The first time we entered John Alien's dance-house we found it in full blast. The hour was eleven in the evening. There were thirteen girls in the saloon, three musicians in the orchestra, and seven customers submitting to the blandishments of an equal number of the ballet- dressed syrens who pervaded the room. Our party consisted of the policeman who accompanied us, three clergymen on the look out for the "elephant," Mr. Albert C. Arnold, of the Howard Mission, and the writer.
The Wickedest Man was in his glory. Things were moving briskly. He gave us all a hearty welcome, ordered the orchestra to do their best, and told the girls to 'break our hearts.' A vigorous dance followed, after which the proprietor called out:
'Hartford, go up stairs and get my baby.' Hartford turned out to be one of the girls, who immediately disappeared and soon returned, bearing in her arms an undressed sleepy child, wrapped in a shawl. This was the juvenile prodigy. His father took him in his arms, with a glow of pride and affection.
'Now, gentlemen, you are writers, philosophers, and preachers; but I'll show that my baby knows as much as any of you. He's hell on reading, writing, praying and fighting.'
And without more ado, he stood the sleepy little fellow upon the floor and began to catechize him in ancient history, both sacred and profane, and then in modern history, geography, the political history of the United States, etc., etc., with a result which astounded all. Suddenly he exclaimed:
And Chester, for that is the child's name, gave us a song.
'Now, Chester, give us a break-down.' The orchestra played a 'break- down,' and Chester danced it with precision and vigor, his mother looking on with delight.
And the child recited, first the Lord's Prayer, and then others in succession mixed with which were so much ribaldry and profanity on the father's part as cut us to the heart. And here it was that we got a glimpse of the pre-eminent wickedness of the man-wickedness to him unknown, and all the worse because of his unconsciousness of it; wickedness which is leading him to train up that idolized boy in a way and in an atmosphere which will yet make him an object of loathing, even to his own heart.