city, the regular young rough of Paris, who, at eight years of age,
smokes the butt ends of cigars picked up at the tavern doors and
gets tipsy on coarse spirits. He had a thin crop of sandy hair, his
complexion was dull and colorless, and a sneer curled the corners of
his mouth, which had a thick, hanging underlip, and his eyes had an
expression in them of revolting cynicism. His dress was tattered and
dirty, and he had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm, exhibiting a
deformed limb, sufficiently repulsive to excite the pity of the passers
by. He was repeating a monotonous whine, in which the words "poor
workman, arm destroyed by machinery, aged mother to support," occurred
continually.

Daddy Tantaine walked straight up to the youth, and with a sound cuff
sent his hat flying.

The lad turned sharply round, evidently in a terrible rage; but,
recognizing his assailant, shrank back, and muttered to himself,
"Landed!" In an instant he restored his arm to its originally healthy
condition, and, picking up his cap, replaced it on his head, and humbly
waited for fresh orders.

"Is this the way you execute your errands?" asked Daddy Tantaine,
snarling.

"What errands? I have heard of none!"

"Never you mind that. Did not M. Mascarin, on my recommendation, put you
in the way of earning your livelihood? and did you not promise to give
up begging?"