Alger Horatio Jr.
Julius, The Street Boy
CHAPTER X.
A BOOTBLACK’S SPEECH
Julius and his companions were readily excused by the superintendent, on explaining the cause of their delay.
After supper was over, Mr. O’Connor said: “Boys, this is the last time you will be all together. To-morrow probably many of you will set out for new homes. Now, how shall we pass the time?”
“A speech from Corny Donovan!” cried one boy.
“Speech from Corny!” was heard from all parts of the hall.
“Corny, have you anything to say to the boys?” asked the superintendent, smiling.
Corny was a short, wiry little fellow, apparently twelve, but in reality two years older. He was noted among the boys for his drollery, and frequently amused them with his oratory. He came forward with a twinkle of merriment in his eye.
“The Honorable Corny Donovan will speak to the meetin’,” said Julius, acting as temporary chairman.
Corny took his place on the platform, and with perfect gravity took out a small, red handkerchief, and blew his nose explosively, in imitation of a gentleman who once addressed the boys at the Lodging House. The boys greeted this commencement with vociferous applause.
“Go in, Corny!” “Spit it out!” were heard from different parts of the hall.
“Boys,” said Corny, extending his right arm horizontally, “I’ve come here from my manshun in Fifth Avenoo to give you some good advice. You’re poor miserable bummers, ivery mother’s son of you. You don’t know much anyhow. Once’t I was as poor as you.” (“Hi; hi!” shouted his auditors.) “You wouldn’t think to look at my good clo’es that I was once a poor bummer like the rest of yez.” (“Yes we would. Where’s your gold watch?”) “Where’s my gold watch? I left it at home on the planner. Maybe you’d like to grow up gentlemen like me. But you can’t do it. It ain’t in you.” (“Oh, dry up!”) “Boys, where’s your manners? Don’t you know no more’n to interrupt me in my speech? Me and Mr. O’Connor have brought you out here to make men of you. We want you to grow up ‘spectable. Blackin’ boots won’t make men of you.” (“You’re only a bootblack yourself!”) “I only blacked boots for amoosement, boys. I’d have you know I used to leave my Fifth Avenoo manshun in disguise, and pass the day round Printin’ House Square, blackin’ boots, ’cause my doctor told me I must have exercise, or I’d die eatin’ too much rich food.” (“Rich hash, you mean!”) “No, I don’t. I never allow my cook to put hash on the table, ’cause you can’t tell what it’s made of, no more’n sassidges. There’s lots of dogs and cats disappear in New York, and it’s pop’larly supposed that they commits suicide; but the eatin’-house keepers know what ’comes of ’em.” (“You bet! That’s so, Corny!”)
“Now I want you boys to leave off bummin’, and try to be ’spectable members of s’ciety. I don’t want yer to spend yer money for cigars, an’ chew cheap tobaccer, just as ef you was men. Once’t I saw a four-year-old bummer sittin’ on a doorstep, smokin’ a cigar that was half as big as he was. All at once’t his rags took fire, and he went up in a balloon.” (“Hi! hi!”)
“I tell you, boys, the West is the place for you. Who knows but what you’ll git to be Congressmen, or even President?” (“Hear the boy talk!”) “I didn’t mean you, Jim Malone, so you needn’t say nothin’. They don’t make Congressmen out’n sich crooked sticks as you be. Maybe you’ll keep a corner grocery some time, or a whiskey shop, an’ lay on the floor drunk half the time.” (“Pitch into him, Corny!”) “But that ain’t what I was a goin’ to say. You’ll be great men, ef you don’t miss of it; and if you’re good and honest and industrious like I am,” (“Dry up! Simmer down!”), “you’ll come to live in fine houses, and have lots of servants to wait on you, and black yer boots, instead of blackin’ ’em yourself.” (“I’ll take you for my bootblack, Corny,” interrupted Julius.) “No, you won’t. I expect to be governor before that time, and maybe you’ll be swallered by the bear that scared you so this afternoon.” (Laughter from the boys.) “But I’ve most got through.” (“Oh, drive ahead, Corny!”) “If you want to be great men all you’ve got to do is to imertate me. Me and Mr. O’Connor are goin’ to watch you, to see that you behave the way you ought to. When you’re rich you can come back to New York, and go to the Lodgin’ House and make a speech to the boys, and tell ’em you was once a poor bummer like they be, and advise ’em to go West, if they want to be somebody.
