"Tharsverytrue," says Mr. BUMSTEAD, much affected--"Not see 'em for your
noses--beaut'ful idea! You're a gooroleman, sir. Here comes SMALLEY
again."

"I ain't doing nothink, and you're all the time wanting me to move on,
and he's werry good to me, he is," whimpers SMALLEY, throwing a stone at
Mr. BUMSTEAD and hitting Old Mortarity.

"Didn't I tell you to always aim at _me_?" cries the latter, angrily
rubbing the place. "Don't I give you a penny a night to aim right at
me?"

"I only chucked once at him," says the youth, penitently.

"You see, Mr. BUMSTEAD," explains JOHN MCLAUGHLIN, "I give him an Object
in life. I am that Object, and it pays me. If you've ever noticed these
boys, sir, they never hit what they aim at. If they throw at a pigeon or
a tree, the stone goes through a garret window. If they throw at a dog,
it hits some passer-by on the leg. If they throw at each other, it takes
you in the back as you're turnin' a corner. I used to be getting hit all
over every night from SMALLEY'S aiming at dogs, and pigeons, and boys
like himself; but now I hire him to aim at me, exclusively, and I'm all
safe.--There he goes, now, misses me, and breaks another winder."

"Here, SMALLEY," says Mr. BUMSTEAD, as another stone, aimed at
MCLAUGHLIN, strikes himself, "take this other penny, and aim at _both_
of us."

Thus perfectly protected from painful contusion, although the air