 | Mrs. Skaggs's husbands, and other sketches |  |
ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY.
THE subject of this article is at present leaning
against a tree directly opposite to my
window. He wears his cap with the wrong side before,
apparently for no other object than that which
seems the most obvious, — of showing more than the
average quantity of very dirty face. His clothes,
which are worn with a certain buttonless ease and
freedom, display, in the different quality of their
fruit-stains, a pleasing indication of the progress of
the seasons. The nose of this vulgar little boy
turns up at the end. I have noticed this in several
other vulgar little boys, although it is by no means
improbable that youthful vulgarity may be present
without this facial peculiarity. Indeed, I am
inclined to the belief that it is rather the result of
early inquisitiveness — of furtive pressures against
window-panes, and of looking over fences, or of
the habit of biting large apples hastily — than an
indication of scorn or juvenile superciliousness.
The vulgar little boy is more remarkable for his
obtrusive familiarity. It is my experience of his
predisposition to this quality which has induced
me to write this article.
My acquaintance with him began in a moment
of weakness. I have an unfortunate predilection
to cultivate originality in people, even when accompanied
by objectionable character. But, as I
lack the firmness and skilfulness which usually
accompany this taste in others, and enable them
to drop acquaintances when troublesome, I have
surrounded myself with divers unprofitable friends,
among whom I count the vulgar little boy. The
manner in which he first attracted my attention
was purely accidental. He was playing in the
street, and the driver of a passing vehicle cut at
him, sportively, with his whip. The vulgar little
boy rose to his feet and hurled after his tormentor
a single sentence of invective. I refrain from repeating
it, for I feel that I could not do justice to
it here. If I remember rightly, it conveyed, in
a very few words, a reflection on the legitimacy
of the driver's birth; it hinted a suspicion of his
father's integrity, and impugned the fair fame of
his mother; it suggested incompetency in his present
position, personal uncleanliness, and evinced
a sceptical doubt of his future salvation. As his
youthful lips closed over the last syllable, the
eyes of the vulgar little boy met mine. Something
in my look emboldened him to wink. I did
not repel the action nor the complicity it implied.
From that moment I fell into the power of the
vulgar little boy, and he has never left me since.
He haunts me in the streets and by-ways. He
accosts me, when in the company of friends, with
repulsive freedom. He lingers about the gate of
my dwelling to waylay me as I issue forth to
business. Distance he overcomes by main strength
of lungs, and he hails me from the next street.
He met me at the theatre the other evening, and
demanded my check with the air of a young footpad.
I foolishly gave it to him, but re-entering
some time after, and comfortably seating myself
in the parquet, I was electrified by hearing my
name called from the gallery with the addition of
a playful adjective. It was the vulgar little boy.
During the performance he projected spirally-twisted
playbills in my direction, and indulged in
a running commentary on the supernumeraries as
they entered.
To-day has evidently been a dull one with him.
I observe he whistles the popular airs of the period
with less shrillness and intensity. Providence,
however, looks not unkindly on him, and delivers
into his hands as it were two nice little boys who
have at this moment innocently strayed into our
street. They are pink and white children, and are
dressed alike, and exhibit a certain air of neatness
and refinement which is alone sufficient to awaken
the antagonism of the vulgar little boy. A sigh
of satisfaction breaks from his breast. What does
he do? Any other boy would content himself
heads, and so vent his superfluous vitality in a
single act, besides precipitating the flight of the
enemy. But there are æsthetic considerations not
to be overlooked; insult is to be added to the injury
inflicted, and in the struggles of the victim
some justification is to be sought for extreme
measures. The two nice little boys perceive their
danger and draw closer to each other. The vulgar
little boy begins by irony. He affects to be overpowered
by the magnificence of their costume. He
addresses me (across the street and through the
closed window), and requests information if there
haply be a circus in the vicinity. He makes affectionate
inquiries after the health of their parents.
He expresses a fear of maternal anxiety in regard
to their welfare. He offers to conduct them home.
One nice little boy feebly retorts; but alas! his
correct pronunciation, his grammatical exactitude,
and his moderate epithets only provoke a scream
of derision from the vulgar little boy, who now
rapidly changes his tactics. Staggering under the
weight of his vituperation, they fall easy victims
to what he would call his “dexter mawley.” A
wail of lamentation goes up from our street. But
as the subject of this article seems to require a
more vigorous handling than I had purposed to
give it, I find it necessary to abandon my present
dignified position, seize my hat, open the front
door, and try a stronger method.
| Mrs. Skaggs's husbands, and other sketches | |