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FLOWERS COLLECTION 19! Orleans Takes S Its Homeless “Newsies O ••• 9 • ••• • *«. ••• # • ••• # *•* • ••• • * • • ••• ••• • O # .i ► ••• C -** d«• * • Newboys' Home, Baronne Street, New Orleans, La. BY PAUL LINCOLN Writon for CA« funny Soul H JU'O yo' 'pa-pur-T'” the famil iar cry greets our ears morning -anil even ins. a)l seasons, and all weaflher. before the pleasant "break fast which precedes our plunge Into the stinging •old outside. nr we sit at the end of the day warm and conitVirtaoie by our blazing hearthstones, the curtains drawn to shut out nil(i fall iicy snow ond sleet or miserably drenching the darkness and the misery amt tiio evil that, lurks therein. It even has a cheerful sound, the rtnig- i: y -note in the ridiculously distorted iV'mis bringing v smile as we recall some particular “newsy" of our acquaint- awv, self-reliant, ubiquitous, regarding a:• tr.ie world alike, for he knows it too well to be any respecter of persons. Thoughts of sympathy for 'his numbed hands and feel, his pooriy furnished hack or sioma.'h rarely come to us. strug gling, bn ttlinlg. tiglvTIng. his little exist ence is part of the outside, and beyond the partioujar need of ours which ii meets, makes no claim mpon us. "Arabs" wo rail these news dissemina tors. because they live just anywhere, often drifting from one city to ’another, and “lougfts,” for their knowbril-ge of I• tv, a.nd readiness in meeting It—wli.it opposing force cannot be overcome tiy means of ffsticuftls and be siKVossflflly distanced in flight; that is. an agile “cop" who can come up with the Hying heels or vanishing form of a newsboy as he. loses himself around a corner. But one permitted on the inside finds a social status at virile os it is unique, its disTTnctive features as marker! as ever anywhere oharacterze creed or code; -honor, as the newsboy understands it: the survival of the fittest, and the pro jection of the weak—these three may be said to comprise his system ,,f ethics. t<et Owen Kildare tel] you out of his own experience, on nine Bowery. Though you need not go to Now York; In other cities while fho class is proportionately small er and hardships sometimes less, wits ore none the less keen; the structure or civics nox less comprehensive, nor oppor tunities for unpremeditate 1 heroism few er. Weighed for the thorougnifess with ■which he manages his own line of trade and the p.#j.sibilTTIes for good or evil to the state incused in his small person, it.e newsboy js not the insignificant fac tor lie ait first appears. Though it is seldom the individual real izes i-Tus and the Community rarely ever. Oises there are like that of rite Cliivalgo newspaper w-.mrm in New Orleans the other day who found a. little boy she ■ bad known at home stranded in the Crescent City and with hunger gnawing at ills vitals, and. who fed him and took him hack with her to Chicago, saving him at least for a time, but efforts to limp newsboys as a class like that of Edna Wallace Hopper in the home for the ill tie waifs *»l»e is erecting in Oakland. Cal., are few, and the response tr*>m public sympathy is etrangeiy lacking. The Newsboys’ Home in New Orleans, an example of concerted charity, is so unusual it appears like a friendly Light in a world of nilghit and neglect. / New Orleans is rather exceptional along l ues of charity, anyway. In evidence is the true story of the cotton exchange newsboy, which is related like this: Seme years ago a member of the «- i in go came on a small boy selling pa- f'-rs near the building. The ch'ld. who appeared less than five years old, cflfer- t-’l him one. which he bought, asking be little fellow what he was doing there and why didn't he go homo to his i tot her? Tie had none. Ills father? lie had no father. Xo home? Xo—no home. Other "newsies.'' hanging off within hearing distance, were. Interrogated, and ' r’berated the pitiful facts. When but three years old the child had been brought bv ills parents to Now Orleans, and shortly afterwards both had died in the same day of yellow fever. They wire, strangers in the city, and the peo- plo In the house in which they were staying', not wishing to be burdened with tin boy. thrust it im into the street, v here, after dark, some newsboys found him. And for a year and a half they had taken care of fhe little fellow, who slept with them In such confers as they could make sure of, and shared in their common fortunes, selling lii.s papers with tl»e rest. The member picked tile child up i:: his arms and bora him into the exchange. Placing him on a chair, he related to the i tlier members present his story, and, at its conclusion, turned his liat upside down and threw into it a S20 bill. In less than ten minutes the hat held several hundred dollars .the boy was formally adopted by the exchange, and plans for his education were sol on foot. A good home was faund for him. and as soon as old enough he was . ntered into the public schools. Each year the fund for ills maintenance was added to, until by tile time lie had finished, there was quite a good sum to his account. He was a fine boy; bright, promising, stateful, and it was determined to send birr. t«* college. Accordingly, he went --he was now about eighteen. PATHETIC ENDING. But this beautiful