CLEVER YOUNG BEGGARS

Evening Star, Issue 22879, 10 February 1938, Page 16

CLEVER YOUNG BEGGARS

TALES OF WOE It is a sad but incontrovertible fact that by playing upon maternal instinct children can sometimes be led astray and started while they are still young on the road to chronic pauperism and prison, or at least to the industrial school, says a writer in the ‘ Manchester Guardian.’ For it is maternal instinct which makes women respond so instantaneously to the appeal of baby curves and -childish helplessness whenever we see an unusually round-eyed, chubby specimen of infant humanity. “ How angelic!” was the phrase that sprang immediately to the lips of women when they saw the small boy whom Professor Cyril Burt describes as “ Johnnie.” Though nearly eight, he looked years younger, and had long learnt to exploit to the full his infant chubbiness and appearance, of innocence. When the grown-ups at home and at school had become so much accustomed to his wiles that they ceased to respond in the desired fashion, Johnny habitually sought satisfaction elsewhere. He

1 would go to a wealthy residential neighbourhood, hide his shoes and stockings, roll in the mud, and then wait till a likely-looking “ lady ” appeared. His tale of woe varied according to the inventiveness of the moment and the response of the lady, but his variations on the theme of a povertystricken home and a cruel father hardly ever failed to elicit some material consolation. His hauls ranged from coppers and treats in shops and cafes to several days spent in the homes of his unsuspecting victims until he was traced by toe police and returned to his respectable and comfortable artisan home. A BUS RIDE. Unfortunately my friend knew nothing of the history of Johnnie when she was accosted the other day by a small girl with three still smaller children trailing behind her. The child, she told me, looked barely eight, had a charming round face smudged with dirt (why is dirt always so appealing?), and large eyes. She asked the way to Evergreen Park. My friend began' to give directions. “ But it is a very long way from here.” she added, “ much too far for the little ones to walk.” “ Aw, we did so want to go there;” said the child, crestfallen. It so happened that they were standing near a bus stop on the

route that led to Evergreen Park. My friend, reflecting on the hard luck qf poor children and their need for play in decent surroundings, opened her baS and found she had just enough small change to pay their fares to the park. She had intended using it for a bu» ride herself, but, deciding that the if need was greater than hers, she shepherded them on to an Evergreen Parkbound bus, put them in charge of the conductor, and gave him the money for their fares. Just before the bus was about to go she suddenly remembered that the children would have to get back and that she had no money to pay for their return fares. She pictured the poor little things stranded at nightfall with weary miles of road to drag along before they, at length reached their own homes, “Wait a minute!” she called out in dismay. “ How are you going to get home?” The small girl, with complete i composure, went on settling the little ones in their seats. “ We’ll ask another lady, miss,” she replied as the bus moved off. ,