Mark the Match Boy or Richard Hunter's Ward — Ch. 15-16

The rest of the day he was made unhappy by the thought of Dick's prosperity, and his own hard fate, in being merely a clerk in a bookstore with a salary of six dollars a week.

CHAPTER XV. MARK GETS A PLACE.

In a week from the purchase of the books, Mark felt that he was fully recovered.

He never had much color, but the unhealthy pallor had left his cheeks, and he had an excellent appetite.

"Well, Mark, how do you feel to-night?"

asked Richard, on his return from the store one evening.

"I'm all right, now, Mr. Hunter.

I think I will go to work to-morrow morning."

"What sort of work?"

"Selling matches."

"Do you like to sell matches?"

"I like it better than selling papers, or blacking boots."

"But wouldn't you like better to be in a store?"

"I couldn't get a place," said Mark.

"Why not?"

"My clothes are ragged," said the match boy with some hesitation.

"Besides I haven't got anybody to refer to."

"Can't you refer to your guardian?"

asked Richard Hunter, smiling.

"Do you think I had better try to get a place in a store, Mr. Hunter?"

asked Mark.

"Yes, I think it would be much better for you than to sell matches on the street.

You are not a strong boy, and the exposure is not good for you.

As to your clothes, we'll see if we cannot supply you with something better than you have on."

"But," said Mark, "I want to pay for my clothes myself.

I have got ten dollars in the bank at the Newsboys' Lodge."

"Very well.

You can go down to-morrow morning and get it.

But we needn't wait for that.

I will go and get you some clothes before I go to business."

In the morning Richard Hunter went out with the match boy, and for twenty dollars obtained for him a very neat gray suit, besides a supply of under-clothing.

Mark put them on at once, and felt not a little pleased with the improvement in his appearance.

"You can carry your old clothes to Mr. O'Connor," said Richard.

"They are not very good, but they are better than none, and he may have an opportunity of giving them away."

"You have been very kind to me, Mr. Hunter," said Mark, gratefully.

"Good-by."

"Good-by?

What makes you say that?"

"Because I am going now to the Newsboys' Lodge."

"Yes, but you are coming back again."

"But I think I had better go there to live now.

It will be much cheaper, and I ought not to put you to so much expense."

"You're a good boy, Mark, but you must remember that I am your guardian, and am to be obeyed as such.

You're not going back to the Lodge to live.

I have arranged to have you stay with me at my boarding-place.

As soon as you have got a place you will work in the daytime, and every Saturday night you will bring me your money.

In the evening I shall have you study a little, for I don't want you to grow up as ignorant as I was at your age."

"Were you ignorant, Mr. Hunter?"

asked Mark, with interest.

"Yes, I was," said Richard.

"When I was fourteen, I couldn't read nor write."

"I can hardly believe that, Mr. Hunter," said Mark.

"You're such a fine scholar."

"Am I?"

asked Richard, smiling, yet well pleased with the compliment.

"Why, you can read French as fast as I can read English, and write beautifully."

"Well, I had to work hard to do it," said Richard Hunter.

"But I feel paid for all the time I've spent in trying to improve myself.

Sometimes I've thought I should like to spend the evening at some place of amusement rather than in study; but if I had, there'd be nothing to show for it now.

Take my advice, Mark, and study all you can, and you'll grow up respectable and respected."

"Now," he added, after a pause, "I'll tell you what you may do.

You may look in my 'Herald' every morning, and whenever you see a boy advertised for you can call, or whenever, in going along the street, you see a notice 'Boy wanted,' you may call in, and sooner or later you'll get something.

If they ask for references, you may refer to Richard Hunter, book-keeper for Rockwell & Cooper."

"Thank you, Mr. Hunter," said Mark.

"I will do so."

On parting with his guardian the match boy went down town to the Lodging House.

The superintendent received him kindly.

"I didn't know what had become of you, Mark," he said.

"If it had been some of the boys, I should have been afraid they had got into a scrape, and gone to the Island.

But I didn't think that of you."

"I hope you'll never hear that of me, Mr. O'Connor," said Mark.