story of pure, dis interested kindness has a sad ending. While at college the young fellow died. But the. record he left, his gratitude, and the promise of his young life were com pensation for all that had hw-n done for him. So much for wha.t was in one news boy. A vsit <o the Newsboys' home in Bu- rrnne street develops amusing, as well as touching incident. A priest who had never visited iiio home gives the at— • cunt of his introduction something after tlits wise: Walking down Canal street, k’r ear was caught by the cry: "Ev'- r.ln' pa-pur-r! All 'bout do mur-der!" and he ivaitt d for tire boy to come up, intending- to buy on*, but the urchin rar to him. apologetically. “ 'Xcu.se me. Eawder. dorp ain't nJ murder,’' he said. “1 wasn't hollerin' for yon. Eawder; 1 wouldn't fool no priest fiv nothin’; .me.’ And why, then, asked the Father, did he shout, all about the murder? ‘Oh,’" was the wicked reply. “I'm dead sure, Eawder, dere’s been some murder somewlseres in dls paper. So yer sec, Eawder. it ain't ’xactly no lie wot 1 holler. It's only t<>r sell ter dem foik- ses as buy only a paper when ye holler murder or fires, or shootin". Take a pa per for nothin'. Eawder?" “But Iiow did you know?" inquired the priest, "that 1 am a father?" "Oh, dat's easy 'nurf. Pl'st r can te j by yer collar, den by yer face, den by yer clothes, and den by yer walk, and now by yer talk. A.nd den yer vje. Eawder, I Tit-longs to der Newsboys’ Home and lots of priests comes dere. I can tell a bishop, too—Paper, sir." to an old man who answered gruffly “Now, .dat guy ain't no priest. Eaw der, sure." he went on, accepting tne rebuff cheerfully. “Yer never hears no priest talk like dat to no newsboy: dey's got more manners dan dat, yet bet.” Chronicles of Paul Yelverton, Adventurer Being Sixth of Written Around One Character By DEREK VANE. Series of Eight Short Stories, Each Complete, Yet All £/ HERE'S nothing doing on •the Stock Exchange," Paul Yelverton remarked, as he sat in hi's office in Throg morton Street. “Every thing la as dull as ditcH- water, and there are no signs of improvement in the ne.ir future. i am sorry for you, as you wu.nl to make some money, but I am more sorry for my self.'* "That, goes without say ing: " replied his companion with a dry laugh. "Indeed, things have come to suoh a pass that I am seriously thinking of launching out in a fresh direcitio-n." he wen t on im pert#Humbly. “You migh t •help me there and yourself •at the same ■time if you would.” “I knoiv you are a born schemer.” was the reply, "and being a woman 1 can not resist a touch of admiration for your courage and daring. So what Is the latest idea?" “You have been to Monte Carlo and tried your lock at the tables. Have you ever thought of breaking the ■bank?” •tOf course, not. I am not mad enough for that. 1 have sufficient sense to leave off when 1 have made a few pounds.” *T am speaking a little figuratively. The bank is never broken nowadays, but I am going to try and 'clean ouT one of the tables. That would mean a sum of between ten and twenty thousand ■pounds.” The woman •turned and looked at him in amazement. “Have you lost your senses? You know there are a million chances against you. It is much more likely that you win come back ruined.'' "1 think not. .My scheme Is not en tirely original. I may remark. It has ■been tried onvo before—when It succeed ed. I’t 'happened long enough ago to be ■forgotten now and I think It is worth trying again. Brut 1 am not likely come back If 5t 'fails. I am more likely to see the inside of a prison." "It sounds quite thrilling. And I pre sume your amiable accomplices would accompany you there? It would be a now experience, 'but not one I a.rn anx ious to undergo." "I do not drink. It will be necessary. Find another woman as steady and re liable as yourself and we stand a good elm nee to win. I cannot explain my scheme 1o you now and here. If you de cide to Join me, it will Ik* time enough to do so when we get to Monte Carlo." Them the two friends parted. A week later everything was arranged and the ladles had started for the conti nent. Paul Yelverton was to follow in a day or two, as they were to keep their connection •concealed. A little note, ad dressed to “Mrs. Itowsou” at the St. Jlames Hotel, gave them notice of his arrival, it contained only a few words. "Terrace 9 o'clock tonight.” ''Have you been to the rooms ye.t?" wan Paul Yelverton’s first question as the two conspirators met on the deserted Terrace. "No. I thought I had .better wait un til I heard what your plans .are.” "Quite right. Well, I want you to go tomorrow morning, when there are not as many people >as in the evening, and to flake iparticular notice of t.he crou piers, who cut the cards at the Trente- et-q'uarante tables.” “What do you wish me to look out for? You must give me mu idea.” "The croupiers, as you know, are tried men. difficult to bribe or suborn, but you must find me one who is not above temptation. Everything depends on that." "It 1s impossible!” she cried. “You are mod to chink of it." “Not at all. It is difficult, as I ac Group of Boys at the Home, With Father Porter at the Left. And to the question, \, hat is your name? came the characteristic reply: "My true name is Tommy. But den dry never calls me dal: dey calls me 'Seven Colors.’ on 'count of rny hair, see! All de gang has got nicknames. Here's Boozy. Sheeny. Frenchy. Dutch, Stale Bread, -nl Night, Warm Gravy, Hi- Foot Pete. Whisky, Shake-’em-up an.; ...h r names like dat. yer know. Dey • ::n't wat you may call nice names, but den. yer know, dey all means somethin' wat a feller is or does.’* The priest expressing an interest to see th>' home "Ten Colors” eagerly pro posed to escort hint thither, engaging In one or two encounters by the. way. and incidentally extending hopitabie enter tainment in cotUidenilal converse. Ar rived in front of the glass doors which bear fhe printed sign. "Newsboys' Home,” and introduced across the l'rlendiy threshhold. the priest found himself in the company of a number of youngsters, some squatted upon the floor while five othere were ranged along a bench. One of the former volunteered the information: "We was listenin’ to ih" ‘.spasm Band'—dem fellers who is got m itroomonts made wid soap and cigar boxes, and a monf harmonica and a lamboureen, and was givin’ us a con cert.” The j leader standing in front of the live players, conducted with a bronm- handle in lieu of a baton, of score he had no need—he had been made leader because he "didn't know no moostc. and couldn’t play no instrooment!” TRUE DEMOCRACY, it is not a fine place, this home to which its Inmates are so loyally at tached. How could it be? Its rate of twenty cents per day does not rank ir with the St. Charles and such expensive hosteiries. nor are its habits of enter tainment in all respects the same—a guest In hard luck may remain a guest indefinitely without fear of arrears pil ing up against him, and if he be of very tender years, untrained jet to wrest from a close-handed world his meager existence, he is not expected to pay at all—he simply lives at home, even his clothing provided him. If you ask iiow is the home supported tiie answer will invariably be: "It's hard to tell!” The boys who are old enough anti prosperous enougii pay their weekly stipend, but file income is insufficient, donations are sometimes forthcoming- arid sometimes not. and often it is a question how the day’s expenses will be met. When Father Porta, of the Jesuit college, who is chaplain to the home, went out In December in quest of sub s' riptlor for ’I.e Christmas dinner he found one of the old students from the college now proprietor of a restaurant, who said to him: "Tell the sisters to send some of the boys around and they can have what is left over from the meals.” Which he did, and the Sister reported later the receipt of cakes, breads, etc., in. to all appearances, their first condition. "Come-backs.” the boys called them,, but they made a very ac ceptable addenda, and lent variety to the familiar menu of red beans and rice and the favorite “Adam and Eve." Though not pretentious—newsboys do not care for the restrictions of an over strained culture, and the good Sisters ir charge are decidedly too restricted for it to be anything but what it is— the home is still a home, with good food and beds, with chapel and school and library and infirmary for the sick. it is shelter from the lonesomeness of be longing nowhere, and opportunity for experiencing something of family life And this Influence grows upon the little waif, come he from where he wilt, in tractable as he may be at first, respect, for the Sisters soon renders him docile and amenable, and a community feeling makes a citizen of him; he even learns hospitality, bringing other boys to the heme. At present there are about thirty, ranging from little fellows up to young men who have grown up here, who may be said to live at home, but as many as a hundred attend the night school. Two of ibe Sisters who teach at St. Michael’s in fhe day conduct the school for the boys in the evening, and it is remarkable the humanizing power they exert. The. pupils come from nobody knows where, but there they are, seventy of them, outside the thirty regulars, seeking to be taught, and wiliing to sub mit to discipline. Though this last can not be claimed for them elsewhere, m proof of which was a rather amusing incident which occurred some years ago during an epidemic of yellow fever. Five or six cases developed among the boys, and ar, officer of the board of health, accompanied by physicians, pro ceeded to the home to place it under quarantine. But the young fellows were too alert for that, recognizing the ap proaching party they shot out from every direction, and by the time the law had entered the house to take possession there ivis nothing tborer t. restrain,’the place was as deserted as an unsound ship. AVhile the rats sat on the curb stone and guyed those officers as beaten, they went a way. "Why." they were told, "ten policemen couldn't keep one of these boys in!" Yet two Sisters con trol without trouble one hundred. Many are the interesting stories repre sented In the youthful lives which have seen so much of tho world. Two boys, brothers, came to the home a number ot times and as often were missing again. Finally. Father Porta, meeting them one day. asked why they did not stay. “It's our ma," was Hhc reply. "She drinks whisky. She lavs for us in the alloy around the corner, and as we come home at night she takes our money and gl‘.