“Now, boys, I won’t say no more. I’m afeared you won’t remember what I’ve said already. I won’t charge you nothin’ for my advice.”
Corny descended from the platform amid the laughter and applause of his comrades.
Mr. O’Connor said: “Boys, Corny’s advice is very good, and I advise you to follow it, especially as to avoiding cigars and tobacco, which can only do boys harm. I am not sure that any of you stand a chance of becoming a Congressman or President, as he suggests, but there is one thing pretty certain—you can, if you are honest, industrious, and improve your opportunities at the schools which you will have a chance to attend, obtain a respectable position in society. Some of the boys who in former years have gone to the West have become prosperous, having farms or shops of their own. I don’t see why you can’t be just as successful as they. I hope you will be, and if, some years hence, you come to New York, I hope you will visit the Lodging House. If I am still there, I shall be glad to see you, and have you speak to the boys, and encourage them, by the sight of your prosperity, to work as you have done. Now I would suggest that you sing one or two of the songs we used to sing on Sunday evenings at the Lodging House. After that you may go out for an hour, but you must keep near this hall, as the evening is coming on.”
CHAPTER XI.
NEW HOMES FOR THE HOMELESS
The next day was to witness the dispersion of the little company which had come out to try their fortunes in the great West. Notices had been circulated in the neighboring villages that a company of boys had arrived, and farmers and mechanics who needed a boy on the farm or in the shop came to Brookville; and at eleven in the forenoon the hall presented a busy and animated sight. While the newcomers scanned attentively the faces of the boys, or opened conversations with them, to guide them in the selections, the boys again were naturally anxious to obtain desirable guardians and homes. Julius, being already provided for, had no anxiety, but wandered about, surveying the scene with comparative indifference. As he had a bright and intelligent look, he was more than once addressed by visitors.
“What is your name, my lad?” asked a middle-aged farmer from the next town.
“Julius.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“How would you like to come with me, and help me on my farm?”
“I’m engaged,” said Julius, with an air of importance; for as young ladies are often emulous of getting married before their companions, so the boy who first succeeds in obtaining a place plumes himself accordingly.
“Indeed!” said the farmer, somewhat disappointed. “Where are you going to live?”
“With Mr. Ephraim Taylor.”
“In Brookville?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall have to look somewhere else, I suppose.”
“Maybe you’d like Corny Donovan?” suggested Julius.
“Where is he? Point him out.”
Our hero pointed out the speaker of the evening before.
“He’s small,” said the farmer, after a critical survey. “How old is he?”
“He’s fourteen.”
“He doesn’t look more than twelve.”
“He’s strong, Corny is, and he’s smart. He used to earn twice as much money as some of the boys.”
“What did he do?”
“He blacked boots.”
“Do you think he would like to work on a farm?”
“I’ll axe him. Come here, Corny.”
Corny Donovan came up.
“Here’s a gentleman wants to talk to you,” said Julius.
“I was asking if you would like to work on a farm.”
“Yes,” said Corny, promptly, “if I was treated well, and could go to school. I want to learn somethin’, so’s I can grow up to be somebody.”
“You ain’t afraid of work, are you?”
“No, nor nothin’ else. Julius here is afraid of bears.”
“You won’t find any bears where I live,” said the farmer, smiling. “How would you like to go home with me?”
“I’d like it. You’ll have to speak to Mr. O’Connor.”
“He is the man who brought you to the West?”
“Yes. He stands there.”
Mr. O’Connor was the center of a group of farmers and others, who were making inquiries about particular boys.