"I hope not.

I'm always sorry to hear of any boy's going astray.

But you seem to have been doing well since I saw you;" and the superintendent glanced at Mark's new clothes.

"I've met with some kind friends," said the match boy.

"I have been sick, and they took care of me."

"And now you have come back to the Lodge."

"Yes, but not to stay.

I came for the money that I have saved up in the bank.

It is going for these clothes."

"Very well.

You shall have it.

What is the name of the friend who has taken care of you?"

"Richard Hunter."

"I know him," said the superintendent.

"He is an excellent young man.

You could not be in better hands."

On leaving the Lodge Mark felt a desire to find his old ally, Ben Gibson, who, though rather a rough character, had been kind to him.

Ben was not difficult to find.

During business hours he was generally posted on Nassau Street, somewhere between Fulton Street and Spruce Street.

He was just polishing off a customer's boots when Mark came up, and touched him lightly on the shoulder.

Ben looked up, but did not at first recognize the match boy in the neatly dressed figure before him.

"Shine yer boots!"

he asked, in a professional tone.

"Why, Ben, don't you know me?"

asked Mark, laughing.

"My eyes, if it aint Mark, the match boy!"

exclaimed Ben, in surprise.

"Where've you been all this while, Mark?"

"I've been sick, Ben."

"I'd like to be sick too, if that's the way you got them clo'es.

I

didn't know what had 'come of you."

"I found some good friends," said Mark.

"If your friends have got any more good clo'es they want to get rid of," said Ben, "tell 'em you know a chap that can take care of a few.

Are you in the match business now?"

"I haven't been doing anything for three weeks," said Mark.

"Goin' to sell matches again?"

"No." "Sellin' papers?"

"No, I'm trying to find a place in a store."

"I don't think I'd like to be in a store," said Ben, reflectively.

"I'm afraid my delicate constitution couldn't stand the confinement.

Besides, I'm my own boss now, and don't have nobody to order me round."

"But you don't expect to black boots all your life, Ben, do you?"

"I dunno," said Ben.

"Maybe when I'm married, I'll choose some other business.

It would be rather hard to support a family at five cents a shine.

Are you comin' to the Lodge to-night?"

"No," said Mark, "I'm boarding up at St. Mark's Place."

"Mother Watson hasn't opened a fashionable boardin'-house up there, has she?"

"I guess not," said Mark, smiling.

"I can't think what has become of her.

I haven't seen her since the day she tried to carry me off."

"I've heard of her," said Ben.

"She's stoppin' with some friends at the Island.

They won't let her come away on account of likin' her company so much."

"I hope I shall never see her again," said Mark, with a shudder.

"She is a wicked old woman.

But I must be going, Ben."

"I s'pose you'll come and see a feller now and then."

"Yes, Ben, when I get time.

But I hope to get a place soon."

Mark walked leisurely up Broadway.

Having been confined to the house for three weeks, he enjoyed the excitement of being out in the street once more.

The shop windows looked brighter and gayer than before, and the little match boy felt that the world was a very pleasant place after all.

He had passed Eighth Street before he was fairly aware of the distance he had traversed.

He found himself looking into the window of a bookstore.

While examining the articles in the window his eye suddenly caught the notice pasted in the middle of the glass on a piece of white paper:-- "BOY WANTED."

"Perhaps they'll take me," thought Mark, suddenly.

"At any rate I'll go in and see."

Accordingly he entered the store, and looked about him a little undecidedly.

"Well, sonny, what do you want?"

asked a clerk.

"I see that you want a boy," said Mark.

"Yes.

Do you want a place?"

"I am trying to get one."

"Well, go and see that gentleman about it."

He pointed to a gentleman who was seated at a desk in the corner of the store.

"Please, sir, do you want a boy?"

he asked.

"Yes," said the gentleman.

"How old are you?"

"Ten years old."

"You are rather young.

Have you been in any place before?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know your way about the city pretty well?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want a boy to deliver papers and magazines, and carry small parcels of books.

Do you think you could do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without stopping to play on the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have just discharged one boy, because he was gone an hour and a half on an errand to Twentieth Street.

