CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE STREET ARABS.

The night-hawks of a great city like Toronto are not confined to men and women. Boys and girls, and even children of more tender years, fill a place in the ranks. They are, therefore, deserving of some attention, which I intend they shall receive. The poor homeless, friendless little outcasts, who make the street their home because they haven’t a better one to go to, are those of whom I wish particularly to speak. They are the sport of chance and the children of misfortune. They find themselves in the midst of the stern battle of life, fighting for an existence, years before the children of well-to-do parents have taken the first step toward preparing themselves for the fray. It is not a matter of astonishment that the majority of them grow up to become part of our criminal population. The wonder is that any attain to good citizenship, as not a few have done.

THE WAY THEY LIVE,

and the things they do, are matters which most people know but little about, and seem to care still less. Most of them start out as newsboys, bootblacks, or both combined. Those who don’t turn out to be thieves and “toughs” learn trades, and sometimes develop into shrewd and successful business men. Let me tell you about the doings of some of the street arabs of Toronto that I have known. Their names I won’t mention, though I have them all before me, because I hope to see some of them occupying a better position in life one of these days. In that case it wouldn’t be agreeable to them, perhaps, to have somebody turn up the files of THE NEWS and remind them of the adventures of their boyhood.

First I will tell you about the good boys I have known, for as I have said, in spite of their poverty they are not all bad.

About fourteen years ago one of the best bookbinders in England emigrated to Canada with his wife and little boy. They settled in Toronto. Shortly afterwards the man commenced to drink. His wife soon followed his example. They both went down the hill rapidly. Finally they drifted into prison, and their little boy was left to shift for himself. He experienced hard lines for a long time. Like the sparrows, he got his food wherever he could find a crumb, and slept under a crossing, in an empty packing-box, or elsewhere as fortune might decide. When a reverend gentleman, who had known his parents under better circumstances, took an interest in the lad’s welfare, and went in search of him, he found him

IN A MISERABLE HOVEL

in St. John’s ward. His fellow-occupants were lying in the worst stages of scarlet fever, and had he been allowed to remain longer with them, he would probably soon have been beyond the need of his friend’s assistance. The gentleman procured lodgings for him, and started him in business as a newsboy. He continued nearly two years in the business, and then obtained a situation which he still holds. His father died in Toronto jail and his mother in the General hospital.

A little fellow, whom I know very well, was thrown upon his own resources by reason of his parents quarreling, and afterwards separating and breaking up their home. He got a job in a well-known Toronto shoe factory at $2 per week. In the middle of summer business became dull, and all hands were given a month’s holiday. Now there were things that Jimmy needed far more than a month’s holiday, namely, shelter, food, and clothes. He saw that something must be done. He bought a stock of newspapers, and went to work to sell them. His bright face and industry brought him success. At the end of the month he had paid his way and saved $27. He sent a $5 bill to his mother, who was in the country, to come home. When she came back he gave her the balance of his money to furnish a couple of rooms. Soon after she was reconciled to her husband, the boy went back home to live, and ever since harmony has reigned in the household.

I am sorry that there are not more examples of this kind and less of those which follow.

TIM AND SAM.

“For ways that are dark and tricks that are vain, The Toronto young vag is peculiar.”

Wee Tim Mc⸺ and his pal, Sam W⸺, are aptly described by the above couplet. They are the best known of any of the hundreds of young urchins who pick up a living on our streets. Though scarcely more than 10 years old, they have had a short residence in every charitable institution in the city. In every case their evil genius tempted them to say and do things which could not be tolerated by the managers, and they were dismissed. Now they would find it impossible to get admittance to any of the places mentioned, even if they so desired, which they don’t. Time has hardened them. During the latter part of the winter just closed Little Tim was a frequent applicant for shelter at one or other of the police stations. One night, between 11 and 12 o’clock, a policeman’s attention was attracted by a child’s sobs. A search in the darkness revealed Little Tim lying under a street crossing, without coat or shoes, and shivering from the cold. His association with the officers of the law and the police cells has stripped them of their terrors. He no longer trembles with fear at the sight of them, and the power which once deterred him from wrong-doing has but little influence upon his conduct. He does not hesitate, when opportunity offers, to appropriate

WHAT DOES NOT BELONG TO HIM.

Several times he has had interviews with the Police Magistrate on account of such offences. In almost every instance, his tender years and pitiful face procured for him immunity from punishment, but it is doubtful if he will be able to evade justice much longer. Little Sam, his bosom friend, and the sharer of his adventures, has a home to go to, but he prefers to be a rover. His forte is begging, at which he is very successful. His method is to hang around the doors of the principal restaurants and coffee houses. When he sees someone approach that he thinks he can deceive, he instantly begins to sob as though his heart were breaking. The unsuspecting and kind-hearted stranger stops and enquires what his trouble is. He replies, as he vainly attempts to stifle his sobs, that he hasn’t had any breakfast, doesn’t know where he can get any, and is all broken up with hunger. A dime, or sometimes a quarter, rewards his stratagem, and he goes around the corner to laugh in his sleeve at the clever fraud he has perpetrated. Not long ago Sammy’s career was near being closed up in a rather peculiar manner. He had stopped out late, and knew it was useless to go home, so he crawled into a half-filled ash barrel, and was soon sound asleep. Presently a couple of scavengers came along and dumped the barrel upside down into their wagon. Poor little

SAM WAS WELL NIGH SMOTHERED

before the scavengers became aware of his presence and extricated him from his uncomfortable position. It is said that since that little adventure he prefers a packing box or the shelter of a street crossing to anything in the shape of a barrel. Sammy’s confidence in his pal seems to have weakened of late, judging from a remark which he made to the Police Magistrate the other day. He said: “When I’ve got money Tim sticks to me, but when I haven’t he tells me to go to the d—l.”

Last September eight boys belonging to the Newsboys’ lodging became imbued with the ideas of Tom Sawyer. They pooled their spare cash, hired a sail-boat, and made the voyage to the island. While there a storm arose, and they were afraid to attempt the return trip, so they erected a temporary shelter, and camped out over night. The next day they reached home, half-frozen, their clothes soaked with the rain which had poured down upon them during the night. The ring-leaders were sharply reprimanded for their conduct. In consequence of this they left the institution, and prevailed upon about twenty of the other boys to follow their example. For a couple of months afterwards, the boys slept in the old bolt works building on the Esplanade. The hardships and exposure which they underwent told heavily upon them. One returned to the lodging with a severe cold, which clung to him and

ENDED IN HIS DEATH

a few weeks ago. Another lies suffering in the hospital at the present time from the same cause. In spite of all this, many of these boys prefer to sleep on the street rather than be subjected to any restraint.

Some of them have a roving disposition, and take periodical excursions to other cities in Canada and the United States. I know some who have more than once visited Chicago. One boy’s father told me that he came from England to Canada simply because in the Old Country he found it impossible to keep his thirteen-year-old son at home. The lad hadn’t been long in Toronto before he ran away, got aboard the train, and stole away to Montreal, from there he went to Quebec, and thence to Chicago. His father is now living in the neighborhood of Lambton Mills. He doesn’t know where his truant boy is, and has given up all hope of ever getting him back home again.

I could go on for an indefinite length of time, giving incidents in the lives of Toronto street arabs. The examples I have cited will be sufficient, however, to enlighten those who have never troubled themselves to inquire into the circumstances of these children of adversity to whom the lines have not fallen in pleasant places.