Alger Horatio Jr.
Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter
CHAPTER XIX.
ANOTHER ARREST
Micky Maguire, as the reader will remember, was by no means satisfied with the compensation he received from Gilbert for his share in the plot which came so near proving disastrous to our friend Dick.
He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch.
But, in spite of his disappointment, he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon Dick, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of Dick's conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial; but he had unpleasant associations connected with the court-room at the Tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity.
As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpy Jim, came up.
"Mornin', Jim," said Micky. "What luck?"
"None at all," said Jim. "I haven't had a shine yet, and I'm precious hungry."
"Come and take breakfast with me," said Micky, in an unusual fit of generosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated than to treat.
"Have you got stamps enough?"
"Look at this," and Micky displayed the bill which he had received from Gilbert.
"You're in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by shines?"
"Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you're hungry."
Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheap restaurant on Nassau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory.
"I've got some news," said Micky, after he had drained his cup of coffee. "You haven't forgot Ragged Dick, have ye?"
"He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue."
"Well, he's set up for something else now."
"What's that?"
"A pick-pocket."
"What?" asked Jim, amazed.
"He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station."
"That's where he gets his good clo'es from?" suggested Jim.
"Most likely. I expect he's on his way to the Island by this time."
"Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now."
"Wonder what Tom Wilkins'll say? He's a great friend of Dick's."
"He's a sneak," said Micky.
"That's so. I wanted to borrer a shillin' of him last week, and he wouldn't lend it to me."
This Tom Wilkins was a boot-black like the two who were expressing so unfavorable an opinion of his character. He had a mother and two sisters partially dependent upon him for support, and faithfully carried home all his earnings. This accounts for his being unwilling to lend Limpy Jim, who had no one to look out for but himself, and never considered it necessary to repay borrowed money. Tom had reason to feel friendly to Dick, for on several occasions, one of which is mentioned in the first volume of this series, Dick had given him help in time of need. He was always ready to defend Dick, when reviled by Micky and his followers, and had once or twice been attacked in consequence. Limpy Jim was right in supposing that nothing would disturb Tom more than to hear that his friend had got into trouble.
Micky, who was in a generous mood, bought a couple of cheap cigars, of which he presented one to his satellite. These were lighted, and both boys, feeling more comfortable for the hearty meal of which they had partaken, swaggered out into the street.
They re-entered the park, and began to look out for patrons.
"There's Tom Wilkins now," said Limpy Jim.
Tom was busily engaged in imparting a scientific shine to the boots of an old gentleman who was sitting on one of the wooden seats to be found in the neighborhood of the City Hall.
When he had completed his task, and risen from his knees, Limpy Jim advanced towards him, and said, with a sneer, "I've heard fine news about your friend Dick."
"What's that?" asked Tom.
"He's got nabbed by a 'copp.'"
"I don't believe it," said Tom, incredulously.
"Isn't it so, Micky?" said Jim, appealing to his friend.
"Yes, it's true. I seed him hauled off for pickin' an old fellow's pocket in Chatham Street."
"I don't believe it," repeated Tom; but he began to feel a little uneasy. "I saw him and spoke to him yesterday mornin'."
"What if you did? It didn't happen till afternoon."
"Dick wouldn't steal," said Tom, stoutly.
"He'll find it mighty hard work provin' that he didn't," said Micky. "You won't see him for the next three months."
"Why won't I?"
"Because he'll be at the Island. Maybe you'll go there yourself."
"If I do, it'll be for the first time," retorted Tom; "and that's more than either of you can say."
As this happened to be true, it was of course regarded as offensive.
"Shut up, Tom Wilkins!" said Micky, "if you don't want a lickin'."
"None of your impudence!" said Limpy Jim, emboldened by the presence and support of Micky, who was taller and stronger than Tom.
"I've only told the truth," said Tom, "and you can't deny it."
"Take that for your impudence!" said Micky, drawing off, and hitting Tom a staggering blow on the side of the head.
Limpy Jim was about to assist Micky, when there was a very unlooked-for interruption. Micky Maguire was seized by the collar, and, turning indignantly, found himself in the grip of a policeman.
"So you are fighting, are you, my fine fellow?" demanded the guardian of the public peace.
"He insulted me," said Micky, doggedly, not attempting resistance, which he knew would be ineffectual. "Didn't he, Jim?"
But Jim had already disappeared. He had a prejudice, easily accounted for, against the metropolitan police, and had as little communication with them as possible.