You are the first boy that has answered my advertisement.

I'll try you on a salary of three dollars a week, if you can go to work at once.

What is your name?"

"Mark Manton."

"Very well, Mark.

Go to Mr. Jones, behind the counter there, and he will give you a parcel to carry to West Twenty-First Street."

"I'm in luck," thought Mark.

"I didn't expect to get a place so easily."

CHAPTER XVI. MARK'S FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Probably my readers already understand that the bookstore in which Mark has secured a place is the same in which Roswell Crawford is employed.

This circumstance, if Mark had only known it, was likely to make his position considerably less desirable than it would otherwise have been.

Mr. Baker, the proprietor of the store, was very considerate in his treatment of those in his employ, and Mr. Jones, his chief clerk, was good-natured and pleasant.

But Roswell was very apt to be insolent and disagreeable to those who were, or whom he considered to be, in an inferior position to himself, while his lofty ideas of his own dignity and social position as the "son of a gentleman," made him not very desirable as a clerk.

Still he had learned something from his bad luck thus far.

He had been so long in getting his present place, that he felt it prudent to sacrifice his pride in some extent for the sake of retaining it.

But if he could neglect his duties without attracting attention, he resolved to do it, feeling that six dollars was a beggarly salary for a young gentleman of his position and capacity.

It was unfortunate for him, and a source of considerable annoyance, that he could get no one except his mother to assent to his own estimate of his abilities.

Even his Cousin Gilbert, who had been Rockwell & Cooper's book-keeper before Richard Hunter succeeded to the position, did not conceal his poor opinion of Roswell; but this the latter attributed to prejudice, being persuaded in his own mind that his cousin was somewhat inclined to be envious of his superior abilities.

At the time that Mark was so suddenly engaged by Mr. Baker, Roswell had gone out to dinner.

When he returned, Mark had gone out with the parcel to West Twenty-first Street.

So they missed each other just at first.

"Well, Crawford," said Mr. Jones, as Roswell re-entered the store, "Mr. Baker has engaged a new boy."

"Has he?

What sort of a fellow is he?"

"A little fellow.

He doesn't look as if he was more than ten years old."

"Where is he?"

"Mr. Baker sent him on an errand to Twenty-first Street."

"Humph!"

said Roswell, a little discontented, "I was going to recommend a friend of mine."

"There may be a chance yet.

This boy may not suit."

In about five minutes Mr. Baker and Mr. Jones both went out to dinner.

It was the middle of the day, when there is very little business, and it would not be difficult for Roswell to attend to any customers who might call.

As soon as he was left alone, Roswell got an interesting book from the shelves, and, sitting down in his employer's chair, began to read, though this was against the rules in business hours.

To see the pompous air with which Roswell threw himself back in his chair, it might have been supposed that he was the proprietor of the establishment, though I believe it is true, as a general rule, that employers are not in the habit of putting on so many airs, unless the position is a new one, and they have not yet got over the new feeling of importance which it is apt to inspire at first.

While Roswell was thus engaged Mark returned from his errand.

He looked about him in some uncertainty on entering the store, not seeing either Mr. Baker or the chief clerk.

"Come here," said Roswell, in a tone of authority.

Mark walked up to the desk.

"So you are the new boy?"

said Roswell, after a close scrutiny.

"Yes."

"It would be a little more polite to say 'Yes sir.'

" "Yes, sir."

"What is your age?"

"Ten years."

"Humph!

You are rather young.

If I had been consulted I should have said 'Get a boy of twelve years old.'

" "I hope I shall suit," said Mark.

"I hope so," said Roswell, patronizingly.

"You will find us very easy to get along with if you do your duty.

We were obliged to send away a boy this morning because he played instead of going on his errands at once."

Mark could not help wondering what was Roswell's position in the establishment.

He talked as if he were one of the proprietors; but his youthful appearance made it difficult to suppose that.

"What is your name?"

continued Roswell.

"Mark Manton."

"Have you been in any place before?"

"No, sir."

"Do you live with your parents?"

"My parents are dead."

