Alger Horatio Jr.
Julius, The Street Boy
CHAPTER XIII.
THE NEW DOLL
Julius had been unusually fortunate in obtaining a home in Mr. Taylor’s family. His new guardian was a man of wealth; indeed, he was the wealthiest man in Brookville. He owned shares in banks and mining companies, and could have lived handsomely had his farm yielded no income. He had a taste for agriculture, however, though he personally carried on but a small part of his extensive farm. His wife had been born and brought up in an Eastern city, was well educated, and, though she superintended the affairs of her household, did comparatively little work herself, having the aid of two stout, capable girls in the kitchen, who relieved her of all the drudgery, and, being competent for their positions, required very little looking after. It will be seen, therefore, that Mr. Taylor’s household is not presented as that of an average Western farmer. Though, as a class, our Western farmers are intelligent, they lack the refinement and cultivation which Mr. and Mrs. Taylor derived from their early advantages.
I must now explain how they came to take Julius into their family. Though they had been married twelve years, they had but one child, a little girl of five, a pretty and attractive child. Having no son, it occurred to them to receive into their household a boy, who would be company for little Carrie, and whom, if found worthy, they might hereafter adopt and provide for. A boy of the age of Julius can always make himself useful on a Western farm, but it was only partially with a view to this consideration that he was received.
Mr. Taylor resolved to give him a good education, and increase his advantages, if he showed himself to possess capability and willingness to learn.
Comparatively few of the boys who are sent to the West can hope to obtain such homes; but though their privileges and opportunities may be less, they will in most cases obtain a decent education, good treatment, and a chance to rise.
While Julius was upstairs, Mr. Taylor asked his wife:
“Well, Emma, what do you think of the boy I have brought home?”
“He looks bright, but I judge that he has not had much education.”
“Quite right; it will be for us to remedy that. He has been brought up in the streets of New York, but I don’t think he has any bad faults.”
“He described his room as ‘stavin’,” said Mrs. Taylor, smiling. “I never heard the word before.”
“It is an emphatic word of approval among boys. I have heard it among those who are not street boys. They use it where girls would say a thing was ‘perfectly lovely’.”
“I never had much to do with boys, Ephraim. You know I had no brothers, so I am ignorant of their dialect.”
“I presume Julius will enlighten your ignorance before long.”
“I hardly think I shall adopt it. Suppose I should tell Mrs. Green that her dress was ‘stavin’?”
“Probably she would stare. Seriously, I hope our young waif may do credit to our training. He will have a great deal to learn, and much to unlearn; but he looks bright, and I have good hopes of success.”
Here little Carrie entered, and at once monopolized attention.
“What do you think I have brought home for you, Carrie?” asked her father, taking her in his arms and kissing her.
“I don’t know, papa. What is it?”
“It’s a doll—a big doll.”
“How big?” asked Carrie, seriously.
“Bigger than Carrie.”
“Oh, how nice!” said the child. “Where is it?” and she looked around.
“It will soon come in.”
“Where did you get it, papa?”
“It came all the way from New York.”
“How nice of you, papa!”
“And what do you think, Carrie? It can walk all by itself.”
“Really, papa?”
“Yes, and it can talk.”
“Can it talk like me?” asked the unsuspecting child.
“Yes; and a great deal louder.”
“It must be a funny doll,” said the child, reflectively? “What does it look like?”
“Like a boy.”
“Is it a boy doll?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad of that. All my dolls are girls.”
“Well, this is a boy.”
“Did you pay a great deal for it, papa?”
Mr. Taylor laughed.
“I expect it will cost me a great deal before I get through with it; for I forgot to tell you one thing, Carrie—this doll I am speaking to you about, eats.”
“Does it eat dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I have to feed it?”
“I think it will prefer to feed itself, Carrie,” said her father, compelled to laugh by the serious, wondering face of the little girl.
At that moment Julius entered the room.