“Mr. O’Connor,” said the farmer just introduced, “I want to ask you about a boy who calls himself Corny Donovan.”
“He is a smart boy; there is no smarter in our company.”
“Can you recommend him?”
“My dear sir, it depends on what you mean by the word.”
“Well, is he to be depended upon?”
“I think so; but we cannot guarantee it. You know what has been the past life of our boys; how they have been brought up in neglect and privation in the city streets, subject to little restraint, and without careful instruction. You can’t expect them to be models of all the virtues.”
“No, I suppose not!”
“But I can tell you this—that among the thousands whom we place in Western homes, there are few who do us discredit by being guilty of criminal offenses. They may at times be mischievous, as most boys in all conditions are, and with whatever advantages. There are few who show themselves really bad.”
“That is all I want to know, Mr. O’Connor. I will take this boy, Corny, and try him, with your consent.”
“Have you spoken with him?”
“Yes; he thinks he shall like being on a farm.”
“Then, sir, you have only to give us good references, and the matter shall be arranged. We always insist upon them, as we feel under obligations to place our boys in good families, where they will be likely to receive good treatment.”
“That is quite fair, sir. I can satisfy you on that point.”
The matter was soon arranged, and Corny Donovan’s suspense was at an end. He had found a home. His new guardian was Mr. Darius Fogg, who owned and cultivated a large farm in the adjoining township of Claremont.
“How far do you live from Brookville?” asked Julius.
“About six miles.”
“Can Corny come over some time? I should like to see him sometimes.”
“Oh, yes; he will have occasion to come often. We send our farm produce here, to go East by rail, and we do our shopping here. Mrs. Fogg will want Cornelius to drive her over of an afternoon.”
“Shall I drive the horses?” asked Corny, his eyes lighting up with eager anticipation.
“Certainly; you will have to do it every day.”
“That’ll be stavin’. I say, Julius, won’t I put her over the road two-forty?”
This remark Mr. Fogg did not hear, or he might have been alarmed at the prospect of either of his staid farm horses being put over the road at racing speed. It is doubtful, however, whether Corny, or any other driver, could have got any very surprising speed out of them.
Teddy Bates was attached to Julius, and, though he was but a year younger than our hero, looked up to him as a weak nature looks up to a stronger. He was very anxious to find a home near our hero. Fortune favored him at last, as a Mr. Johnson, a shoemaker, living only half a mile distant from Mr. Taylor, agreed to take him into his shop, and teach him the shoemaker’s trade.
“So you’re goin’ to learn to make shoes, Teddy,” said Julius. “Do you think you’ll like it?”
“I don’t know,” said Teddy, “but I’m glad I’m goin’ to be near you.”
“We’ll have bully times, but I’d rather be on a farm. I want to drive horses.”
“I never drove a horse,” said Teddy.
“Nor I; but I can.”
“S’pose he runs away.”
“I won’t let him. You ain’t afraid of a horse as well as a bear, are you, Teddy?”
“I ain’t used to ’em, you see.”
“Nor I; but I will be soon.”
Teddy did not reply; but congratulated himself that he should have no horse to take care of. In this, however, he was mistaken, as his new guardian kept a horse also, though he did not have as much use for him as if he had been a farmer.
Teddy, I may here remark, was an exception to his class. Street boys are rarely deficient in courage or enterprise, and most would be delighted at the opportunity to control or drive a horse. But Teddy inherited a timid temperament, and differed widely from such boys as Julius or Corny Donovan.
“Well, my boy, are you ready? I’ve got to be getting home,” said Mr. Johnson, walking up to the place where Teddy stood talking with Julius.
“Yes, sir, I’m ready. I’ll just bid good-by to Mr. O’Connor.”
“Good-by, my boy,” said the superintendent. “I hope you will behave well in your new home, and satisfy the gentleman who has agreed to take you. Write home sometimes, and let me know how you are getting along.”
