An excellent superintendent was found in the person of a carpenter, Mr. C. C. Tracy, who showed remarkable ingenuity and tact in the management of these wild lads. These little subjects regarded the first arrangements with some suspicion and much contempt. To find a good bed offered them for six cents, with a bath thrown in, and a supper for four cents, was a hard fact, which they could rest upon and understand; but the motive was evidently "gaseous." There was "no money in it"--that was clear. The Superintendent was probably "a street preacher," and this was a trap to get them to Sunday Schools, and so prepare them for the House of Refuge. Still, they might have a lark there, and it could be no worse than "bumming," _i.e.,_ sleeping out. They laid their plans for a general scrimmage in the school-room--first cutting off the gas, and then a row in the bedroom. The Superintendent, however, in a bland and benevolent way, nipped their plans in the bud. The gas-pipes were guarded; the rough ring-leaders were politely dismissed to the lower door, where an officer looked after their welfare; and, when the first boots began to fly from a little fellow's bed, he found himself suddenly snaked out by a gentle but muscular hand, and left in the cold to shiver over his folly. The others began to feel that a mysterious authority was getting even with them, and thought it better to nestle in their warm beds. Little sleeping, however, was there among them that night; but ejaculations sounded out--such as, "I say, Jim, this is rayther better 'an bummin'--eh?" "My eyes! what soft beds these is!" "Tom! it's 'most as good as a steam-gratin', and there ain't no M. P.'s to poke neither!" "I'm glad I ain't a bummer to-night!" A good wash and a breakfast sent the lodgers forth in the morning, happier and cleaner, if not better, than when they went in. This night's success established its popularity with the newsboys. The "Fulton Lodge" soon became a boys' hotel, and one loft was known among them as the "Astor House." Quietly and judiciously did Mr. Tracy advance his lines among them. "Boys," said he, one morning, "there was a gentleman here this morning, who wanted a boy in an office, at three dollars a week." "My eyes! Let _me_ go, sir!" And--_"Me,_ sir!" "But he wanted a boy who could write a good hand." Their countenances fell. "Well, now, suppose we have a night-school, and learn to write--what do you say, boys?". "Agreed, sir." And so arose our evening-school.