Rough and Ready OR Life Among the New York Newsboys — Chs. 9-10
CHAPTER IX. MR.
MARTIN'S PECUNIARY TROUBLES.
James Martin, after his unsatisfactory interview with Rough and Ready, found it necessary to make some plans for the future.
He had been forced to leave the rooms in Leonard Street; he had no longer the newsboy's earnings to depend upon, and, disagreeable as it was to work for his own living, there really seemed no other way open to him.
On the whole, as he had no home and no money, he was not particular about resuming the care of Rose at once.
He was willing that her brother should retain the charge of her at present at his own expense, but none the less was he angry with Rough and Ready for defying his authority.
"I'll get hold of the girl yet, in spite of him," he said to himself.
"He'll find out what I am before I get through with him."
In the mean time, he thought of the work which had been offered him in Brooklyn, and resolved, as a matter of necessity, to go over and see if he could not effect an engagement.
The new houses he remembered were on Fourth Avenue, in Brooklyn.
He did not know exactly where, but presumed he could find out.
He crossed Fulton Ferry, luckily having two cents about him.
Fourth Avenue is situated in that part of Brooklyn which is known as Gowanus, and is at least two miles from the ferry.
The fare by the horse-cars was six cents, but James Martin had only three left after paying his ferriage.
He could not make up his mind to walk, however, and got into the Greenwood cars, resolved to trust his luck.
The cars started, and presently the conductor came round.
Martin put his hand into his pocket unconcernedly, and, starting in apparent surprise, felt in the other.
"Some rascal must have picked my pocket," he said.
"My pocket-book is gone."
"How much money did you have in it?"
asked his next neighbor.
"Forty-five dollars and twenty-five cents," said Martin, with unblushing falsehood.
"It's pretty hard on a poor man."
The conductor looked rather incredulous, observing his passenger's red nose, and that his breath was mingled with fumes of whiskey.
"I'm sorry for you if you've lost your pocket-book," he said; "but can't you raise six cents?"
Martin again thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out three cents.
"That's all I've got left," he said.
"You'll have to take me for half price."
"Contrary to orders," said the conductor.
"Couldn't do it."
"What am I to do then?"
"If you can't pay your fare, you'll have to get off the cars."
"It seems to me you're rather hard," said a passenger.
"I have to obey orders," said the conductor.
"I don't make the regulations myself."
"If you will allow me," said a lady opposite, "I will pay your fare, sir."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Martin.
"I'll accept your kind offer, though I wouldn't need to be beholden to anybody, if it hadn't been for my loss.
It's pretty hard on a poor man," he added, complainingly.
"Will you accept a trifle towards making up your loss?"
said an old gentleman, who had more benevolence than penetration.
"Thank you, sir," said James Martin, accepting the two-dollar bill which was tendered him, without feeling the least delicacy in so doing.
"You're very kind.
I wouldn't take it if I hadn't been so unfortunate."
"You're quite welcome," said the old gentleman, kindly.
"You'd better report your loss to the police."
"So I shall, as soon as I return to-night."
James Martin looked round among the other passengers, hoping that some one else might be induced to follow the example of the charitable old gentle man.
But he was disappointed.
There was some thing about his appearance, which was not exactly engaging or attractive, and his red nose inspired suspicions that his habits were not quite what they ought to have been.
In fact, there was more than one passenger who had serious doubts as to the reality of his loss.
When the cars reached the entrance of Fourth Avenue, Martin descended, and walked up the street.
"Well," he said, chuckling, as he drew out the bill from his pocket, "I'm in luck.
I'd like to meet plenty as soft-headed as that old chap that gave it to me.
He swallowed down my story, as if it was gospel.
I'll try it again some time when I'm hard up."
Martin began to consider whether, having so large a sum on hand, he had not better give up the idea of working till the next day; but the desire to find himself in a position in which he could regain Rose prevailed over his sluggishness, and he decided to keep on.
He had not far to walk.
He soon came in sight of a row of wooden houses which were being erected, and, looking about him, he saw the man he had met in the streets of New York only a day or two before.
"Hallo, Martin!"
he called out, seeing the new arrival; "have you come over to help us?"
"Do you need any help?"
asked Martin.
"Badly.
One of my men is sick, and I am shorthanded."
