience entered into him and slowly he took his way
to the house. He unlocked the door. The first thing met his eye was
his father’s razor. He had always been forbidden to touch it. But the
spirit of license ran riot in his veins, and in using it he cut his
face until the blood trickled down. Next he made his way to a matchbox.
He had always been told to let it alone. He first built fences with
matches on the floor, then fires under the lace curtains. A hole in
the carpet, ruined curtains and his fingers blistered was the result.
Suffering with pain and ashamed of his disobedience he steals out under
the trees, and like Adam in the garden, he thought he could hide his
sins by hiding himself. So he stole away and crawled under some bushes.
When his father came home, discovered the ruined articles, he thought,
what can be done to restore and mend that which his boy had broken, had
ruined? His razor was broken, but he could buy a new one. His matches
were consumed, but he could buy more. The curtains and carpet were
defaced by fire, but they could be replaced and repaired. Wealth could
repair the damage done to the house and make all as before. Skill and
nature could repair the wrong done to the hand and the face, and make
them as they were before.
But where were the riches and where was the teacher that could make the
boy’s heart as it was before his disobedience? None could be found.
Let me tell you what happened. The father came not to upbraid, but to
entreat; not to chastise, but to weep; The child’s hand was burned, the
father’s heart was broken. The boy cried for shame, the father cried
for sorrow. The father put his arms about the boy and with his head
upon his breast together they sobbed out their sorrow. One part of it
was the boy’s confession, and the other part of it was the father’s
pain. Together they made a new resolution and hand to hand, and heart
to heart, and love to love, they began together to repair the ruin that
had been wrought.
During the early stages of a boy’s membership he is constantly reminded
that some day he will leave the street, he will seek employment
elsewhere, and his start in a business life depends upon his street
work. To illustrate this teaching, a boy found a small child’s savings
bank. It was filled with money, small coin; and it was heavy. It was
picked up on the street over a mile from the president’s office. As
soon as found, the boy started on a run, as they always do, for the
office. It was delivered with the usual instruction “to please find the
owner.” To try the newsie the president called him aside and said, in a
confidential whisper: “Why didn’t you sneak around the corner, into an
alley, any place where no one could see you, and take a stone break the
old bank all to pieces, take the money, and, my, what a good time you
could have had.”
The boy quickly replied: “No, sir, Mr. President, suppose I wanted a
job, and stood in line to be questioned by the man, and he would ask,
have you always been honest? What would I say? Why! my face would show
I did something wrong—I took a little bank from some poor boy, and he
would say, I don’t want a boy I would have to be afraid of; no that
don’t belong to me.”
This plainly shows what can be successfully impressed upon the minds of
these hustling, seemingly thoughtless, street-boys. And when the owner
of that bank proved to be a little girl—and how happy she was when it
was found and returned to her, the boy said: “I would rather have the
girl’s smiles than all the money the bank contained.”
_PART SIXTH_