= drunk.” Another had run away from his home in Philadelphia, and .when the father 'asked why. tiie answer was, "Because my fa ther is a had man. He gibs drunk and beats my mother and then when 1 take up for my mother he boats me, so I run erwsiy!” Last year there came a man who put ud at the St. Charles hotel, making in quiry for .a boy named John McDonald, atvil announcing that when found a for tune was in waiting for him. He was located at thf Newsboys' Home, one of the ' r :>Ig boys" who has been {here since a little feTIow. and is now carrier for one of the big papers. TTc.re the lawyer found him and sought by questioning to establish the boy’s identity and claim. FORTUNE SHATTERED. Did John remember an uncle wtio at one time lived .a year In Now Orleans, but afterwards moved to California? "Yes." lie remembered 'him. "What color of hair did he have—black, gray, red?” "Ri*d!” Alas! poor Johnny! In the excitement of the wonderful news colors •became mixed in hia dazed recollection, and uncertainly he repeated after the CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE. knowledge, but it is too soon for you to say that It is impossible. In spite of isvune notable exceptions, the rule holds good Ithat every man has his price; although, of course, it is not always In money. The chances are, then, that one of tho.se croupiers will not be above a bribe If he thinks ho eon take it safely.” "But how am I to find that out? It is such a dangerous topic oven to touch on A word to his chief, and I should find myself in a very awkwoiVl position." "You can watch the game, as a novice, who knows nolLtlng about it. and you cm make, friends with any croupier, whose nfipoara• 0c is flavo-rable. by asking hint to tell you what Is going on. You know they are quite ready to be sociabe, especial y with a pretty woman. You can continue, this for several days untTT you have found o-irt something about the man and whether he is likey to suit our purpose.” “I'f he seems inclined to fall In with our views,” Yelverton’s companion In quired. “you will make him a definite proposal yourself? I could not risk that.” "I do not wish yon to. I shall prob ably be able to make better terms than you could. But it will toe cosier for yoi% to approach him in the first iivt.qnce than for me.” "Very well. Then my friend is not wanted afc>preedit?" "No, she will come in later on. He is less likely to be on his gua.rd If you 'are alone .Make yourself look as young and attractive as possible in a quiet, well-bred way." Mrs. Rawaon quite e.nJoyed preparing for her debut the next morning. She wag a born .actress and throw herself into any port she took up with enthu siasm. When she walked down to the Casino she looked very fresh a*>d young in a 'simple white muslin Crock, wti~.. u vot was quite a costly affair, and a hat trimmed with roses. She went leisurely up the marble steps into the handsome - entrance hall. It waa early and the rooms were sti-i] half empty. The roulette tables tame first. Mrs. Ka.wson passed them by with a casual glance, and entered the first room where trente-et-quaranfe was being played anil the stakes were very heavy. It was not such a popular game as roulette and therefore did not attract nearly as many pectple. It always seemed a more quiet, seitous business. She sauntered from one table to another, looking Interested and eager, 'as though seeing It all for the first time. But under iter bright, flashing glances she was carefully ob serving the croupiers who cut the cards. How alike ail these men wore! Quite and composed and as mechanical as dummies. "After ai they must be human under neath." she thought, "though they look like so many machines. That one is at least younger tfnun the' rest, he may be more malleable. 1 will begin with him," and she took up her position by tho chair of the chosen croupier, as though to twitch tho game. He was aware of her presence by an almost im perceptible glance. Presently she ventured to make soma remark to him, which received a courte ous reply, and When most of the peo ple went away to luncheon she still lin gered on. "I want to understand tfne game be fore I i;lay," she said, as the croupier offered her a Vacant chair. "It. strikes me .is being more attractive than rou- loTio, but move difficult to follow.” "VrTaflame will soon understand 1f she looks on for a little while. It is very simple,” and as the table was deserted lie explained the points of the game to her- It was a welcome break in the monotony of cutting cards, to talk to a pretty woman, dressed with the chic that a Frenchman loves. Tills croupier was new enough to his position to still feel the irk someness of it at t'mes. Mrs. Kawson thanked him very prettiij', and the next morning she came again, taking up the same position and giving him a little bright glance of recognition, which nattered his vanity. So it went on for a day or two, the clever actress making her advances with the utmost care, until one morning she staked a few pounds and won. "I am lucky, but I have heard that be ginners often are.” she said, with-a gay little laugh, as she slipped the money carelessly into her gold chain purse. "Fortune is kind because Madame does not need her.” he replied. And she fan cied there was a note of discontent in his voice. CONTINUED ON I. A ST PAGE.