“I can’t write, sir,” said Teddy, rather ashamed of his ignorance.
“You will soon learn. Good-by!”
Next Julius came up, as Mr. Taylor was also ready to start.
“Good-by, Julius,” said Mr. O’Connor. “Now you’ve got a chance to make a man of yourself, I hope you’ll do it.”
“I will,” said Julius, confidently. “If Jack Morgan or Marlowe come round to ask where I am, don’t tell them.”
“I don’t think they’ll trouble me with any inquiries. They are probably in Sing Sing by this time.”
CHAPTER XII.
JULIUS IN LUCK
A light wagon was standing outside for Julius and his new guardian.
“Jump in, Julius,” said Mr. Taylor.
Our hero did not need a second command. He was quickly in his seat, and looked wistfully at his companion, who held the reins.
“May I drive?” he asked.
“Are you accustomed to driving?”
“No, sir.”
“I suppose you never got a chance in the city?”
“No, sir. Jack didn’t keep a horse,” said Julius, with a smile.
“Who was Jack?”
“He was the man I lived with.”
“Was he in any business?”
“Yes, sir; but it wasn’t a very good kind of business. Jack used to break into houses, and take anything he could find. He tried pickin’ pockets one while, but he was too clumsy, and got caught too often. Marlowe could do that better.”
“Were those the two men you spoke of to Mr. O’Connor, as you were coming away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you happen to be in charge of such a man?”
“That’s more than I knows of. When I was a little chap, four or five years old, I lived with Jack; but he never told me where he got me from.”
“Do you think you are his son?”
“No; I know I’m not. When Jack got drunk he used to tell me I wa’n’t no child of his, and he’d send me out to shift for myself if I didn’t do jest as he told me.”
“Did he often get drunk?”
“He used to drink when he got a chance, but he’d only get reg’lar drunk about once a week.”
“Did he ever offer you anything to drink?”
“No,” answered Julius, laughing; “he wanted it all himself. But I wouldn’t have took it.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t like it. Besides, I didn’t want to lay round drunk like Jack. I didn’t see that there was any fun in it.”
“You are right there. There is very little fun, as you call it, in getting drunk. It appears to me you were brought up under bad influences.”
“Yes, I was,” said Julius, in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Many would be afraid to take into their houses a boy who had been reared by a thief.”
“Maybe they would,” said Julius.
“They might be afraid that he had been trained to steal.”
“Yes,” said Julius; “but what’s the good of stealin’ when you got a good home?”
“Quite right; but that isn’t the highest view to take of stealing. It is wrong in the sight of God.”
“That’s what they told us at the Lodgin’ House.”
“I hope you believe it.”
“Yes, sir, I believe it.”
“And if ever you are tempted to take anything that doesn’t belong to you, think first that it will be displeasing to God. After that, you may consider that it is bad policy also.”
“It was bad for Jack and Marlowe. They was in prison half the time. They’re in Sing Sing now, hammerin’ stone, I expect.”
“You may be thankful that you are out of their reach. But you said you wanted to drive.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julius, eagerly.
“Take the reins, and I’ll show you how to do it. You will have to learn to harness and unharness the horse also.”
“That’ll be bully,” said our hero, in a tone of satisfaction.
“I am glad you like the idea. I am going to make a Western farmer of you.”
“That’s what I want.”
Mr. Taylor gave Julius some practical directions about driving, and had an illustration of the boy’s quickness in his immediate comprehension and acting upon them. They soon came in sight of a gate, on the other side of which was a lane.
“Jump out and open the gate,” said Mr. Taylor. “That lane leads to my house.”
They soon came in sight of a substantial farm-house of good appearance. A man in overalls, and without a coat, came up to meet the carriage.
“Abner,” said Mr. Taylor, “you may take out the horse, and put him in the barn.”
“Shall I go with him?” asked Julius.
“Not now. I will take you into the house, and introduce you to Mrs. Taylor, who will show you where you are to sleep.”
He entered the house, followed by Julius.