“There it is now,” said Mr. Taylor.
“That is a boy,” said Carrie, looking somewhat disappointed.
“I told you it was.”
“But you said it was a doll. Are you a doll?” she asked, sliding from her father’s knee, and running up to Julius.
“I’m a pretty big one,” said Julius, amused.
“There, papa, you were only funning,” said the little girl, reproachfully.
“Didn’t I tell you the truth? Can’t he eat, and talk, and walk?”
“Yes, but he isn’t a doll.”
“Isn’t he better than a doll? A doll couldn’t play with you; Julius can.”
“Is your name Julius?” asked the little girl, looking up to our hero.
“Yes.”
“What’s your other name?”
“Taylor,” answered Julius, with a glance at her father.
“Why, that’s our name.”
“Then he must be of our family,” said her father. “Do you want him to stay, and live with us? He can play with you, and tell you stories, and you can have plenty of good times together.”
“Yes, I should like to have him stay. Will you, Julius?”
“Yes, if you want me to,” answered our hero; and he felt strongly attracted to the sweet little girl, who had mistaken him for a doll.
“Then you may lead him out to dinner, Carrie,” said Mr. Taylor, as Jane, one of the servants, opened the door and announced that dinner was ready. “Perhaps you will have to feed him, as he is a doll, you know.”
“Now you are funning again, papa,” said Carrie, shaking her curls. “Will you sit by me, Julius?”
“I should like to, Carrie,” said our hero; and hand in hand with the little girl he walked into the next room, where a table was neatly spread for dinner.
It was a new experience to Julius. He had never had a sister. Those girls with whom he had been brought in contact had been brought up as he had been, and, even where their manners were not rough, possessed little of the grace and beauty of this little child of fortune. She seemed to the eyes of our young plebeian a being of a higher type and superior clay, and, untutored as he was, he could appreciate in a degree, her childish beauty and grace.
Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were pleased to find that the little girl’s happiness was likely to be increased by this accession to their household.
“I think, Carrie,” said her mother, “you like Julius better than if he were a doll.”
“Yes, mamma, I do.”
“If you don’t,” said Julius, “I’ll turn myself into a big doll with pink eyes.”
“You can’t,” said Carrie, seriously.
“Maybe I can’t myself, but I might get a big magician to do it.”
“Is that a fairy,” asked the little girl.
“I guess so.”
“The difference is,” said her father, “that magicians are men, but fairies are women.”
“I don’t want you to,” said Carrie, “for then you couldn’t talk to me, and play with me. Please stay a boy.”
“I will as long as you want me to,” said Julius, gravely.
Our hero did not feel wholly at his ease, for he was not used to dining in company. In the cheap eating houses which he had been accustomed to patronize, when he was in luck, very little ceremony prevailed. The etiquette in vogue was of the loosest character. If a patron chose to sit with his hat on, or lean his elbows on the table, there was nothing to prevent. But Julius was observing, and carefully observed how Mr. and Mrs. Taylor ate, being resolved to imitate them, and so make no mistakes. He found it difficult, however, to eat with his fork, instead of his knife, as he had always done hitherto, and privately thought it a very singular and foolish custom. His attempts were awkward, and attracted the attention of his new guardians; but they were encouraged by it to believe that he would lay aside other habits springing from his street life, and, after a while, shape his manners wholly to his new position.
When dinner was over, Mr. Taylor said: “Julius, would you like to go out with me and see the farm?”
“Yes, sir,” said our hero, eagerly.
“I thought you were going to play with me,” said little Carrie, disappointed.
“Julius can’t play with you all the time, my dear,” said her mother. “After supper perhaps he will.”
“Shall I change him into a doll?” asked her father. “Then he’ll have to stay in.”
“No,” said Carrie; “I like a boy better.”
CHAPTER XIV.
FIRST LESSONS
“I suppose you don’t know much about farming, Julius?” said Mr. Taylor, after supper.
