The Children of the West 85 



was. " I 'm the pilot," replied he, with a twinkle 

 in his eye. 



" The pilot," repeated the urchin, thoughtfully. 

 " Then why ar'n't you on the bridge ? " 



These imps criticise their elders and betters 

 freely. A tot said to me quite gravely : " My auntie 

 is not as smart as she thinks herself. And she 's 

 often very rude. She contradicted me this morning" 



A snub — need it be said — is good powder wasted 

 on the Western youth. I remember a lad of eigh- 

 teen who was selling books. He went into the 

 office of a physician notorious for his crabbed 

 temper, and submitted his wares. The medico 

 bade him be gone, in very unparliamentary terms. 



" Can you read ? " demanded the youth, blandly. 



" Eead, sir ! I don't read such books as you sell." 



" I sell Shakespeare, and the Bible. You don't 

 act as if you had read either. Good-morning." 



This same youth — who surely will go far — had 

 heard that at a certain bank the clerks had agreed 

 to hustle any book agent who invaded their prem- 

 ises. The book agent, it must be added, is regarded 

 in the West as a beast of prey. Our young friend 

 took his own line. Eushing into the bank, he ex- 

 claimed excitedly, " Boys, have you seen him ? " 



" Seen whom ? " repeated the clerks in chorus. 



"That book agent." 



" No, no. We want to see him ! We 're fixed 

 for him. The last fellow made us weary. We 're 

 going to skin the next one alive. Where is he ? " 



" He is — here ! " said the youth dramatically. 

 " Start right in, boys, and enjoy yourselves. When 

 you get through I '11 sell you some books." 