"I don't know anything about that," said the policeman. "All I know is that you're wanted."
"Just for hittin' him? I didn't hurt him any."
"He didn't hurt me much," said Tom, generously, not desiring to see Micky get into trouble on his account.
"He says I didn't hurt him," urged Micky. "Can't you let me go?"
"That isn't what I want you for," said the policeman.
Micky was astonished. The real cause of his arrest never once occurred to him, and he could not understand why he was "wanted."
"What is it, then?" he asked in some surprise. "What 'ave I been doin'?"
"Perhaps you don't remember relieving an old gentleman of his pocket-book yesterday in Chatham Street."
"'Twasn't me."
"Who was it then?"
"Ragged Dick,—the feller that was took at the time. I seed him pick the man's pocket."
"It seems that you remember something about it."
"But it was Dick that did it. If he says I did it, he lies."
"I've nothing to do with that. You must tell your story to the judge."
"Has he let Dick go?"
"Yes."
Micky received this intelligence with dismay. Somehow it had got out that he was the real thief, and he began to think that his chance of getting off was small. Just then, while in custody of the policeman, he saw advancing towards him the man who had inveigled him into the plot,—Gilbert, the book-keeper. His anger against Gilbert overcame his prudence, and he said, "Well, if I did take the pocket-book, I was paid for doin' it, and that was the man that hired me."
With some surprise, the policeman listened to this story.
"If you don't believe me, just wait till I speak to him."
"Mr. Gilbert!" called Micky.
Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up, and, rapidly understanding what had happened, determined upon his course.
"Who speaks to me?" he said, quietly.
"You've got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert," said Micky, "and I want you to get me out of it."
"What does he mean?" asked Gilbert, coolly, addressing the policeman.
"You hired me to steal a man's pocket-book, and I'm took up for it," said Micky. "I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the Island."
"The boy must be crazy," said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders.
"You give me a dollar to do it," said Micky, very much incensed at the desertion of his confederate.
"Do you know the boy?" asked the policeman respectfully, for he put no faith in Micky's statement.
"He blacked my boots once," said Gilbert. "That's all I know about him. What is he arrested for?"
"For picking pockets. There was another boy arrested on suspicion, but it appeared on trial that he was innocent, and that this boy really took the wallet."
"He looks like a young scamp," said Gilbert, coolly. "I'm much obliged to him for introducing my name into the matter. I hope he'll get his desserts."
This was too much for Micky's patience. He assailed Gilbert with such a shower of oaths that the policeman tightened his grip, and shook him vigorously. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, and walked off with apparent unconcern.
"Wait till I get free," said Micky, furiously. "I'll fix him."
In regard to Micky, I have only to say further at this time, that he was at once conveyed to the Tombs, summarily tried and convicted, and spent the same night on Blackwell's Island, where we leave him for three months.
CHAPTER XX.
BEFORE THE PARTY
"You'll be able to attend Ida Greyson's party after all, Dick," said Fosdick, on Tuesday evening.
"Yes," said Dick, "I was afraid that I should be wanted to grace the fashionable circles at Blackwell's Island; but as my particular friend Micky Maguire has kindly offered to go in my place, I shall be able to keep my other engagement."
"Micky's a bad fellow."
"I'm afraid he is," said Dick; "but he's never had a fair chance. His father was a drunkard, and used to beat him and his mother, till Micky ran away from home, and set up for himself. He's never had any good example set him."
"You speak kindly of Micky, considering he has always been your enemy."
"I haven't any ill will against Micky," said Dick, generously. "If I ever can do him a good turn I will. I've been luckier than he and most of my old companions, I'm going to do all I can to help them along. There's good in them if you can only bring it out."
Dick spoke earnestly, in a very different tone from his usual one. He had a certain philosophy of his own, and had always taken the world easily, however it treated him; but he had a warm and sympathizing heart for the sufferings of others, and he felt that he was in a position to befriend his old associates, and encourage them to higher aims and a better mode of life.
"You're a good fellow, Dick," said Fosdick. "It isn't everybody that is so charitable to the faults of others."
"I know one," said Dick, smiling.
"You mean me; but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I can't say I feel very well disposed towards Micky Maguire."
"Maybe Micky'll reform and turn out well after all."
"It would be a wonderful change."
"Haven't both of us changed wonderfully in the last eighteen months?"
"You were always a good fellow, even when you were Ragged Dick."
"You say that because you are my friend, Fosdick."