“No more’n a horse,” said Julius.
“Some horses know considerable about farming, or at least have a chance to,” said his new guardian, with a smile.
“I guess they know more’n me.”
“Very likely; but you can learn.”
“Oh, yes,” said Julius, confidently. “It won’t take me long.”
“I shall put you in charge of Abner, who will give you some instruction. You will begin to-morrow morning with helping him to milk.”
“All right, sir.”
“He gets up at five o’clock. He will knock at your door, as he comes downstairs. He sleeps on the floor above. Now I want to ask a few questions about other matters. I suppose your education has been neglected.”
“I was to college once,” said our hero.
“How was that?”
“I carried a bundle of books from a bookseller in Nassau Street to one of the purfessors of Columbia College.”
“If that is the extent of your educational advantages, you probably still have something to learn. Have you been to school?”
“Not much. I went to evenin’ school a few times.”
“Can you read and write?”
“I can read a little, but I have to skip the hard words. I ain’t much on writin’.”
“Here is a little book of fairy stories. You can read one aloud to Carrie.”
“I can’t read well enough,” said Julius, drawing back reluctantly.
“That is just what I want to find out,” said Mr. Taylor. “Don’t be bashful. If you can’t read well, you shall have a chance to improve.”
“Are you going to read me a story, Julius?” asked little Carrie, delighted.
“I’ll try,” said Julius, embarrassed.
He began to read, but it soon became evident that he had not exaggerated his ignorance. He hesitated and stumbled, miscalled easy words, and made very slow progress, so that Carrie, who had been listening attentively, without getting much idea of the story, said, discontentedly, “Why, how funny you read, Julius! I like better to hear papa read.”
“I knew I couldn’t do it,” said Julius, disconcerted, as he laid down the book.
“You will soon be able to,” said Mr. Taylor, encouragingly. “Now I will tell you what I propose to do. In the forenoon, up to dinner time, you shall work on the farm, and in the afternoon I will assign you lessons to be recited in the evening. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” said Julius. “I don’t want to be a know-nothin’ when I get to be a man.”
It is hardly necessary to explain that in using the term “know-nothing” Julius had no thought of its political meaning.
“But I’m afraid I won’t learn very fast,” he said hesitatingly.
“Perhaps not just at first, but you will soon get used to studying. I will be your teacher; and when I am too busy to hear your lessons, Mrs. Taylor will supply my place. Are you willing, Emma?”
“Certainly, Ephraim; it will remind me of the years that I was teaching school.”
“Next winter I will send you to the public school,” said Mr. Taylor. “By that time you will, I hope, have learned so much that you will be able to get into a class of boys somewhere near your own age.”
“I shouldn’t like to be in a class with four-year-old babies,” said Julius. “They’d take me for a big baby myself.”
“Your pride is natural and proper. Your grade in school will depend on how well you work between now and winter.”
“I’ll study some to-night,” said Julius, eagerly.
“Very well. The sooner you begin the better. You may take the same story you have been trying to read, and read it over three times carefully by yourself. When you come to any words you don’t know, you can ask Mrs. Taylor or myself. To-morrow evening you may read it aloud to Carrie, and we can see how much benefit you have derived from your study.”
Julius at once set to work in earnest. He had considerable perseverance, and really desired to learn. He was heartily ashamed of his ignorance, and this feeling stimulated him to make greater exertions.
The next morning he was awakened by a loud knock at his door.
“What’s up?” he muttered, drowsily.
“Get up, Julius,” Abner called, loudly.
Julius opened his eyes, and stared about him in momentary bewilderment.
“Blest if I didn’t forget where I was,” he said to himself. “I thought I was at the Lodgin’ House, and Mr. O’Connor was callin’ me. I’m comin’,” he said, aloud.
“You’ll find me at the barn,” said Abner.
“All right.”
Julius hurried on his clothes, and proceeded to the barn, where he soon found Abner in the act of milking.
