The boys of the underworld must play, and ought to play; if those above them do not approve of their games, well, it is "up to them," as the Americans have it, to find them better games than pitch and toss, and better playing grounds than unclean streets.
Of public parks we have enough; they are very well for sedate and elderly people.

They are useful to foster-mothers, slave girls hugging babies about, and a boon for nurses with perambulators.

But what of Tom, Dick and Harry, who have just commenced work; what of them?
"Boy Scouting," even with royal patronage, is not for them, for they have no money to buy uniforms, nor time to scour Epping Forest and Hampstead Heath for a non-existent enemy.
Church Lads' Brigade with bishops for patrons, did I hear some one say?
Well, blowing a bugle, no matter how discordantly, is certainly an attraction for a boy; and wearing a military cap set jauntily on one side of the head is attractive, too, while the dragging of a make-believe cannon through the streets may perhaps please others.

But Tom, Dick and Harry from below care for none of these things, for they are "make-believes," and Tom, Dick and Harry want something real, even if it is vulgar, something with a strong competitive element in it, even if it is a little bit rough or wicked.
Besides Tom, Dick and Harry are not over-clean in person, nor nice in speech, so they are not wanted.

Boy Scouts and Boys' Brigades are preached at, but Tom, Dick and Harry do not want to be preached at by a parson, or coddled by a curate.
They want something real, even though it be punching each other's head, for that at any rate is real.