PECK'S BAD BOY AND HIS PA.


HIS PA KILLS HIM.

"For heaven's sake dry up that whistling," said the grocery man to the bad
boy, as he sat on a bag of peanuts, whistling and filling his pockets.
"There is no sense in such whistling. What do you whistle for, anyway?"

"I am practicing my profession," said the boy, as he got up and stretched
himself, and cut off a slice of cheese, and took a few crackers. "I have
always been a good whistler, and I have decided to turn my talent to
account. I am going to hire an office and put out a sign, 'Boy furnished
to whistle for lost dogs.' You see there are dogs lost every day, and any
man would give half a dollar to a boy to find his dog. I can hire out to
whistle for dogs, and can go around whistling and enjoy myself, and make
money. Don't you think it is a good scheme?" asked the boy of the grocery
man.

"Naw," said the grocery man, as he charged the cheese to the boy's father,
and picked up his cigar stub, which he had left on the counter, and which
the boy had rubbed on the kerosene barrel, "No, sir, that whistle would
scare any dog that heard it. Say, what was your Pa running after the
doctor in his shirt sleeves for last Sunday morning? He looked scared. Was
your Ma sick again?"

"O, no; Ma is healthy enough, now she has got a new fur lined cloak. She
played consumption on Pa, and coughed so she liked to raise her lights and