“Is it easy to milk?” he asked.
“It’s easy when you know how,” said Abner.
“It don’t look hard.”
“Come and try it,” said Abner.
He got off his stool, and Julius took his place. He began to pull, but not a drop of milk rewarded his efforts.
“There ain’t no milk left,” he said. “You’re foolin’ me.”
In reply Abner drew a full stream into the pail.
“I did just like you,” said Julius, puzzled.
“No, you didn’t. Let me show you.”
Here followed a practical lesson, which cannot very well be transferred to paper, even if the writer felt competent to give instructions in an art of which he has little knowledge.
Julius, though he had everything to learn, was quick in acquiring knowledge, whether practical or that drawn from books, and soon got the knack of milking, though it was some days before he could emulate Abner with his years of experience.
The next day Julius undertook to milk a cow alone. So well had he profited by Abner’s instructions, that he succeeded very well. But he was not yet experienced in the perverse ways of cows. When the pail was nearly full, and he was congratulating himself on his success, the cow suddenly lifted her foot, and in an instant the pail was overturned, and all the milk was spilled, a portion of it on the milker.
Julius uttered an exclamation of mingled dismay and anger.
“What’s the matter?” asked Abner, rather amused at the expression on the face of Julius, notwithstanding the loss of the milk.
“Matter! The darned brute has knocked over the pail, and spilled all the milk.”
“Cows is curis critters,” said Abner, philosophically. “They like to make mischief sometimes.”
“Just let me get a stick. I’ll give her a dose,” said Julius, excited.
“No,” said Abner, “we’ll tie her legs if she does it again. It doesn’t do much good beating an animal. Besides,” he added, smiling, “I s’pose she thought she had a right to spill the milk, considerin’ it was hers.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Julius. “That’s the way she pays her board.”
“I s’pose she didn’t see it in that light. Better luck next time, Julius. It wa’n’t your fault anyway.”
The cow stood placidly during this conversation, evidently well pleased with her exploit. Julius would like to have given her a beating; but Abner, who was a kind-hearted man, would not allow it.
“It would be a bully idea to make her go without her breakfast,” said Julius, whose anger was kept fresh by the sight of the spilled milk.
“Wal,” said Abner, “you see there’s this objection. If she don’t have no breakfast, she won’t give as much milk next time.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“She can’t make milk out of nothin’. Don’t you have no cows in New York?”
“Oh, yes,” said Julius, laughing; “the mayor has a whole drove of ’em, that he pastures in Central Park.”
“Does he get pasturin’ for nothin’?” asked Abner, in good faith.
“In course he does. Then there’s a lot of bulls in Wall Street.”
“Do they let ’em go round loose?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t they ever get rampagious?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t they do mischief?”
“I guess they do. They’re always fightin’ with the bears.”
“Sho! you don’t mean to say you’ve got bears in New York.”
“Yes, I do. They’re in Wall Street, too.”
“I shouldn’t think they’d allow it,” said Abner, whose knowledge of finance and the operators who make Wall Street the theatre of their operations was very rudimentary.
“Oh, ain’t you jolly green!” said Julius, exploding with laughter.
“What do you mean?” demanded Abner, inclined to feel offended.
“The bulls and bears I am talkin’ of are men. They’re the brokers that do business in Wall Street.”
“How should I know that? What do they give ’em such curis names for?”
“I don’t know,” said Julius. “I never heard. Didn’t you ever go to New York?”
“No; but I should like to go. It costs a pile of money to go there, I expect. I wish you’d tell me something about it.”
“All right.”
Then and at other times Julius gave Abner a variety of information, not always wholly reliable, about New York and his former life there, to which Abner listened with greedy attention.
CHAPTER XV.
