On a Vulgar Little Boy

"On a Vulgar Little Boy" by Bret Harte is a short story that captures the complexities of childhood innocence, social class, and the nuances of human interaction. Set against a backdrop of 19th-century American society, the narrative revolves around the experiences of a young boy whose seemingly crude demeanor contrasts sharply with the genteel expectations of his surroundings. Through witty dialogue and keen observations, Harte explores themes of identity, belonging, and the often harsh judgments imposed by society. The story ultimately highlights the importance of understanding and acceptance in relationships, regardless of social standing.

• Essay

								
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 foot-pad. 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 with simply knocking the hats off their
respective heads, and so vent his superfluous vitality in a single act,
besides precipitating the flight of the enemy. But there are aesthetic
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.
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