For the Good that is in Air.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 8019, 4 January 1906, Page 4

For the Good that is in Air.

/he Story of One of the Submerged. Born of a race of law breakers whose deeds are interwoven in crime's category, ranging from the petty pilfering of a " wipe " to the murderous blow of a sandbag followed by a scurrying into the darkness of the vile blind alleys, is it surprising that Brickie looks with eyes of inquisitiveness upon the world from his gutter paradise, where he wallows in infantile abandon and tries to crowd his dirty little toe into his mouth the Bame as other infants? But babes have no instincts as to crime and the results of its evils? Perhaps not; but the little thief in whose blood runs riot the base influence of a race of degenerates learns early to acquire the inheritance of the past. When it steals a crust from its fellow guttersnipe, perhaps as bad as itself, it feels within its heart that it has performed a certain something that swells its pride ns well as its stomach. The inheritance is at work within the tiny being, and sooner or later it will burst forth into the full capacity of crime against which the strong arm of the law is the only preventive. The sun shone upon the dirty face of Briokie with the same warm and vivifying glow as it did upon the lily face of the delioate, satin clad and belaced scion of rich aristocracy, trundled along the walk by the white capped nurse. The rain fell upon the gutter baby and the creature enjoyed it, while the petted patrician darling whined and would not be comforted. The frost touched the toes and nipped the nose of the child of the degenerates, while the pampered baby in furs snuggled and whimpered as it slid deeper into its warm nest.' It is a case of the survival of the fittest, or, if you will, a Bimple problem in the line of certain things neither you nor I will solve; no, not if we strive nntil the day of doom. But the gutter baby loves what the belaced one hates. And so this child of crime's inheritance later on felt a glow of pride suffuse its being when it came diving into the blind alley to dodge the faithful cop. Into one door end out of the other, doubling again and again, the quarry went. Scurrying around the pump in the dirty court, with its rags in sight of the cop, the little thief finally eluded the other, and disappeared through a narrow doorway and glided up a pair of dark stairs that led to greater darkness above. The roof was reached, and with one daring leap the creature cleared a narrow space and slid down a water pipe and landed safely in its cellar home, far away from the pulling cop who had long since lost the trail. Briokie i 3 twelve years old and has made his first great theft of importance. He has pilfered many a'" wipe," it is true, but here at last lie has made the first starting step leading to grind results, from which so many dark and levious paths diverge. Hot and panting, he lies huddled under a miserable bed in his cellar home, holding to him the first grand prize. It is a lady's purse. His weasel-like eyes peep from under tie bed as he hugs the prize. His ears are alert and he hears the steps of his mother descending the stone steps leading to the mean home. She will be so glad to see him home—and not empty handed. Bat why should he give up the proceeds of his hard won wealth tor—he knows what; the black bottle in the cupboard, and after thai blows and curses. He' tucked the pretty bead purse under his shirt, where it rested warm but hard against his heart. When his mother entered the dismal room Brickie was seated on a box dangling his heels and whistling a merry refrain. " Brickie, my lambie, back before mamma, eh ? Did my pretty little darling bring anything nice for his poor mamma this time?" "Nut'n 1 doin' ter-day; not a t'in'," responded the boy, as he shook his red head. The purse against his heart felt hot as fire and hard as steel as the • blood within his breast pounded fiercely. " Mamma is so sorry, lambie. Mamma is tired and hungry—and dry. Are you quite sure you did not bring something nice lc* poor mamma?"

" Not a t'in j nut'n' doin' tor-day." " But the poor cop in the next alley was looking all around rar a nice little boy who was bringing something good ior his mamma —bis poor mamma, who is so hungry and tired and dry, my lambie. Mary Ann, the little girl down in the court, told Hie nice little Boy's mamma that Brickie come near getting pinched again. Didn't mamma's lambie and pet bring—why, he did not forget his poor mamma after all, sweet, precious learie!" She shook him like a rat and cuffed and bundled him about like a bale of rags. The purse slipped from its hiding place and foil to the floor with a clink, and the coins rolled out. She smote him across the face with her clenched fist, and he fell in a heap in the corner, where he crouched down, with blood pouring from his nose. And there he stoqps, his tears mingling with his blood, and with, set teeth and grippled fists while the woman gathers up the coins. " Mamma's dearie did not forget her, did he?'" Stay here, pet, and poor mamma will go for bread and something nice to drink. Mamma is so dry. We will have a very nice ti.ue to-night, lambie." But Brickie knew the meaning of a nice time. His hide beats now the traces of many a mad orgie of drunkenness there in the damp, dark cellar. He uttered nothing while he watched her from beneath the tangled locks of red hair. After she departed with the black bottle, he hurriedly washed the blood from his face and went out. No one was in sight; the alley was deserted. Gliding along the will he reached the street, and turned down toward the whnrf. And, as he proceeded, his heart was boiling with hatred toward Higgins the cop. If there is one human being Brickie loaths with a loathing that almost borders upon insane.ferocity, it is Higgins. Higgins is his enemy, the one who haß harried him and warned him ever since he can remember. Higgins is his fate, his ioe. Once when Higgins made him carry back to the wharf a great big melon, Brickie sidled up to the cop and said: " I'll git even wid yonse fur dat!" " G'wan, ye little rat! Ye'll git aven wid the divil av ye don't moind and quit yet monkey bizness." " But f will git even wid youse." " Av you do ye're a, daisy, Brickie. G'wan now and don't be gettin' in any more scrapes ■May or I'll run ye in." "Higgins shook big club after the boy, who slouched away muttering and with lowering brows. All the mad bad blood boiled within him. What did one melon more or less matter to that big pile of emerald green on the wharf? Why had he been deprived of his feast, and why should he not gratify his taste for good things as well as others ? Why was Higgins the cop always looming up between him and the things he wanted, reached out for and almost secured ? Higgins was more of an object of bitter hatred than ever after the melon affair. Over and over again, while he lay on the rags of his bed in his dismal cellar home, Brickie muttered: " I'll git even wid yonse for dat."