TEMPTATION
Though Mr. Taylor owned several hundred acres, he retained but forty under his personal charge. The remainder was rented to various parties, who paid him either in money or grain, according to the agreement made. Being fond of agriculture, he would have kept the whole in his own hands, but that it would have increased so largely the cares of his wife. A large number of farm laborers would have been required, whom he would probably have been compelled to receive under his own roof, and his wife would have become in effect the mistress of a large boarding house. This he was too considerate to require, or allow.
Even of the forty acres he reserved, but a small portion was cultivated, the remainder being used for pasturage or mowing. During the greater part of the year, therefore, he found Abner’s services sufficient. Only during haying and harvest he found it necessary to engage extra assistance. Mr. Taylor was, however, an exception to the general rule. Ordinarily, Western farmers, owning a large number of acres, carry on the whole themselves; though it is doubtful whether their profits are any greater than if they should let out the greater part.
It will be seen, therefore, that Julius was fortunate in his position. He had to work but half the day, while the remaining half he was at liberty to devote to making up the many deficiencies in his early education. He was sensible enough to appreciate this advantage, and showed it by the rapid improvement he made. After he had begun to improve in his reading, he had lessons assigned him in writing and arithmetic. For the latter he showed a decided taste; and even mastered with ease the difficulties of fractions, which, perhaps more than any other part of the arithmetic, are liable to perplex the learner.
“You are really making excellent progress, Julius,” said Mr. Taylor to him one evening. “I find you are a very satisfactory pupil.”
“Do you, sir?” said Julius, his eyes brightening.
“You appear not only to take pains, but to have very good natural abilities.”
“I’m glad I’m not goin’ to grow up a know-nothin’.”
“You certainly won’t if you keep on in this way. But there is one other thing in which you can improve?”
“What is that?”
“In your pronunciation. Just now you said ‘goin’’ and ‘know-nothin’.’ You should pronounce the final letter, saying ‘going’ and ‘nothing.’ Don’t you notice that I do it?”
“Yes, sir; but I’m used to the other.”
“You can correct it, notwithstanding. By way of helping you I will remind you whenever you go wrong in this particular way; indeed, whenever you make any mistake in pronunciation.”
“I wish you would,” said Julius, earnestly. “Do you think they’ll put me in a very low class at school?”
“Not if you work hard from now to Thanksgiving.”
“I’d like to know as much as other boys of my age. I don’t want to be in a class with four-year-olds.”
“You have got safely by that, at least,” said Mr. Taylor, smiling. “I like your ambition, and shall be glad myself, when you enter school, to have you do credit to my teaching.”
There was nothing connected with the farm work that Julius liked better than driving a horse, particularly when he had sole charge of it; and he felt proud indeed the first time he was sent with a load of hay to a neighboring town. He acquitted himself well; and from that time he was often sent in this way. Sometimes, when Mr. Taylor was too busy to accompany her, Mrs. Taylor employed him to drive her to the village stores, or to a neighbor’s, to make a call; and as Julius showed himself fearless, and appeared to have perfect control even of Mr. Taylor’s most spirited horse, she felt as safe with him as with her husband.
Julius had been in his new place about six weeks, when his integrity was subjected to a sudden and severe test. He was sent to a neighbor’s, living about a mile and a half away, and, on account of the distance, was told to harness up the horse and ride. This he did with alacrity. He took his seat in the buggy, gathered the reins into his hands, and set out. He had got a quarter of a mile on his way when he suddenly espied on the floor of the carriage, in the corner, a pocketbook. He took it up, and, opening it, discovered two facts: first, that it belonged to Mr. Taylor, as it contained his card; next, that its contents were valuable, judging from the thick roll of bills.
“How much is there here?”
This was the first question that Julius asked himself.
Counting the bills hurriedly, he ascertained that they amounted to two hundred and sixty-seven dollars.
“Whew! what a pile!” he said to himself. “Ain’t I in luck? I could go to California for this, and make a fortune. Why shouldn’t I keep it? Mr. Taylor will never know. Besides, he’s so rich he won’t need it.”
