Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 July 1884 — THE BAD BOY. [ARTICLE]

THE BAD BOY.

“Say, what has become of your chum ?* asked the grocery man of the’ bad boy, as he found him sitting on the front steps untangling a fish line, when he opened the grocery to sweep out. “I haven't heard anything from your chum for three months. Ain’t dead, is he?”

“No, I guess not,” said the bad boy, as he tried to untie a knot in his fishline with his teeth. “He was alive at 2 p. m., last Saturday, when he wrote to me from Kalamazoo. You see, my ehum was always tuffer nor I was, if you would believe me. He didn’t show so much tuffness right out plain, but he had <it in him bigger ’n a wolf. He didn’t like the way things was a running at home, and made up his mind to run away, and wanted me to go too. He pictured to me how we could go to Chicago and join a circus that was there, and travel, doing some sort of work for our board at first, until we learned how to turn flip-flaps, and then we could get a regular salary, and come home in the fall with our pockets full of money, and the boys would look upon us as heroes. I never had much runaway in me, and I didn’t take to it very kindly, though my chum tried to show, me how I was abused at home, though I don’t think I was abused half as much as I abused other people. After he had pictured to me the picnic we would have, I went and asked pa wbat he thought about it—if it was a good scheme for a boy to run away from home, and I told him the programme my chum had laid out. Pa was a boy once, and he ran away from home, and for a week he didn’t have enough to eat to keep his shape. He told me about it, and how the skin in front of him fell in, and almost got glued to his back-bone, and when he got home they had to run a glovestretbher down his neck and stretch him before he could drink milk. Pa said it was the foolishest thing a boy could do to run away from home, and told me if my chunywanted to go to let him go, and have him write to me if it was a success, and I could go if I wanted to. That seemed to be lair enough, and so I let my chum go, and I just got a letter from him,” and the boy chewed some more on the fish-line.

“And you are going to join him,” said the grocery man, “going to leave your home and all its hallowed associations, its pancakes and church sociables, its cheerful surroundings, and go off with a circus. Well, you are a star fool.” And the grocery man swept a lot of dust into the tangled fishline.” “There you are wrong,” said the boy, as he picked up the line and spread it on the clean floor, and began chewing it where he left off. “Read that letter.” And the boy handed the grocery man a crumpled piece ci paper, which he read as follows: “Kallymazoo, Goon 12. “Dear Hen -If you haint got no money yerself to send me, pawn your sox and sell my dog to the sassidge mill, and kill my hens and sell ’em, and send me ate dollars to cum hoam. iam bust flatter nor a pancake, and hev bin most of the time since I left I was the gol darnest fool out of the idjit isylum to run away. Thar is no munny in the sirkis bizniz. I got a job currying off the zebray and feeding the higheyenies and prodding the kamels, for my bored and login. I hev bin kicked around all the time bi kanvas men, a zebray bit my pants off, and I had to have overhauls made of a gunisax. A high eneigh chawed a couple of mi fingers; a lyon roored at me and made me deef; a sakred ox hooked me with his hump, and a kamel walked on me and tried to eat my koat. A bul-dog that sleeps with the ellyfunt got mad cause I laid down on his hay to sleep, and he chewed my shoes, so I have been barefoot sins we left Michigan sitty. I don’t get nothin to eat cept what the kanvass men leave, and that is not enuff to fat a kanary burd. You shode sense in not going with the sirkis. It makes me kry when I stand by the kages and see the folks go in the show, looking happy, like I was at home ; and 1 haint had nothin to eat all day but a piece of ginger bred a kuntryman give to the ellyfunt, and it was se stale the ellyfunt wouldn’t eat it, and dropped in the dirt. The only sustainance I hev had to-day was chewin a rubber stopper to a pop bottle. Now, Hen, deer friend Hennery, don’t let our folks know how I am fixed, but send me enough munnie fur to ride in a emmygrant car, and I will dig out of this sirkis bizniz too quick, and you can meet me at Bay View when I get back, with some of your old close, and I will be dam glad to get home. Bring some kold mete and mustred, too, ana some of yer ma’s bred. No kake nor nothin like that, cause I ain’t eaten kake this year. Bring balony, and I don’t kare if it is made of yello dog, if it is balony. I druther be a dog in Milwaukee than travel with a sirkis in Kallymazoo, and hev a nappetite and no bolony sassidge. Don’t tell nobody lam bustid. Kinder hint that I have made lots of munney, outside my salary, but that I don’t kare for style enny more. If folks think I have got lots munney they won’t notis that I don't wear no sox. Send pos toffice order care hospital for homeless wanderers, and it will reach me. Don’t sale, old pard, and when I get home I will hareer up yure sole with pints on the sirkis bizniz that will make yure hare stand. Don’t you never run awa. Runnin awa is hel, such as they told us about in Sunday skool. Talk about prodigal sons, lam in a wuss fix than the wun in. the bible, cause he didn’t have zebrays gallop on him and highenies chew him, and his old man fell on his nex and had fat kaf on toast and my pa Will wallop me for supper. I wish it was bible timesnow, dontyou Hen? Wall, my pen is poor, my ink is pale, but my luv for you will never sale don’t forget the bulony sassidge, Yours till deth. Your chum,

“ Well, he is in hard luck,” said the grocerym ;n, folding up the letter. “What are you going to do? send him money 9 ” ’ . ■ ■ “Sent it already,” said the bad boy, as he wound the untangled line up on a piece of shingle. “And my chum ought to strike Bay View on the evening train, about day after to-monow, the way I calculate* and I want you to cut a fresh ■o. ■

bologna sausage, and I will fill him up, you bet. He is the only chum I eves had, except a girl, and she don’t eat bologna, bnt she is litenin’on ice cream, flay, my chum spoils pretty bad, don’t he? Well, he used to run away from school, and he missed his lessons, but I guess this circus experience will teach him to-pay attention, and learn something. Now! am going fishing, and I will be aroupd here with a sack of clothes for my chain day after to-morrow at 4 p. n»., and you have that bologna plugged, will you,* and the bad boy went off singing, “When Duffy comes marching home. Pecfc’s Sun.