"I say it because it's true, Dick. You were always ready to take the side of the weak against the strong, and share your money with those who were out of luck. I had a hard time till I fell in with you."
"Thank you," said Dick; "if I ever want a first-rate recommendation I'll come to you. What a lot of friends I've got! Mr. Gilbert offered to get me another place if I'd only resign my situation at Rockwell & Cooper's."
"He's a very disinterested friend," said Fosdick, laughing. "Do you think of accepting his offer?"
"I'm afraid I might not be suited with the place he'd get me," said Dick. "He thinks I'm best fitted to adorn the office of a boot-black. Maybe he'd appoint me his private boot-black; but I'm afraid I shouldn't be able to retire on a fortune till I was two or three hundred, if I accepted the situation."
"What shall we wear to the party, Dick?"
"We've got good suits of clothes. We can carry them to a tailor's and have them pressed, and they will look well enough. I saw a splendid necktie to-day at a store on Broadway. I'm going to buy it."
"You have a weakness for neckties, Dick."
"You see, Fosdick, if you have a striking necktie, people will look at that, and they won't criticise your face."
"There may be something in that, Dick. I feel a little nervous though. It is the first fashionable party I ever attended."
"Well," said Dick, "I haven't attended many. When I was a boot-black I found it interfered with my business, and so I always declined all the fashionable invitations I got."
"You'd have made a sensation," said Fosdick, "if you had appeared in the costume you then wore."
"That's what I was afraid of. I don't want to make a sensation. I'm too modest."
In fact both the boys, though they were flattered by Ida's invitation, looked forward rather nervously to the evening of the party. For the first time they were to meet and mingle on terms of equality with a large number of young people who had been brought up very differently from themselves. Dick could not help remembering how short a time had elapsed since, with his little wooden box strapped to his back, he used to call out, "Black your boots?" in the city park. Perhaps some of his old customers might be present. Still he knew that he had improved greatly, and that his appearance had changed for the better. It was hardly likely that any one seeing him in Mr. Greyson's drawing-room, would identify him as the Ragged Dick of other days. Then there was another ground for confidence. Ida liked him, and he had a sincere liking for the little girl for whom he had a feeling such as a brother has for a cherished younger sister. So Dick dressed himself for the party, feeling that he should "get through it somehow."
I need not say, of course, that his boots shone with a lustre not to be surpassed even by the professional expert of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was very evident that Dick had not forgotten the business by which he once gained his livelihood.
When Dick had arranged his necktie to suit him, which I am bound to confess took at least quarter of an hour, had carefully brushed his hair, and dusted his clothes, he certainly looked remarkably well. Dick was not vain, but he was anxious to appear to advantage on his first appearance in society. It need not be added that Fosdick also was neatly dressed, but he was smaller and more delicate-looking than Dick, and not likely to attract so much attention.
As the boys were descending the stairs they met Miss Peyton.
"Really, Mr. Hunter," said that young lady, "you look quite dazzling this evening. How many hearts do you expect to break this evening?"
"I'm not in that line of business," said Dick. "I leave all that to you."
"You're too bad, really, Mr. Hunter," said Miss Peyton, highly pleased, nevertheless. "I never think of such a thing."
"I suppose I must believe you," said Dick, "but why is it that Mr. Clifton has looked so sad lately?"
"Mr. Clifton would not think of poor me," said Miss Peyton.
"If you only knew what he said about you the other day."
"Do tell me."
"I couldn't."
"If you will, I'll give you—"
"Thank you," interrupted Dick, gravely; "but I never accept kisses from ladies over six years old."
"How can you say so, Mr. Hunter?"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Peyton, but I really couldn't."
"As if I ever thought of such a thing!" said Miss Peyton, in affected horror.
"I appeal to my friend Fosdick."
"Did I say so, Mr. Fosdick?"
Fosdick smiled.
"You mustn't appeal to me, Miss Peyton. You and Mr. Hunter are so brilliant that I don't pretend to understand you."
"Then you won't tell me what Mr. Clifton said. It is too bad. I shan't sleep to-night for thinking of it."
"Suppose you ask Mr. Clifton."
"I don't know but I will."