"What do you give?"
"Two dollars a day."
Wages are higher now, but this was before the war.
"Come, what do you say?"
"Well, I might as well," said Martin.
"Then I'll tell you what I would like to have you begin on."
The directions were given, and James Martin set to work.
He was in reality an excellent workman, and the only thing which had reduced him to his present low fortune was the intemperate habits which had for years been growing upon him.
Mr. Blake, the contractor, himself a master carpenter, understood this, and was willing to engage him, because he knew that his work would be done well as long as he was in a fit condition to work.
Martin kept at work till six o'clock, when all the workmen knocked off work.
He alone had no boarding-place to go to.
"Where do you board, Tarbox?"
he asked of a fellow-workman.
"In Eighth Street," he answered.
"Is it a good place?"
"Fair."
"Who keeps the house?"
"Mrs. Waters."
"What do you pay?"
"Four dollars a week."
This again was lower than the price which mechanics have to pay now.
"Is there room for another?"
"Yes, the old lady'll be glad to get another.
Will you come?"
"Well, I'll try it."
So James Martin walked home with Tarbox, and was introduced to Mrs. Waters,—a widow who looked as if it required hard work and anxious thought to keep her head above water.
Of course she was glad to get another boarder, and her necessities were such that she could not afford to be particular, or possibly Mr. Martin's appearance might have been an objection.
"I suppose," she said, "you won't have any objection to go in with Mr. Tarbox."
"No," said Martin, "not at present; but I may be bringing my little girl over here before long.
Do you think you can find room for her?"
"She might sleep with my little girl," said Mrs. Waters; "that is, if you don't object.
How old is she?"
"She is seven."
"And my Fanny is eight.
They'd be company for each other."
"My little girl is in New York, at present," said Mr. Martin, "stopping with—with a relative.
I shall leave her there for a while."
"You can bring her any time, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters.
"If you will excuse me now, I will go and see about the supper."
In ten minutes the bell rang, and the boarders went down to the basement to eat their supper.
Considering Mrs. Waters' rate of board, which has already been mentioned, it will hardly be expected that her boarding establishment was a very stylish one.
Indeed, style would hardly have been appreciated by the class of boarders which patronized her.
A table, covered with a partially dirty cloth, stood in the centre of the room.
On this were laid out plates and crockery of common sort, and a good supply of plain food, including cold meat.
Mrs. Waters found that her boarders were more particular about quantity than quality, and the hearty appetite which they brought with them after a day's work in the open air caused them to make serious inroads even upon the most bountiful meal which she could spread before them.
James Martin surveyed the prospect with satisfaction.
He had lived in a slip-shod manner for some months, and the table set by Mrs. Waters, humble as it was, seemed particularly attractive.
On the whole, he could not help feeling that it was better than Leonard Street.
Indeed, he felt in particularly good spirits.
He had two dollars in his pocket, and had worked three quarters of a day, thus earning a dollar and a half, though he would not be paid for his labor till the end of the week.
The thought did come to him once, that after all he was well rid of Rose, as she would be an expense to him, and this expense the newsboy had voluntarily assumed.
Now he had only himself to take care of.
Why should he not give up the thought of reclaiming her?
But then, on the other hand, Rough and Ready's independent course had offended him, and he felt a desire to "come up" with him.
He knew that nothing would strike the newsboy a severer blow than to deprive him of his sister, and leave him in uncertainty as to her fate.
Revenge he felt would be sweet, and he fully determined that he would have revenge.
"Let him look out for himself!"
said James Martin.
"I'll plague him yet.
He'll be sorry for his cursed impudence, or my name isn't James Martin."
After supper Martin strolled out, and was not long in finding a liquor-shop.
Here he supplied himself with a vile draught, that had the effect of making his red nose yet redder when he appeared at the breakfast-table the next morning.
However, he didn't drink to excess, and was able to resume work the following day.
We must now leave him, awhile, and turn to little Rose and her brother.
CHAPTER X. WHAT THE NEWSBOY FOUND.
It has been already stated that Rough and Ready had made a careful estimate of his expenses, and found that to meet them, including clothing, he must average seven dollars and seventy-two cents weekly.
He might get along on less, but he was ambitious of maintaining himself and his sister in comfort.