“Come in here,” said Mr. Taylor, throwing open the door of a comfortable sitting-room. It was furnished in ordinary, yet tasteful, style; and to Julius, bred in the street and never having known anything better than a bare and cheerless apartment in a shabby tenement house, it seemed like a palace. In front of a fire sat a pleasant and comely woman of thirty-five, sewing. She looked up as Mr. Taylor entered, and her eyes rested with interest on the boy who followed him.
“Emma,” said her husband, “this is the boy I spoke to you about.”
“I am glad to see you,” said Mrs. Taylor, with a cordial smile, extending her hand, which Julius took bashfully. He was not diffident in the presence of men, but he was not accustomed to ladies, and felt awkward in their presence. “You have come a long journey,” said Mrs. Taylor.
“Yes, sir—I mean ma’am,” stammered Julius.
“You come from New York?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I hope you will like Brookville. It isn’t much like the great city you have left.”
“I like it a great deal better.”
“What is your name?”
“Julius.”
“You are the first Julius that I ever met. And your other name?”
“I haven’t got none.”
The lady looked surprised.
“What was your father’s name. Surely he had one.”
“Maybe he did, but I never had the pleasure of his acquaintance.”
“This is really singular, Ephraim,” said his wife. “How can he get along with but one name?”
“He can take ours.”
“How would you like to take the name of Taylor?” he asked.
“Tiptop,” said Julius.
“Then you can call yourself Julius Taylor. I suppose that will be all the formality required. Emma, where are you going to put him?”
“I will show him his room,” said Mrs. Taylor. “Is his trunk outside?”
“I haven’t got no trunk,” said Julius.
“Then where do you keep your clothes?” asked Mrs. Taylor, in some surprise.
“I suspect,” said her husband, “Julius carries his clothes on his back.”
“I’ve got some in this bundle,” said our hero, displaying a paper parcel.
“You will have to buy him some, Ephraim,” said his wife. “He will need a supply of underclothes.”
“I leave that matter in your hands, my dear. You will know more about his needs than I.”
Julius followed Mrs. Taylor upstairs to a small back chamber on the second floor, which was neatly furnished, with a bedstead, table, bureau, washstand, two chairs, and adorned, moreover, by three prints cheaply framed, and hung upon the walls.
“This will be your room Julius,” said Mrs. Taylor.
To the boy, with the recollections of his street life fresh in his memory, it seemed hardly credible that this sumptuous chamber, as it seemed to him, could really be his.
“Do you like it?” asked Mrs. Taylor, noticing that he remained silent.
“Don’t I?” he answered, drawing a long breath. “Is this goin’ to be my room?”
“Yes, you are to sleep here regularly. That bureau is for your clothes. You can put your bundle inside now, and in a few days you shall have some more to put in.”
“It’s stavin’,” ejaculated Julius, rapturously.
“I am not familiar with that word,” Mrs. Taylor said, “but I suppose it means that the room suits you. You will find some water in the pitcher, if you want to wash. When you have got through, you may come downstairs. We shall have dinner directly.”
Left to himself, Julius sat down on the bed, and tried to realize the situation.
“What would Jack say if he should see me now?” he said to himself. “I didn’t expect I was goin’ to set up as a gentleman so quick. Ain’t this a jolly bed? I’ll sleep like a top on it. It’s a blamed sight better than lyin’ on the floor in Jack’s room, or sleepin’ in old wagons, or on the piers. I feel as if one of them magician chaps had shaken his stick at me and changed me from a bootblack into a prince, like he did in that play at the Old Bowery. So I’m Julius Taylor now.”
Julius arose from the bed, and proceeded to wash his face and hands, though, under ordinary circumstances, he would scarcely have thought it necessary. But he reflected that he had ascended in the social scale, and it was only proper to adapt himself to his new position. When he had completed his ablutions, to use an expression which he would not yet have understood, he heard a bell ring below.
“That’s for grub!” he said to himself. “I guess I can do my share.”