Miss Peyton went into the parlor, her heart fluttering with the thought that she had made a conquest of the gentleman referred to. As Mr. Clifton was a clerk on a small salary, continually in debt, and with no expectations, he could not be considered a very brilliant match; but Miss Peyton was not very particular, and she would have readily changed her name to Clifton if the chance should present itself. As we may not have occasion to refer to her again, it may be as well to state that Mr. Clifton's pecuniary affairs came to a crisis some months afterwards. He had always been in the habit of laughing at Miss Peyton; but in his strait he recollected that she was mistress of a few thousand dollars over which she had absolute control. Under these circumstances he decided to sacrifice himself. He accordingly offered his heart and hand, and was promptly accepted. Miss Peyton informed him that he was "the object of her heart's tenderest affection, her first and only love." Mr. Clifton expressed no doubt of this, though he was aware that Miss Peyton had been laying her snares for a husband for nearly ten years.
The marriage took place at the boarding-house, Dick and Fosdick being among the invited guests.
Mr. Clifton with his wife's money bought a partnership in a retail store on Eighth Avenue, where it is to be hoped he is doing a good business. Any one desirous of calling upon him at his place of business is referred to the New York City Directory for his number. Whether Mr. and Mrs. Clifton live happily I cannot pretend to say, not being included in the list of their friends; but I am informed by my friend Dick, who calls occasionally, that Mrs. Clifton is as fascinating now as before her marriage, and very naturally scorns the whole sisterhood of old maids, having narrowly escaped becoming one herself.
CHAPTER XXI.
IDA GREYSON'S PARTY
When Dick and his friend reached Mr. Greyson's house, two carriages stood before the door, from each of which descended young guests, who, like themselves, had been invited to the party. One of these brought two young girls of twelve, the other two boys of twelve and fourteen, and their sister of ten. Entering with this party, the two boys felt less embarrassed than if they had been alone. The door was opened by a servant, who said, "Young ladies' dressing-room, second floor, left-hand room. Young gentlemen's dressing-room opposite."
Following directions, the boys went upstairs and entered a spacious chamber, where they deposited their outer garments, and had an opportunity to arrange their hair and brush their clothes.
"Is your sister here this evening?" asked one of the boys, addressing Dick.
"No," said Dick, soberly; "she couldn't come."
"I'm sorry for that. She promised to dance with me the first Lancers."
"Wouldn't I do as well?" asked Dick.
"I don't think you would," said the other, laughing. "But I'll tell you what,—you shall dance with my sister."
"I will, with pleasure," said Dick, "if you'll introduce me."
"Why, I thought you knew her," said the other, in surprise.
"Perhaps I did," said Dick; "but I exchanged myself off for another boy just before I came, and that makes a difference, you know. I shouldn't have known you, if you hadn't spoken to me."
"Do you know me now?" asked the other boy, beginning to understand that he had made a mistake.
"You live on Twenty-First Street,—don't you?"
"Yes," was the unexpected reply, for Dick had by a curious chance guessed right. "You're Henry Cameron, after all."
"No," said Dick; "my name is Richard Hunter."
"And mine is Theodore Selden; but I suppose you knew that, as you knew where I live. If you're ready, we'll go downstairs."
"Come, Fosdick," said Dick.
"We're going to have the Lancers first," said Theodore. "Ida told my sister so. Have you a partner engaged?"
"No."
"Then I'll introduce you to my sister. Come along."
I may explain here that Dick, and Fosdick also, had several times danced the Lancers in the parlor at the boarding-house in the evening, so that they felt reasonably confident of getting through respectably. Still his new friend's proposal made Dick feel a little nervous. He was not bashful with boys, but he had very little acquaintance with girls or young ladies, and expected to feel ill at ease with them. Still he could not think of a good reason for excusing himself from the promised introduction, and, after going up to Ida in company with his new friend, and congratulating her on her birthday (he would not have known how to act if Theodore had not set him an example), he walked across the room to where one of the young ladies who had entered at the time he did was seated.
"Alice," said Theodore, "this is my friend Mr. Hunter, who would like to dance with you in the first Lancers."
Dick bowed, and Alice, producing a card, said, "I shall be most happy. Will Mr. Hunter write his name on my card?"
Dick did so, and was thankful that he could now write a handsome hand.
"Now," said Theodore, unceremoniously, "I'll leave you two to amuse each other, while I go off in search of a partner."
"I'm in for it," thought Dick, seating himself on the sofa beside Alice. "I wish I knew what to say."
"Do you like the Lancers?" inquired the young lady.
"Yes, I like it," said Dick, "but I haven't danced it much. I'm afraid I shall make some mistakes."
"I've no doubt we shall get along well," said Alice. "Where did you learn?"
"I learned at home," said Dick.