The next evening Higgins was obliged to arrest Brickie lor lifting a watch from a man's pocket. " This is the raime ye go, me bye," muttered Higgins, as he took a firm hold of the boy's jacket and marched him to the station. It was Brickie's first night behind the bars; hitherto he had escaped that, the chill stone cell and iron bars. And Higgins, his hated

enemy, is the one who is to blame for it all. What business had Higgina about just as he lifted the fine ticker ? What a mad, overwhelming, passionate hatred surges through his every fibre as he lies there on the hard cot,in the dark cell muttering again and again: " I'll git even wid youße fur dat I" The next morning it was a very bedraggled little street Arab, with weasel eyes and a shock of red hair, that confronted the judge, who leaned over to look at him as he inquired : " What is the charge, oflioer ?" " Stealing a watch, yer Honor," answered Higgins. " Who appears against the boy ?" "I, your Honor. I caught him in the act," uttered a Btranger, stepping forward. " Boy, have you ever been arrcßted before?" " No," sullenly replied Brickie. " Do you wish to press the chargs igainst this boy?" asked the Judge, turning toward the stranger. " I do. There are too many of his kind at large. He attempted to Bteal my watch. I certainly must press the charge against him." The Judge sighed aa he passed his band wearily over his face and leaned back. How many times has he heard the same response I The lad is a bad one, who must be put away for the good of the public. " What is the boy's record, officer ?" "Well—purty bad, barrin' sumtoimeß fair. Ginerally bad, though." " Have you anything to say, boy?" The Judge leaned over and looked down at the upturned face. "Nut'n'." ' ■ " And you have nothing to say about going to the Keformatory " In an instant the little figure grew stiff as steel; a look of honor came over his face, and he cried:— "Oh, don't do datl Don't do dat I I'll jump in the river—-I'll—l won't go; I won't! Don't send me derel" The cry came like a wail of despair, and it startled all who heard it. " Send meter de prison an' keep mo dere. Kill me—but don't put me in der ' formertoiy! I—l'll kill some one when I git out, I Willi ' " But that is where bad boys are sent." " Dey git worser an' worser after dey come out," cried Brickie. The judge leaned back again. He had heard of such things as this before. The youngsters disliked the reformatory. But why ? He leaned over and asked: " How do you know that the reformatory makes boys worse ? " ' " 'Cause Micky de Skate was dere. Micky only lifted a few 'wipes' 'fore he went dere. When he got out he—ho killed a man I" The words came hissing from the boy's lips its he stood there trembling with mingled fear and rage, with his weasel-like eyes fixed upon the [ace of his hated enemy, Higgins the cop. The little orbs fairly emitted sparks that struck Higgins' heart strangely startliugly, fcrave as he was. " Docs any one in this room know of any good about this boy, who seems to have not one friend in, the world? Has he a friend in the world?' Is this lad so utterly bad that there is no one to say a word for him ? " The judge's eyes roved from face to face as he spoke. A hush fell that was almost painful, and it was only broken by [the sobs of the boy who was in such mortal fear of the ref- rmntory. The judge sighed again. The boy hud not a friend in the \\orld. Only a child and friondless! But stay I A man stepped nearer the bench and began to speak in a low tone,, gradually raising his voice until it reached every corner of the room. And when the sound of that voice fell upon Brickio's ears a strange look came upon his face and he stood there spellbound, with his eyes fixed upon the speaker. It is •Higgins—Higgins, the ccp, his enemy—the only one who has a kind word to speak in his behalf.

In a few words the cop told about Brickie's deeds Hint were good and brave. He told the story of the other sfdc of the poor little unfortunate's life, the brighter part, the better, the grander; the cleaner page of the guttersnipe's life was revealed by Higgins, the cop, who had so often stood with olub over the. lad's head and a word of warning. " That bye, yer Honor, has donesumthin* now tin'thin that men would be bothered to do. He saved the loives av two little gurls lust week from the wheels av the street curs. I scon him wid me own eyes dive in front av tliein cars an' pull them gurls away fruni the wheels. But for little Brickie them little wans would bo angels now, yer Honor." The stranger, who hail '»oen eiiger to appear against the boy, wa:s silenced by the Judge when he attempted to speak. And Higgins continued : " The bye, yer Honor, is a brave lad—hut bail, maybe. Jjast month at a big lire ho crawled loiitc a monkey up a tellygraf pole an' slhl over a wire an' into a room. When ho came out he had a baby in his arms, an' niver a fireman dined try the same. Because av them tliinge, yer Honor, I've been a little aisy wid him, a little aisy. He has many a good dive oil the dock after a sinkin' man or bye to his credit, Brickie has. He's a tough little felly, but he's had bad bringin' up ; an' I don't think no wan ever took the trouble to toll him what was bad or what was good. I've said what I hnve because there is no wan else to spake a word for him. The great, big world is Brickie's only friend, God help hini!" The Judge turned to the stranger who quickly said : "The boy is a hero. I withdraw all charges." ... The next day " Brickie " came to Higgins and said: " I won't git even wid youse. Youse been good, youse has." It was years ago that all this happened Higgins is now on the retired list. The old policeman's heart warms and his face glow* when his adopted son, Brickie, steps briskly up the stairs, looking smart and handsome in his new uniform. Ah! No one would recognise the little guttersnipe in the fine reft headed officer who graces his position, ia alert after the evildoer—but is sometime! easy with the boys. Keller in American press.