That Last Waif; or, Social Quarantine. Fletcher Horace

just receiving its first impressions of life, and of the world, out of which to build a character.

      "What's the use of your lyin' to me, yer little monkey? You know you're a thief and the kid of thieves. The gang you trains wid is the toughest in town. Every mother's brat of you'll deckerate a halter one of those days—sooner or later anyhow, an' probably sooner. You're born to it an' can't help it, I s'pose, but if I catches yer 'round here again I'll thump yer on the head wid my club and you'll find that'll hurt wurser'n a lickin'.—Where does yer live, anyhow?"

      The child answered, giving an indefinite address on the West Side that was undoubtedly false, as charged by the officer, but which was as glibly given as a parrot's favorite phrase.

      "Oh! I knows you're a-lyin,' but I knows yer gang just the same; it's the rottenist in the city and turns out more thieves and murderers than all the rest of town put together. Well! yer h'aint got much show to be different; and, (turning to us, who had stopped to listen)—I don't s'pose the kid's ter blame for doin' what all the people he knows does all the time and thinks it's workin.' I s'pose his father and mother sends him out to steal; that is, if he's got a father—which 'aint likely. There's a gang of about fifty of 'em that works my beat and durin' these excitin' times when there's big crowds on the streets and plenty of hayseeds in town they give a pile of trouble. They hangs around and swipes anything they can get hold of. The little rascals knows that we 'aint got no place to jug 'em 'cept in the regler coolers and as there 'aint no more'n enough room in them for the big crooks we has to let 'em go, and the little cusses knows that as well as we does. They knows a trick or two besides; fer instance, they rushes a fruit stand or a bakery in a gang, carryin' the babies along wid 'em. The big fellers—the biggest of 'em 'aint more 'n about ten—is all as spry as cats and darts in and collars the plunder and then out again into the crowd in a jiffy, leavin' the babies to be scooped by the shop people and turned over to us. This satisfies the shop people all right and the real thieves escapes. We take the little cusses in charge an' have to do something wid 'em, so we takes 'em round a corner, lectures 'em and lets 'em go. That's all we can do an' as the kids knows it, it's a part of their game."

      Turning again to the boy, who all the time had been begging to be allowed to go, the officer said, "Who's them kids on the other side of the street—your brudders, is they? Well, you tell 'em when you sees 'em that if I ever catches 'em on my beat again I'll brudder them so 't they won't ferget it. I'll learn 'em to dance the shuffle as a defi' to me. An' if you git into my hands again I'll cut your ears off close ter yer head, and I'll sew yer mouth up so's yer can't eat no cakes, an' then I guess yer won't want ter steal' em. Now git! yer little bastard, and ter hell wid you!"

      The baby "crook," scampered across the street to where his companions were waiting for him. All the boys put their thumbs to their noses in the direction of the officer, screamed a derisive yell, and disappeared around the corner to "work some other beat" or seek some further amusing adventure.

      The policeman was in a communicative mood and answered our questions as freely and as frankly as they were asked. There seemed to be no secrecy about the lapses of the law. He told us of "panel saloons" not three blocks from the Auditorium, where drugged whiskey could be had for a wink—the wink of a wanton or a confederate of the house—where "greenies" were "run up against" every sort of a "skin game," sometimes ending with choking and robbery, when they would be "thrown out" on the street, too sick to protest, or too ashamed to complain.

      We were shown several great fronts of brick or stone, surrounding the Pullman Building, labeled "hotels," but wherein no registers are kept, as required by law, and where the only credential of respectability called for is, "Room rent in advance." Couples entered and left these "hotels" in an almost unbroken procession. But of these things and sand-bagging and burglary and other crime that is rampant in many large cities our story does not concern itself. Most of these expressions of unwholesome conditions are the result of just such neglect of children as that revealed to us by the incident of the little waif we had just seen reëngulfed by a tide of criminal suggestion, more putrid, malarious and hopeless than the ooze of the Chicago River.

      We were so much interested in the revelation, as it progressed, that we did not grasp the immediate situation of the child, and develop the personal sympathy the case deserved until the little fellow had gone beyond recall. But, as soon as we began to think about it in the quiet of the deserted boulevard, we were seized with a frantic desire to rescue the tiny victim of evil chance, and make it possible, at least, for him to choose between the good and the bad, a privilege boasted by our cant as the birthright of all Americans, but entirely denied to this helpless and hopeless stranger among us.

      The more we thought, the more the desire yearned within us, until it was a constant menace to our peace of mind. The face of the child had been but faintly visible in the frowning shadow of the great arch where we encountered him, and he had given a "fake" address. He was as unidentifiable as would be a shot escaping back into a bag of its fellows. The simile of the pellet of shot occurred to us again and again, and finally suggested a scheme of redemption to include our waif. The only way to be sure of getting the lost shot was by bagging all of the shot. The only way to rescue our waif was to furnish facilities for rescuing all waifs in need of intelligent care. The idea then seemed colossal, but our focalized anxiety to save the baby was equally strong; but, how could it be accomplished? That was the important question. We told the incident of the adventure to our Chicago friends, as we met them, and wrote about it to distant friends asking for help, for encouragement, at least, that it might be done.

      Sympathy was not denied our waif in any instance, but substantial hope came quickest from the practical kindergartners. They assured us that it would not be a difficult matter to encompass the entire field of need with complete and adequate care, if only there were combined effort. They said that the kindergarten had won its way to approval by parents of both the poor and the rich by the beautiful results it had achieved in character-building; that practically all children were susceptible of being trained into good citizens if cared for during the period of present neglect—from dawning perceptions until seven to ten years—and that until the money-earning age no opposition on the part of careless or depraved parents was encountered. The kindergarten had proved its value and it was only a matter of furnishing the facilities required to rescue the present and all future generations from the possibility of such neglect as had excited our sympathy.

      We then remembered the example of the kindergarten system of the city of Rotterdam, in Holland, that we had examined at the invitation of the President of the Board of Education of that city. Protection was practically assured to all children by a cordon of thirty large character-building schools, which they also call by the name of kindergarten, where not only habit-forming instruction, but milk and cakes necessary to supplement any lack of nourishment at home, were supplied freely at a cost of only eighteen cents per week for each child to the treasury of the school fund.

      An interesting feature of the Rotterdam example is that if parents prefer not to have their children receive free nourishment they are privileged to pay the cost to the teacher in charge of each school, to be refunded to the city. Nine-tenths of the parents voluntarily make the payment rather than be considered too poor or too indifferent to do so.

      We remembered the example of thirty-four States of the United States in passing child-saving laws, leading naturally to child-protection, and also the experience of the New Orleans combined associations in establishing, within a year, five free kindergartens in conjunction with the Charity Organization Society, and the unanimous support that their plans of reform had received at the hands of both municipal councillors and a constitutional convention. Why might not all cities be as progressive as the Dutch city across the ocean, and why might not all municipal councillors and the state legislators emulate the example of the most progressive, when character of Apprentice Citizen was at stake? Why might not the people who accomplished the World's Columbian Exposition, the World's Parliament of Religions, and who spend eight millions of money annually—forty dollars for each pupil—on higher education, set the world a new example, by establishing such perfect social quarantine that no child could suffer the neglect that is a present reproach to civilization?

      We learned, in our inquiry as to conditions prevailing in Chicago, that many kindergartens were