The daily morning journal and courier., 1905-01-12
THE NICE LITTLE BOY GAVE THE
 TQIIClII Il0N A cIIo pIoIsI

TOUGH BOY A SURPRISE.
 A few afternoons ago a pretty little boy of the mammals blessed angel type leaned against the front gate of Six teenth street domiciIe.
 He was busily engaged in minding his own business.
 He wore pretty knickerbockers and pretty hose and pretty buttoned shoes. A pretty belted ulster hung jauntily over his little frame. On his head was a perfectly lovely tam o'shanter.
 The boy was slender and not rugged looking. He didn't wear spectacles. as the little Ralph Waldo Emersons of his type so often dos but his watery blue eyes looked weak. His pale, yellowish hair rung to his collar, where it was chopped off short, Russian moujik- wise.
 The boy, as observed above, was just ieanlng against the front gate of his nome attending exclusively to his own business. t'-
 Along came a tough little boy, diked out in exceedingly bum clothing. and With bad twinkle iii his eye.
 Ine tough boy was a couple of years older, apparently, than the pretty little blessed angel boy, and bigger by con siderable. He stopped when he got up 10 the pretty boy, and regarded the latter with saturnine grin.
 Say" he eventually remarked to the boy with the pretty belted ulster, "w'y don't you go in an lay down. before you break some O them togs, Archie?''
 The pretty boy didn't even turn his head to regar dthe tough boy. He looked straight before him and ap- peared to be more intent than ever in htseffort to mind his own business.
 Say ef had all O them duds orl,'' went on thte tough boy, seating himself comfortably on a stepping stone across the pavement, "I wouldn't do ting but give me fr'ens a pink tea"
 The nice little boy, however didn't seem to hear. Efs looked up and down the street, with a vague question in his gaze. t>
 Say, ain't yeg 'fraid O something comin' loose?" inquired the tough hoy, after a pause, picking up some loose icicles and tossing them experimentally at the nice little boys feet. ... i
 However the boy with the nice raj ment obviously had too much sto. think about to take ally notice. @s. t..
 'Y'r mudder chops VT hair wit' ax, don't she?'' inquired the urchin, throw ing a heavier piece of ice at the others right shoe and hitting the mark. .,
 Cut that outn' said the nice little boy, not so much as glancing at. the other. There was no anger in his tone. It was as quiet and matter-of-fact as could be. Stop that!" TO repeated, yawning in bored sort of way.
 Stop it, heyf,'n" said the urchin, tauntingly. Who's goin' t make me stop it, Reggie? wot VT goin' t do bout it?" and he shot still heavier chunk of ice at the nice little boys shoes, and again reached his mark,
 The mice little boy stretched his arms and then strolled over to the curb where the tough boy sat. The latter rose threateningiy.
 q think" remarked the nice little boy, sticking his milk white chin within about two inches of the urchin's grimy face, that you'd better take d walk"
 The astonishment of the tough boy was so great that he had difficulty in articulating for a moment.
 Who, me?" he gasped, his fists clinching. Me walk? Walk we're? Say, petite, how would youse, like t have me hand ye few swif' pokes, jes' f'r luck, ey?'
 T wouldn't like it a little bit" re- sponded the nice little boy. You can't do 1t, anyway; I'd break your face first. You'd better go on. I'm not bothering you"
 Break by face, hey?" yelled the tough boy, stepping back and his prac- ticed fist shot out straight for the pret- ty boys jaw.
 However, the pretty boys jaw wasn't there.
 It's a sin and a shame to destroy all of these illusions that the comic weekly funnyists have labored so earnestly to build up.
 The funnyists for example, invaria- bly portray the grimy gamin as mop. ping up the pavement with the Little Lord Fauntleroy. But facts are facts, and they've got to prevail, even if the most cherished ideals are shattered in the process.
 The nice little boys jaw, as stated, wasn't there. The pretty boy, however, hadn't bolted for it. Instead, he struck the attitude of a miniature Battling Nelson or Jimmie Britt, and then he de- posted mighty slick left-hand cork screw punch on the wind of the aston ished tough boy.
 Before the latter could quite grasp the situation he felt the impact of a very steamy right square on the point of his jaw, and before the entire mean ing of this had soaked into his system he caught a left hook on the right eye that laid him out flat on the asphalt. Then the nice little boy stood over him, fixing his bow necktie with one hand.
 q told you you'd better take walk" he remarked in a low, far-away tone. Got enough?"
 The tough boy scrambled to his feet, feeling of his eye" and gazed wistfully at the nice little boy. He looked to be on the verge of tears. Then he turned around and went his way, murmuring, T got mine all right. This is wot I butt into fir goin' out O me class.''
 The nice little boy watched the re-