There was one pupil in that evening class, at whose door the charge of being "slow" could not be laid, indifferent though his scholarship was in anything but the tricks of the street. He was the most hopeless young scamp I ever knew, and withal so aggravatingly funny that it was impossible not to laugh, no matter how much one felt like scolding. He lived by "shinin'" and kept his kit in a saloon to save his dragging it home every night. When I last saw him he was in disgrace, for not showing up at the school four successive nights. He explained that the policeman who "collared" him "fur fightin'" was to blame. It was the third time he had been locked up for that offence. When he found out that I wanted to know his history, he set about helping me with a readiness to oblige that was very promising. Did he have any home? Oh, yes, he had. "Well, where do you live?" I asked. "Here!" said Tommy, promptly, with just a suspicion of a wink at the other boys who were gathered about watching the examination. He had no father; didn't know where his mother was. "Is she any relation to you!" put in one of the boys, gravely. Tommy disdained the question. It turned out that his mother had been after him repeatedly and that he was an incorrigible runaway. She had at last given him up for good. While his picture was being "took"--it will be found on page 100 of this book--one of the lads reported that she was at the door again, and Tommy broke and ran. He returned just when they closed the doors of the house for the night, with the report that "the old woman was a fake." [Illustration: THE "SOUP-HOUSE GANG," CLASS IN HISTORY IN THE DUANE STREET NEWSBOYS' LODGING-HOUSE.]