the 5:42 Train. He was carrying a Dog Collar, a Sickle, a Basket of Egg
Plums and a Bicycle Tire.

The Suburbanite saw the A.D.T. Kid in Tears and it struck him that here
was a Bully Chance to act out the Kind-Hearted Pedestrian who is always
played up strong in the Sunday School Stories about Ralph and Edgar.

"Why do you weep?" he asked, peering at the Boy through his
concavo-convex Nose Glasses.

"Oh, gee! I was just Thinking," replied the Urchin, brokenly. "I was
just Thinking what chance have I got to grow up and be the Main Stem,
like Mr. Jeffries."

[Illustration: THE KID]

"What a perverted Ambition!" exclaimed the Suburbanite. "Why do you set
up Mr. Jeffries as an Ideal? Why do you not strive to be like Me? Is it
not worth a Life of Endeavor to command the Love and Respect of a Moral
Settlement on the Outskirts? All the Conductors on our Division speak
pleasantly to Me, and the Gateman has come to know my Name. Last year
I had my Half-Tone in the Village Weekly for the mere Cost of the
Engraving. When we opened Locust avenue from the Cemetery west to
Alexander's Dairy, was I not a Member of the Committee appointed to
present the Petition to the Councilmen? That's what I was! For Six Years
I have been a Member of the League of American Wheelmen and now I am a
Candidate for Director of our new four-hole Golf Club. Also I play Whist
on the Train with a Man who once lived in the same House with T. DeWitt
Talmage."

Hearing these words the A.D.T. Kid ceased weeping and cheerfully
proceeded up an Alley, where he played "Wood Tag."

MORAL: _As the Twig is Bent the Tree is Inclined._

_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ BASE BALL FAN _WHO_ TOOK _THE_ ONLY KNOWN CURE

Once upon a Time a Base Ball Fan lay on his Death-Bed.

He had been a Rooter from the days of Underhand Pitching.

It was simply Pie for him to tell in what year Anse began to play with
the Rockfords and what Kelly's Batting Average was the Year he sold for
Ten Thousand.

If you asked him who played Center for Boston in 1886 he could tell you
quick--right off the Reel. And he was a walking Directory of all the
Glass Arms in the Universe.

More than once he had let drive with a Pop Bottle at the Umpire and then
yelled "Robber" until his Pipes gave out. For many Summers he would come
Home, one Evening after Another, with his Collar melted, and tell his
Wife that the Giants made the Colts look like a lot of Colonial Dames
playing Bean Bag in a Weedy