"I thought I had not met you at Dodworth's. I attended dancing school there last winter."
"No," said Dick; "I never took lessons."
"Don't you like Ida Greyson?" inquired Alice.
"Yes, I like her very much," said Dick, sincerely.
"She's a sweet girl. She's a very intimate friend of mine. Who is that boy that came into the room with you?"
"His name is Henry Fosdick."
"He's going to dance with Ida. Come, let us hurry and get in the same set."
Dick offered his arm, and, as the sets were already being formed, led his partner to the upper end of the room, where they were just in time to get into the same set with Ida.
Theodore, with a girl about his own age, had already taken his position opposite Dick. Fosdick and Ida were the first couple, and opposite them Isaac and Isabella Selden, cousins of Theodore and Alice.
They had scarcely taken their places when the music struck up. Dick felt a little flustered, but determined to do his best. Being very quick in learning figures, and naturally gracefully in his movements, he got through very creditably, and without a mistake.
"I thought you expected to make mistakes," said Alice Selden, as Dick led her back to her seat. "I think you dance very well."
"It was because I had such a good partner," said Dick.
"Thank you for the compliment," said Alice, courtesying profoundly.
"Seems to me you're very polite, Alice," said Theodore, coming up.
"Mr. Hunter was paying me a compliment," said Alice.
"I wish you'd tell me how," said Theodore to Dick.
"I wish he would," interrupted Alice. "All your compliments are of the wrong kind."
"It isn't expected that brothers should compliment their sisters," said Theodore.
Mrs. Greyson came into the room during the dancing, and was pleased to see that Dick and Henry Fosdick, instead of sitting awkwardly in the corner, were taking their part in the evening's amusement. Dick made an engagement with Alice for another dance later in the evening, but danced the second with Ida Greyson, with whom, by this time, he felt very well acquainted.
"I didn't know you knew Alice Selden," said Ida. "Where did you meet her?"
"Her brother Theodore introduced me this evening. I did not know her before."
"You haven't been here lately, Dick," said Ida, familiarly.
"No," said he. "It's because I've been very busy."
"You don't work in the evening,—do you?"
"I study in the evening."
"What do you study, Dick?"
"French, for one thing."
"Can you speak French?"
"A little. Not much."
"I'm going to try you 'Comment vous portez-vous, monsieur?'"
"'Très bien, mademoiselle. Et vous?'"
"That's right," said Ida, gravely. "I can't talk much yet myself. Who teaches you?"
"I have a private teacher."
"So have I. She comes twice a week. When I don't know my lesson, she boxes my ears. Is your teacher cross?"
"No," said Dick, laughing. "He doesn't box my ears."
"That's because you're so large. I wish I could have you for my teacher. I'd ask papa, if you could only speak it like a native."
"So I can," said Dick.
"You can, really?"
"Yes, like a native of New York."
Ida laughed, and was afraid that wouldn't do.
When the dance was over, and Dick was leading Ida to her seat, a surprise awaited him. A boy came forward hastily, and said in a tone blending amazement with gratification, "Is it possible that this is Dick Hunter?"
"Frank Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, clasping his hand cordially. "How came you here?"
"Just the question I was going to ask you, Dick. But I'll answer first. I am spending a few days with some cousins in Thirty-Seventh Street. They are friends of the Greysons, and were invited here this evening, and I with them. I little dreamed of meeting you here. I must say, Dick, you seem quite at home."
"Mr. Greyson has been a kind friend of mine," said Dick, "and I've met Ida quite often. But I felt a little nervous about coming to this party. I was afraid I'd be like a cat in a strange garret."
"You're a wonderful boy, Dick. You look as if you had been used to such scenes all your life. I can hardly believe you're the same boy I met in front of the Astor House a little more than a year ago."
"If I'm changed, it's because of what you said to me then, you and your father. But for those words I might still have been Ragged Dick."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Dick; but, for all that, a great deal of credit is due to yourself."
"I've worked hard," said Dick, "because I felt that I had something to work for. When are you going to enter college?"
"I expect to apply for admission in about two months."
"At Columbia College?"
"Yes."
"I am glad of that. I shall hope to see you sometimes."
"You will see me often, Dick."
Here the music struck up, and the boys parted. It is unnecessary to speak farther of the events of the evening. Dick made several other acquaintances, and felt much more at ease than he had anticipated. He returned home, feeling that his first party had been a very agreeable one, and that he had on the whole appeared to advantage.
