there must be; boss
rule at that. That is the kind their fathers own, the fashion of the
slums. It is a case of rule or ruin, order or anarchy. To let the boys
have full swing would merely be to invite the street in to take charge of
the house, and only trouble would come of it. But the boss must be a
benevolent and very politic despot. The boy must have a fair chance. To
enlist him heart and soul, the opportunity must be given him to show that
he _can_ rule himself. And he will show it. He must be allowed to choose
his own leaders. His freedom of speech must not be abridged in debate by
any rule but that of parliamentary law. Ten to one he will not abuse it,
but will enforce that rule and submit to it as scrupulously as the most
punctilious of his elders. Let him be sure that his right to
self-government will not be interfered with, and he will voluntarily give
up the street and his gang. Three boys' clubs had been started by the
ladies of the College Settlement, on the principle of non-interference
within the few and simple rules of the house. The boys wrote their own
laws and maintained order with success. The street looked on, observant.
To the policeman it had opposed secret hostility or open war. But a social
order with the policeman eliminated was something worthy of approval. Its
offer of surrender was brought in form by a committee representing the
"Pleasure Club" in the toughest block of the neighborhood. "We will change
and have your kind of a club," was its message. Thus the fourth boys' club
of the Settlement was launched.

They have not all had so peaceful a beginning. Storm and stress of weather
have ushered in most of them. Each new one has cost something for
window-glass, and the mud of the neighborhood has had its inning before it
was forced to abdicate in favor of the club. It was so with the first that
was started, fourteen years ago, in Tompkins Square, that was then pretty
much all mud and given over to anarchy and disorder. In fact, it was the
mud that started the club. It flew so thick about the Wilson Mission, and
bespattered those who went out and in so freely that on a particularly
boisterous night the good missionary's wife decided that something must be
done. She did not send for a policeman. She had tried that before, but the
relief he brought lasted only while he was in sight. She went out and
confronted the mob herself. When it had yelled itself hoarse at her, she
sweetly asked it in to ha