The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1892-12-30
ONE OF THE LEAST.
A Good-Hearted and Generous waif %
the Street.

He was coming out of a bake-shop
with hot bun in each dirty little hand.
] knew the buns We're hot by the way
he handled them, and the sugar glist-
ened on their shining crusts. He ate
one and held the other behind him as
he trotted along the street. Being in
a Summing mood, followed him.
Presently another street-boy stole up
behind him and was about to sneak the
behind-hand bun, but Mr.. Boy snatcbed
it away in a hurry and began to de-
YOUR it with profound relish.
Say" called the other Arab, Eyer
must hev eyes n tn back Nv yer he'd"
Yep" said the bun-boy, didn't yer
know it?"
Eyer howlin swell. thet's wot yer
be-" Knocked the other, and ran off
Ny boy had taken two big bites from
his second bun, reducing it by half,
when a waif suddenly stood before
him watching with great, appealing
eyes that were bright with hunger. A
girl-waif with tously hair and ragged
pinafore.
"Wot yer want, young un?"
"Nawthin'."
yep yer do. Wot's de use err lyin'?
There, take it, I dern't want it." and
he tossed the bun to her with princely
scorn of its fate, but his lips worked
hungrily as he saw it disappear.
Up to this time my boy had behaved
most decorously, but as the waif de-
voured the remnant of his cherished
bun he gave a whoop like Comanche
Indian, and bounded into the street af-
ter wagon that was being driven rap
idly past, followed by another rig go
ing at the same rate of speed. The boy
lodged between them.
"Oh, he will be killed. He will be
killed." I screamed.
''Kflled navthin," said a hoarse
voice like that of young crow at my
side, hes amt tibet kind wot gets
killed"
Surely not, for he was hanging to
the back of that first wagon, his little
body swaying to and fro in a cloud of
dust.
I lost sight Of him then, but later on
] saw a crowd gather around two boys
who were fighting viciously Tho
most violent and hardest kicker, bitter,
slugger and general characterization
was my bun-hoy.
When they were separated he was
covered with gore and dirt, but he was
not crying. The other boy was doing
that, and the victor called him cow
ard and nearly brought on another
fight.
why did you want to fight him?"
asked of my small hero.
Cause he calls m sister Names" he
answered, clinching his fists and get
ting ready for another scrimmage.
Don't you know it is very wicked TO
hght?' / persisted.
Nav. Don't care If It's wen Teller
sasses me. kin lick him, though, yer
bet"
at that moment hand-orgau man
came along and TO the merry strains of
Rory O'Moore." my young hopeful be-
gan a side walk can-can that threat
ened the lives of pedestrians. But /
thought better Of him when from the
torn recesses of q ragged pocket he
fshed cut a cent and gave it 10 the or
gan-grinder.
You have good heart If you do
fight" said. encouragingly.
That's for the monk--it's sick and
can't go round no more. Say, be you a
follern me? Cause I amt mashed on
you-see?"
TIE next moment he was off with ?
loud Hello, Cop" and saw him Join
a policeman who took no more notice
of him than II he had been a grasshop-
per. But ne was very confidential.
and doubt not he was describing the
effectual manner in which he fought 20
a finish the teller that "saSsed" him.
Detroit Free Press