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neatness of the uniform that led naturally to this new feature of life. The change from the loose-fitting clothes he had previously worn, even after he had put aside the raiment of the slums, was so complete that he felt as if Harry Bagley were a very different person from Jimmie Dandy. The preciseness of attire almost necessitated a preciseness in ether matters. He looked liked a picture, he said.

But no change of spirit came with the change of clothes. He was not unhappy, in the way the principal had expected him to be, because he was entirely unconscious of the real difference between himself and the other boys. They did not talk as his did, but he attributed this to the fact that they bad had less worldly experience. In a word, the boy’s self-confidence savored of egotism, and it was not until he caught one of the other boys mimicking him that he realized that they took an entirely different view of the situation. Instead of being a leader, he was a curiosity that could do no more than furnish a little amusement.

Thereupon the offending boy was promptly knocked down.

“Harry,” said the principal, with a sigh, when the matter was brought to his attention, “if you had been here longer I would have to punish you severely for that.”

“He was mockin’ me,” protested Harry.

“That was wrong,” admitted the principal; “but the punishment of wrong-doing is the duty of the authorities, and not of each individual. A school is a government on a small scale and must be conducted as such. In the city or the State we have the courts and the police; in the school—”

“De police won’t knock a feller down for you,” broke in Harry; “you got to do it yourself.”

The principal sighed and tried again.

“The fact is, Harry,” he explained, “you are so different from the other boys that you prove amusing to them. They have no right to make fun of you, but you can easily stop it yourself by—”

“I got it stopped now,” interrupted Harry, pugnaciously.

“Not permanently; not for good,” said the principal, patiently. “To do that you must remove the cause; you must learn to speak correctly.”

“Don’t I do dat now?” demanded the boy.

“Hardly, Harry. Do you think, for instance, that you speak like Mr. Raymend ?”

“No-o.”

“Well, you want to be in his class, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Then try to be like him—to act like him and speak like him. He sent you here for that purpose, to make you of use to him, and it ’s only fair to do the best you can.”

“Dat ’s right” admitted Harry, promptly. “He ’s on de square, an’ so am I. We shook hands on it.”

“Besides,” the principal went on, wishing to make the most of his opportunity, “if you ‘re going to rely on your fists to compel respect, you ‘ll be fighting all the time, and some day you ‘ll be whipped. Then there will he nothing left, You ’ve heard of General Grant?”

“Sure.”

‘Well, there were probably thousands of men in his army who could have whipped him in a stand-up fight.”

“Is dat right?” asked the boy, incredulously.

“Certainly it ’s right,” asserted the principal. “Who ’s the greatest man you ever saw?”

“De jedge,” said Harry, without a moment of hesitation, and then he added thoughtfully: “But Big Murphy could put him out wid one punch, an’ Murphy ’s dodgin’ de cops dat takes their hats off to de jedge.”

The boy suddenly saw life from a new point of view. The facts had been there always, but never before had they forced themselves upon his attention in just this way. It was a shock to him, however; he saw, but he was slow to believe, for it involved a radical change in ideals, Physical courage and force had been the basis of success to him before—unconsciously, it is true, bur still the foundation upon which all greatness stood.

“Can't a kid do any fightin’?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” said the principal, we are not yet so perfect that we can always get along without it, but we should try. We have a gymnasium here, and we teach boxing. A man or a boy should be able to fight when there is any