After a baby has grown out of long clothes and has acquired pants and freckles and so much dirt that well-meaning relatives do not dare to kiss it between meals, it became a boy.
A boy is nature’s answer to the claim that there is no perpetual motion. He is a man, minus pride, ambition, pretense, greed and about 110 pounds. When he grows up he will trade romance, energy, bashfulness, warts, and a snag-proof stomach for these other possessions. A boy is always getting the worst of it in some trade or other.
The world if full of boys that it is impossible to touch off a band or ball game without collecting a thousand of them. Boys are not ornamental but they are arouseful. If it were not for biys the newpapers of the world would go undelivered and unread, and a thousand circus elephants would die of thirst. Biys are also useful in running errands. The zest with which a boy does an errand is equaled only by the eagerness with which an old-fashioned minister approaches the conclusion of his sermon. With the aid of five or six adults a boy can readily do all the errands for a family of two