"Then whom do you live with?"

"With my guardian."

"So you have a guardian?"

said Roswell, a little surprised.

"What is his name?"

"Mr. Hunter."

"Hunter!"

repeated Roswell, hastily.

"What is his first name?"

"Richard I believe."

"Dick Hunter!"

exclaimed Roswell, scornfully, "Do you mean to say that he has charge of you?"

"Yes," said Mark, firmly, for he perceived the tone in which his friend was referred to, and resented it.

Moreover the new expression which came over Roswell's face brought back to his recollection the evening when, for the first time in his life, he had begged in Fulton Market, and been scornfully repulsed by Roswell and his mother.

Roswell's face had at first seemed familiar to him, but it was only now that he recognized him.

Roswell, on the other hand, was not likely to identify the neatly dressed boy before him with the shivering little beggar of the market.

But it recurred to him all at once that Dick had referred to his ward as a match boy.

"You were a match boy?"

he said, in the manner of one making a grave accusation.

"Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you keep on selling matches, and not try to get a place in a respectable store?"

"Because Mr. Hunter thought it better for me to go into a store."

"Mr. Hunter!

Perhaps you don't know that your guardian, as you call him, used to be a boot-black."

"Yes, he told me so."

"They called him 'Ragged Dick' then," said Roswell, turning up his nose.

"He couldn't read or write, I believe."

"He's a good scholar now," said Mark.

"Humph!

I suppose he told you so.

But you mustn't believe all he tells you."

"He wouldn't tell anything but the truth," said Mark, who was bolder in behalf of his friend than he would have been for himself.

"So he did tell you he was a good scholar?

I thought so."

"No, he told me nothing about it; but since I have lived with him I've heard him read French as well as English."

"Perhaps that isn't saying much," said Roswell, with a sneer.

"Can you read yourself?"

"Yes."

"That is more than I expected.

What induced Mr. Baker to take a boy from the street is more than I can tell."

"I suppose I can run errands just as well, if I was once a match boy," said Mark, who did not fancy the tone which Roswell assumed towards him, and began to doubt whether he was a person of as much importance as he at first supposed.

"We shall see," said Roswell, loftily.

"But there's one thing I'll advise you, young man, and that is, to treat me with proper respect.

You'll find it best to keep friends with me.

I can get you turned away any time."

Mark hardly knew whether to believe this or not.

He already began to suspect that Roswell was something of a humbug, and though it was not in his nature to form a causeless dislike, he certainly did not feel disposed to like Roswell.

He did not care as much for any slighting remarks upon himself, as for the scorn with which Roswell saw fit to speak of his friend, Richard Hunter, who by his good offices had won the little boy's lasting gratitude.

Mark did not reply to the threat contained in these last words of Roswell.

"Is there anything for me to do?"

he asked.

"Yes, you may dust off those books on the counter.

There's the duster hanging up."

This was really Roswell's business, and he ought to have been at work in this way instead of reading; but it was characteristic of him to shift his duties upon others.

He was not aware of how much time had passed, and supposed that Mark would be through before Mr. Barker returned.

But that gentleman came in while Roswell was busily engaged in reading.

"Is that the way you do your work, Roswell?"

asked his employer.

Roswell jumped to his feet in some confusion.

"I thought I had better set the new boy to work," he said.

"Dusting the books is your work, not his."

"He was doing nothing, sir."

"He will have plenty to do in carrying out parcels.

Besides, I don't know that it is any worse for him to be idle than you.

You were reading also, which you know is against the rules of the store."

Roswell made no reply, but it hurt his pride considerably to be censured thus in presence of Mark, to whom he had spoken with such an assumption of power and patronage.

"I wish I had a store of my own," he thought, discontentedly.

"Then I could do as I pleased without having anybody to interfere with me."

But Roswell did not understand, and there are plenty of boys in the same state of ignorance, that those who fill subordinate positions acceptably are most likely to rise to stations where they will themselves have control over others.

"I suppose you have not been to dinner," said Mr. Baker, turning to Mark.

"No, sir."

"You board in St. Mark's Place, I think you said?"