beholder.

"You young Alderman! what do you mean?" he exclaimed, with marked
feeling, rubbing the place on his knee which had just been struck.

"Then just give me a five-cent stamp to aim at yer, and yer won't ketch
it onc't," replied the boyish trifler. "I couldn't hit what I was to
fire at if it was my own daddy."

"Here are ten cents, then," said the gentleman, wildly dodging the last
shot at a distant pigeon, "and now show me where Mrs. SMYTHE lives.

"All right, old brick-top," assented the merry sprite, with a vivacious
dash of personality. "D'yer see that house as yer skoot past the Church
and round the corner?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's SMYTHE'S, and BUMSTEAD lives there, too--him as is always
tryin' to put a head on me. I'll play my points on him yet, though.
_I'll_ play my points!" And the rather vulgar young chronic absentee
from Sunday-school retired to a proper distance, and from thence began
stoning his benefactor to the latter's perfect safety.

Reaching the boarding-house of Mrs. SMYTHE, as directed, Mr. TRACEY
CLEWS soon learned from the lady that he could have a room next to the
apartment of Mr. BUMSTEAD, to whom he was referred for further
recommendation of the establishment. Though that broken-hearted
gentleman was mourning the loss of a beloved umbrella, accompanied by a
nephew, and having a bone handle, Mrs. SMYTHE was sure he would speak a