This was a considerable sum for a newsboy to earn, and most boys in our hero's position would have felt discouraged.
But Rough and Ready had an uncommon degree of energy and persistence, and he resolutely determined that in some way the weekly sum should be obtained.
In some honest way, of course, for our hero, though not free from faults, was strictly honest, and had never knowingly appropriated a cent that did not justly belong to him.
But he was not averse to any method by which he might earn an honest penny.
During the first fortnight after Rose came under the charge of Miss Manning, the newsboy earned fifteen dollars.
His expenses during that time, including the amount paid for his sister, amounted to ten dollars and a half.
This left four dollars and a half clear.
This sum Rufus put into a savings-bank, knowing that after a time it would be necessary to purchase clothing both for himself and his sister, and for this purpose a reserve fund would be required.
One day, after selling his supply of morning papers, he wandered down to the Battery.
This, as some of my readers may need to be informed, is a small park situated at the extreme point of Manhattan Island.
It was on a delightful promenade, covered with grass, and shaded by lofty sycamore-trees.
Around it formerly lived some of the oldest and most aristocratic families in the city.
But its ancient glory, its verdure and beauty, have departed, and it is now unsightly and neglected.
None of its old attractions remain, except the fine view which it affords of the bay, the islands, and fortifications, and the opposite shores of New Jersey.
The old families have moved far up-town, and the neighborhood is given to sailors' boarding-houses, warehouses, and fourth-rate hotels and bar-rooms.
The newsboy strayed into one of these bar-rooms, not with any idea of drinking, for he never had been tempted to drink.
The example of his stepfather had been sufficient to disgust him with intemperance.
But it was an idle impulse that led him to enter.
He sat down in a chair, and took up a copy of the "Morning Herald," of which he had sold a considerable number of copies, without having had a chance to read it.
Chancing to cast his eyes on the floor, he saw a pocket-book.
He stooped down and picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket.
He looked about him to see if there was any one present that was likely to have lost it.
But, besides the bar-keeper, there was no one in the room except a rough-looking laborer in his shirt-sleeves, and it was evident that it did not belong to him, as he drew from his vest-pocket the money with which he paid for his potation.
The newsboy concluded that the pocket-book belonged to some patron of the bar, who had dropped it, and gone away without missing it.
The question came up, what should he do with it?
Was it his duty to hand it to the bar-keeper?
He decided that it was not.
Bar-keepers are apt to have easy consciences, and this one was not a very attractive representative of his class.
He would undoubtedly pocket the wallet and its contents, and the true owner, if he should ever turn up, would stand very little chance of recovering his money.
These reflections quickly passed through the mind of our hero, and he decided to retain the pocket-book, and consult some one, in whom he reposed confidence, as to the proper course to pursue.
He had no idea how much the wallet contained, and did not venture to examine it while he remained where he was.
He decided to ask Mr. O'Connor, the superintendent of the Lodging House, what he had better do under the circumstances.
"I will remain here awhile," thought Rough and Ready.
"Maybe the owner of the wallet will miss it, and come back for it.
If he does, and I am sure it is his, I will give it up.
But I won't give it to the bar-keeper; I don't like his looks."
So Rufus remained in his seat reading the "Herald."
He had never read the paper so faithfully before.
While he was still reading, a sailor staggered in.
He had evidently been drinking before, and showed the effects of it.
"A glass of rum," he said, in a thick voice.
"All right, sir," said the bar-keeper, obsequiously.
"I'm bound to have a jolly time," said the sailor.
"I've just come back from a voyage, and I mean to make the money fly while I have it."
So saying, he drew out half-a-dozen bank-bills, rolled up tightly together.
"That's the talk," said the bar-keeper, complaisantly.
"Nothing like being jolly."
"I say, you drink with me," said the sailor.
"I don't want to drink alone."
"Certainly, thank you;" and the bar-keeper poured out a glass for himself.
"Isn't there anybody that would like a drink?"
said the sailor.
He looked around him, and his glance fell on Rough and Ready.
"Won't that boy drink?"
he asked.
"You had better ask him."
"I say, won't you have a drink?"
said the sailor, turning to the newsboy.
"No, I thank you," said the newsboy.
"Are you too proud to drink with a rough fellow like me?"
