"Yes," was my reply.

"Well, then, you were stealing, just now."

"I was simply imitating your example, sir; it takes a thief to catch a
thief." The trustees roared with laughter. The president of the board
then asked if I had seen others stealing the fruit.

"Yes, sir, the chaplain, superintendent, and nearly all the trustees."

"Well," said he, "this is a den of thieves."

"All except the convicts, sir," I replied.

These incidents did not add to my popularity among the sneaks whose
petty slings and arrows were so annoying, and so minimized my power
for good that I reluctantly resigned, to accept a more lucrative
position as teacher in an aristocratic boarding-school located in the
romantic county of Berkshire, much nearer, geographically, to the
stars.

Among our responsibilities at the reform school, were many "wharf
rats"--so called, because having had no homes or visible parents, like
Topsy, they had simply "growed," and slept under the wharves of the
city, swarming out at intervals to steal or beg for something to
assuage the pangs of hunger. They were vicious to a degree, and at
first seemed to prefer a raw shin-bone that they had stolen to an
abundant meal obtained honestly. They would rather fight than eat, and
prized a penny obtained by lies more than dollars secured by telling