Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1923-03-30

In the big city it may be DIFF
ferent; there are doubtless good little
boys who disdain bad little boys, and
poor little boys who are never to he
noticed under any circumstances. Put
in a small town, every boy, good or
bad, rich or poor, stands among boys
on his own merits. The son of the
banker who WINS a turning-pole IN
the back yard, does homage to the
bakers boy who can sit on the bar
and drop and catch by his legs; while
the good little boy who is kept in wide
collars and cuffs by a mistaken mother,
gaZes through the white paling of his
fathers fence at the troupe headed
for the swimming hole, and pays all
the reverence which his dwarfed ma
ture can muster to the sign of the two
fingers. In the social order of boys
who live in country towns, a boy is
measured by what he car do, and not
by what his father is. And so, Win
field Hancock Pennington, whose boy
name was Piggy Pennington, was the
King of Boyville. For Piggy could
walk on his hands, curling n foot
gracefully over his back, and pointing
the other straight in the air; he could
hang by his heels on a flying trapeze;
he could chin a pole so many times
that no one could count the number;
he could turn a SomerSault in the air
from the level ground. both backwards
and forwards, he could tread" water
and 'lay" his hair; he could hit any
marble in any ring from flaws" and
"knucks down, and better than all.
he could cut his initials in the ice on
skates, and whirl around and around
so many times that he looked like an
animated shadow, when he would dart
away up the stream, his red "com-
fort" Tapping behind him like a laugh
of defiance. In the story books such
a boy would be the son of a widowed
mother, and turn out very good or
very bad, but Piggy was not a story
book boy, and his father kept a gro
Gerry store, from which Piggy used to
steal so many dates that the boys said
his father must have cut up the alma
nae to supply him. AS he never gave
the goodies to the other boys, but
kept them for his own use, his name
of piggy was his by all the rights
of Boyville.
There was one thing Piggy Penning-
ton could not do, and it was the n of
all things which he most wished he
could do; he could not under any cir
cumstances say three consecutive and
>4ho-A.A rya-1r 70 m nirI T1ndnr Hf-
teen and over nine. Even after
school Piggy could not join the select
coterie of boys who followed the girls
down through town to the postofice.
He could not tease the girls about alb
SEM boys at such times and make up
rhymes like:
"First the cat and then her tail
Jimmy Sears and Maggie Hale"
and then shout them out for the crowd
to hear. Instead Of joining this court
ly troupe Piggy Pennington went off
with the boys who really didn't care
for such things, and fought. or played
cracks up" or wrestled his way leis-
urely home in time to get in his might
wood" But his heart was not in these
pastimes it was with a red shawl of
q peculiar shade, that was vending its
way to the post office and back to a
home in one of the few two-stOry
houses in the little town. Time and
again had Piggy tried to make some
sign to let his feelings be known, but
every time he had failed. Lying in
wait for her at orners, and suddenly
breaking upon her with a glory of
backward and forward somersaults
did not convey the state of his heart.
So only one heart beat with but
one single thought, and the 9th
er took motto candy and valen-
tines and red apples and picture
cards and other tokens of esteem from
other boys, and beat on with any num-
Der of thoughts, entirely immaterial
to the uses of this narrative. But
Piggy Pennington did not take to the
enchantment Of corn silk cigarettes
and rattan and grapevine cigars; ne
tried to sing, and walled dismal bal
lads about the "Gypsy's Warning"
and 1.-THE Child in the Grave With Its
Mother and "She's a Daisy, She's a
Darling She's a Dumping, SneS a
Lamb" whenever he was in hearing
distance of his hearts desire, in the
hope of conveying to her some hint
of the state of his affections; but it
was useless. Even when he tried to
whistle pl%aintively as he passed her
house in the cleaning, his notes
brought forth no responsive echo.
One morning in the late spring, he
spent half an hour before breakfast
among his mothers roses, which were
Just in first bloom. He had taken out
there all the wire from an old broom,
and all his kite string. His mother
had to call three times before he
would leave his work. The youngster
was the first to leave the table, and by
eight o'clock he was at his task again.
Before the first school bell had rung,
Piggy Pennington was bound for the
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