"Thank you for the neat compliment, Thad," said Hugh, the glow in his eyes telling how much he appreciated such honest praise. "I may have my faults, like every boy has, but being cruel to or neglectful of little creatures that are in my keeping isn't one of them. I'd hate to think I could let a poor rabbit go hungry. I'd get out of bed in the middle of the night, cold as it might be, and go out to my hutch, if I got an idea in my head that I'd left a window open that might allow a draught to blow in on the poor things."
"Well, I don't take to pets the same as you do, Hugh, but all the same I can understand how you feel about them. It's the right way, to, and no boy with any heart in him could be mean to helpless little animals. I warrant you I know one fellow in Scranton who wouldn't get out of his warm bed for any pet that ever lived."
"I suppose you're meaning Nick Lang," remarked Hugh. "Well, I don't know. To tell you the truth, that boy is a mystery to me. Sometimes I think that, bad as he seems to be, Nick isn't quite all yellow; that there's a little streak of white in his make-up."
"Why, you surprise me, Hugh, when I hear you say that, and after all you've seen of his mean ways, too. Think how he started to beat poor Owen up that night; yes, and for years back he's been a big bully, trying to have things his own way, and ruling by might of his fists. Why, nearly everybody in Scranton believes him to be utterly irreclaimable. What makes you say such a queer thing?"
"I may be mistaken after all," said Hugh, slowly, "but here's a singular thing I saw only yesterday. I haven't mentioned it to a living soul, but it set me to thinking, and wondering whether, after all, if a big hulking fellow like Nick were given a fair chance to make good, he mightn't change and astonish the neighborhood.
"I was going along a side street when I got a thrill. There was a buggy with a frisky horse attached standing in front of a house. The man had gone inside and very imprudently left his child, a little fellow of some five years of age, to sit there in the vehicle, not even bothering to hitch the beast.
"Well, the boy, like most kids would do, had started playing with the whip; and I saw him give the horse quite a blow. No doubt he was imitating his father in doing that. The spirited beast started rearing, and then acted as if about to make a dash down the street. It would have been putting the child's life in danger, you can easily see.
"I started to run, but never could have made it. Then I saw some one jump for the horse's head, and have a little tussle with the animal. It was Nick Lang. He hadn't stopped to think of any danger to himself. I drew up and watched him. He conquered the beast, fastened him to a hitching post, and then started to scold the white-faced little boy for having touched the whip. The bully was showing in his nature, after all, that splendid exhibition of nerve and quick wit.
"Nick noticed me then, for the first time, and acted confused, as if caught doing something he would not like folks to know. He shook his finger in the boy's face again threateningly, gave me a sneering look, and then stalked along down the street whistling like anything. And, Thad, the boy who could do a thing like that off-hand can't be quite all bad, though people oughtn't to be blamed for thinking he is. So-long, Thad!"