I can understand how you feel about them. It's the right way, to, and
no boy with any heart in him could be mean to helpless little animals.
I warrant you I know one fellow in Scranton who wouldn't get out of his
warm bed for any pet that ever lived."

"I suppose you're meaning Nick Lang," remarked Hugh. "Well, I don't
know. To tell you the truth, that boy is a mystery to me. Sometimes I
think that, bad as he seems to be, Nick isn't quite all yellow; that
there's a little streak of white in his make-up."

"Why, you surprise me, Hugh, when I hear you say that, and after all
you've seen of his mean ways, too. Think how he started to beat poor
Owen up that night; yes, and for years back he's been a big bully,
trying to have things his own way, and ruling by might of his fists.
Why, nearly everybody in Scranton believes him to be utterly
irreclaimable. What makes you say such a queer thing?"

"I may be mistaken after all," said Hugh, slowly, "but here's a
singular thing I saw only yesterday. I haven't mentioned it to a
living soul, but it set me to thinking, and wondering whether, after
all, if a big hulking fellow like Nick were given a fair chance to make
good, he mightn't change and astonish the neighborhood.

"I was going along a side street when I got a thrill. There was a
buggy with a frisky horse attached standing in front of a house. The
man had gone inside and very imprudently left his child, a little
fellow of some five years of age, to sit there in the vehicle, not even
bothering to hitch the beast.

"Well, the boy, like most kids would do, had started playing with the