To one who had been brought up, or rather who had brought himself up, as a bootblack in the streets of New York, the temptation was a strong one. Notwithstanding the comfort which he now enjoyed there were moments when a longing for his old, independent, vagrant life swept over him. He thought of Broadway, and City Hall Park, of Tony Pastor’s, and the old Bowery, of the busy hum and excitement of the streets of the great city; and a feeling something like homesickness was aroused within him. Brookville seemed dull, and he pined to be in the midst of crowds. This longing he was now able to gratify. He was not apprenticed to Mr. Taylor. It is not the custom of the Children’s Aid Society to bind out the children they send West for any definite term. There was nothing to hinder his leaving Brookville, and either going back to New York, or going to California, as he had often thought he would like to do. Before the contents of the pocketbook were exhausted, which, according to his reckoning, would be a very long time, he would get something to do. There was something exhilarating in the prospect of starting on a long journey alone, with plenty of money in his pocket. Besides, the money wouldn’t be stolen. He had found it, and why shouldn’t he keep it?
These thoughts passed through the mind of Julius in considerably less time than I have taken in writing them down. But other and better thoughts succeeded. After all, it would be no better than stealing to retain money when he knew the owner. Besides, it would be a very poor return to Mr. Taylor for the kindness with which he had treated him ever since he became a member of his household. Again, it would cut short his studies, and he would grow up a know-nothing—to use his own word– after all. It would be pleasant traveling, to be sure; it would be pleasant to see California, or to find himself again in the streets of New York; but that pleasure would be dearly bought.
“I won’t keep it,” said Julius, resolutely. “It would be mean, and I should feel like a thief.”
He put the pocketbook carefully in the side pocket of his coat, and buttoned it up. As he whipped up the horse, who had taken advantage of his preoccupation of mind to walk at a snail’s pace, it occurred to him that if he should leave Brookville he would no longer be able to drive a horse; and this thought contributed to strengthen his resolution.
“What a fool I was to think of keeping it!” he thought. “I’ll give it to Mr. Taylor just as soon as I get back.”
He kept his word.
“Haven’t you lost your pocketbook, Mr. Taylor?” he asked, when, having unharnessed the horse, he entered the room where his guardian was sitting.
Mr. Taylor felt in his pocket.
“Yes,” said he, anxiously. “It contained a considerable sum of money. Have you found it?”
“Yes, sir; here it is.” And our hero drew it from his pocket, and restored it to the owner.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the bottom of the wagon,” answered Julius.
“Do you know how much money there is in the wallet?” asked Mr. Taylor.
“Yes, sir; I counted the bills. There is nearly three hundred dollars.”
“Didn’t it occur to you,” asked Mr. Taylor, looking at him in some curiosity, knowing what he did of his past life and associations, “didn’t it occur to you that you could have kept it without my suspecting it?”
“Yes,” said Julius, frankly. “It did.”
“Did you think how much you might do with it?”
“Yes; I thought how I could go back to New York and cut a swell, or go to California and maybe make a fortune at the mines.”
“But you didn’t keep it.”
“No; it would be mean. It wouldn’t be treating you right, after all you’ve done for me; so I just pushed it into my pocket, and there it is.”
“You have resisted temptation nobly, my boy,” said Mr. Taylor, warmly; “and I thank you for it. I won’t offer to reward you, for I know you didn’t do it for that; but I shall hereafter give you my full confidence, and trust you as I would myself.”
Nothing could have made a better or deeper impression on the mind of Julius than these words. Nothing could have made him more ashamed of his momentary yielding to the temptation of dishonesty. He was proud of having won the confidence of Mr. Taylor. It elevated him in his own eyes.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, taking his guardian’s proffered hand. “I’ll try to deserve what you say. I’d rather hear them words than have you pay me money.”
Mr. Taylor was a wise man, and knew the way to a boy’s heart. Julius never forgot the lesson of that day. In moments of after temptation it came back to him, and strengthened him to do right.