"No," said our hero; "but I never drink.
I don't like it."
"Well, my lad, I don't know but you're right," said the sailor, more soberly.
"My mother asked me not to drink; but I couldn't hold out.
Don't do it, if you don't like it."
The bar-keeper by this time thought fit to interfere.
"Look here, boy," he said, angrily, "we don't want any temperance lectures here.
You've stayed as long as you're wanted.
You needn't come in here hurting our trade."
Rough and Ready did not think it necessary to answer this tirade, but laid down the paper and went out, carrying the pocket-book with him, of course.
He did not open it, even after he got into the street, for the action would be noticed, and it might excite suspicion if he were seen counting over a roll of bills, which he judged from the feeling the wallet contained.
It was now time to lay in his supply of afternoon papers, and he therefore turned his steps to the offices, and was soon busily engaged in disposing of them.
Indeed, so busily was he occupied, that he quite forgot he had the wallet in his possession.
The papers sold readily, and it was not till he was ready to go to supper with Miss Manning and Rose that the thought of his discovery returned to him.
"I will wait and open the pocket-book when I get to the room," he said to himself.
"Well, Rose," he said, gayly, on entering the room, "what do you think I've found?"
"I wish it was a kitten," said Rose.
"No, it isn't that," said Rufus, laughing, "and I don't think I should take the trouble to pick it up, if I did find one."
"Do you like kittens, Rose?"
asked Miss Manning.
"Yes, very much," said Rose; "they are so pretty and playful."
"Would you like to have me get one for you?"
"Will you?"
asked the child, eagerly.
"Yes; there's a lodger on the lower floor has three.
No doubt she will give us one."
"But won't it trouble you, Miss Manning?"
asked the newsboy.
"If it will, don't get it.
Rose can get along without it."
"Oh, I like kittens myself," said Miss Manning; "I should really like one."
"Now I like dogs best," said Rough and Ready.
"Most boys do, I believe," said the seamstress.
"But kittens are much prettier, Rufie," said Rose.
"They'll scratch, and dogs won't," said the newsboy; "but if you like a kitten, and Miss Manning is kind enough to get you one, I shall be glad to have her do so.
But you seem to have forgotten all about my discovery."
"What is it, Rufie?"
Rough and Ready drew the pocket-book from his pocket, and displayed it.
"Where did you find it, Rufus?"
asked Miss Manning.
"Is there much money in it, Rufie?"
asked his sister.
"I don't know yet, I'll look and see, and afterwards I'll tell where I found it."
He opened the wallet, and drew out a roll of bills.
Spreading them open, he began to count.
To his surprise they proved to be bills of a large denomination.
There was one one-hundred-dollar bill, five twenties, six tens, and eight fives.
He raised his eyes in surprise.
"Why, here are three hundred dollars," he said.
"Three hundred dollars!"
exclaimed Rose, clapping her hands.
"Why Rufie, how rich you are!"
"But it isn't my money, Rose," he said.
"You must remember that.
I may find the owner."
"Oh, I hope you won't," said the little girl, looking disappointed.
"But it isn't right to wish that, Rose," said Miss Manning.
"Suppose you had lost the money, you would like to have it returned to you, would you not?"
"I suppose I should," said Rose; "but three hundred dollars would do us a great deal of good.
You and Rufie wouldn't have to work so hard."
"As for me, hard work won't hurt me," said the newsboy.
"I rather enjoy it, now that I don't have to give my wages to Mr. Martin to buy rum with."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"Not since the time I mentioned.
But now I will tell you where I found this money."
Hereupon the newsboy gave the account which is already known to the reader.
It will, of course, be unnecessary to repeat it here.
When he had finished speaking, Miss Manning asked, "Well, Rufus, what do you intend to do about the money?"
"I am going to ask Mr. O'Connor's advice about it to-night," said our hero.
"Whatever he says I ought to do, I will do."
"Perhaps you won't find any owner, Rufie."
"We won't count our eggs before they are hatched," said Rufus, "and speaking of eggs, when are you going to give us some more for supper, Miss Manning?
Those we had Monday were bully."
"We'll have them often, if you like them, Rufus," said the seamstress.
In five minutes they sat down to supper, in which, as usual, Rufus did full justice.
