Alger Horatio Jr.
Rough and Ready
CHAPTER XXIV.
MR. MARTIN HAS AN IDEA
We must now return to Rose, whom we left confined in the cellar. Now, a cellar is not a very pleasant place, and Rose had a dismal time of it. She was considerably frightened also, when, as she sat on the lower step of the cellar stairs she saw a large rat running rapidly past. It is not to be wondered at that Rose was alarmed. I know many persons much older who would have done precisely what she did under the circumstances, namely, scream with all their might.
The little girl's scream brought Mrs. Waters to the door at the head of the stairs.
"What are you howling at?" she demanded, roughly.
"I just saw a big rat," said Rose. "Do let me come up; I'm afraid he'll bite me."
"Most likely he will," said Mrs. Waters. "But I can't let you come up. You've acted too bad. Next time you'll find it best to behave. And, mind you don't yell again! If you do, I'll come down and give you something to yell for."
Saying this, she slammed the door, and returned to her work, leaving Rose in a very unhappy state of mind. She sat in momentary expectation of the reappearance of the rat, thinking it very likely it would bite her, as Mrs. Waters had told her. She began to cry quietly, not daring to scream, lest Mrs. Waters should carry out her threat and give her a whipping.
At the end of an hour—it seemed more like a day to Rose—Mrs. Waters came to the door, and said, "You can come up now, if you can make up your mind to behave yourself."
Rose needed no second invitation. She ran upstairs hastily, under the impression that the rat might pursue her, and breathed a sigh of relief when she was fairly out of danger.
Fanny was sitting at the table, eating a piece of apple-pie.
"Did the rats bite you?" she asked, laughing maliciously.
"No," answered Rose.
"I wish they had. It would have been such fun to hear you holler."
"You're a mean girl," said Rose, indignantly.
"Hoity-toity! What's all this?" demanded Mrs. Waters. "Have you begun to call Fanny names already?"
"She said she wished the rats had bitten me," said Rose.
"Well, so do I. It would have been a good lesson to you. Now, miss, I've got one word to say. If you abuse and quarrel with Fanny, I'll just put you down cellar again, and this time I'll keep you there all night. Do you hear?"
"Yes," said Rose, shuddering. She privately made up her mind that she should die if this threat were carried out, and the very thought of it made her turn pale.
"Don't you want some pie, Rose?" asked Fanny, with her mouth full.
"Yes," said Rose, "I should like some."
"Well, you can't have any," said Fanny, maliciously. "Can she, ma?"
"Of course not. She don't deserve any," said the mother. "Pie is too good for wicked girls. Here, you Rose, here's something for you to do, to keep you out of mischief. Sit down to the table here, and shell these beans. Don't you want to help, Fanny?"
"No, I don't," said Fanny, decidedly. "She can do 'em alone."
A tin-pan half full of bean-pods was placed on the table, and Rose was ordered to be "spry," and not to waste her time. Fanny, having finished her pie, began to tease the cat, which employment she found much more satisfactory than helping Rose.
That night Mrs. Waters presented her bill to Mr. Martin for a week's board in advance for himself and Rose. The fact that he had apparently given up working made her a little doubtful whether he would prove good pay. She determined to ask payment in advance, and thus guard against all risk of loss.
"Mr. Martin," she said, "here's my bill for your board, and the little girl's. I'm rather short of money, and have got some bills to pay, and I should feel particularly obliged if you could pay me now."
Mr. Martin took the bill, and looked at it.
"It's seven dollars," said Mrs. Waters. "I can't afford to take any less. Beef's two cents a pound higher, and potatoes is rising every day. You can't say it's unreasonable."
"It's all right, Mrs. Waters," said Martin, slipping it into his vest-pocket. "It's all right. I'll attend to it in a day or two."
"Can't you pay me to-day?" persisted the landlady. "I've got my rent to pay to-morrow, and it'll take all I can get to pay it."
"Can you change a fifty-dollar bill?" asked Martin.
"I can get it changed."
"I guess I'll get it changed myself," said Martin. "I'm goin' out on business."
"I don't believe he's got so much money," thought Mrs. Waters, suspiciously, and it is needless to say that she was quite right in her suspicions. The exact amount of Mr. Martin's cash in hand was a dollar and thirty-seven cents, and his entire wardrobe and the sum of his earthly possessions would not probably have brought over fifteen dollars.
Strong as Mrs. Waters' suspicions were, however, she could not very well press the matter then. She resolved to wait till Mr. Martin returned, and then renew the subject. She would be guided in her action by what happened then.
Martin, meanwhile, began to consider that possibly he had made a mistake in kidnapping Rose. The necessary outlay for her board and clothes would be a serious drain upon him, especially as for years he had barely earned enough to pay his own personal expenses. On the whole, he thought he might as well restore her to her brother; but he would take care that the newsboy paid for the concession. He thought he might by good management get twenty dollars out of him, or, if he had not so much, part down, and the rest in a week or fortnight. He resolved to see Rough and Ready about it the very next morning.
There are some who say that money earned is enjoyed the most. James Martin did not believe this. Earning money was very disagreeable to him, and he considered any other mode of getting it preferable.
He was lounging along the street, with his hands in his pockets, meditating as above, when a little girl came up to him, and, holding out her hand, whined out, "Won't you give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother?"
Suddenly a brilliant idea came to Mr. Martin. He determined to question the little girl.
"How long have you been out beggin'?" he asked.
"Ever since morning."
"How much money have you made?"
The little girl hesitated.
"Come, little girl, if you'll tell me true, I'll give you five cents."
"I'll show you," she answered, regaining confidence.
She drew from her pocket a miscellaneous collection of pennies and silver pieces, which Martin counted, and found to amount to sixty-eight cents.
"Do you make as much every day, little gal?" he asked.
"Sometimes more," she answered.
"Pretty good business, isn't it? How long's your mother been sick?"
"Most a year," said the little girl, hesitating.
"What's the matter with her?"
"I don't know. She can't set up," said the girl, again hesitating, for she was a professional mendicant, and the sick mother was a sham, being represented in reality by a lazy, able-bodied woman, who spent most of the charitable contributions collected by her daughter on drink.
"Oh, yes, I understand," said Martin, with a wink. "Good-by, little gal. Give my love to your poor sick mother, and tell her I'd come round and inquire after her health if I had time."
As he said this he turned to go away.
"You promised me five cents," said the little girl, running after him.
"Did I? Well, you'll have to wait till next time, unless you can change a fifty-dollar bill."
"I aint got money enough."
"Then you must wait till you see me again."
Mr. Martin's questions had not been without an object. The idea which had occurred to him was this. Why might he not make Rose, in like manner, a source of income? Perhaps he might in that way more than pay expenses, and then he would still be able to keep her, and so continue to spite Rough and Ready, which would be very agreeable to his feelings.
"I'll send her out to-morrow morning," he said to himself. "If she's smart, she can make a dollar a day, and that'll help along considerable. I'll be her poor sick mother. It'll save my workin' so hard, and injurin' my health in my old age."
The more Mr. Martin thought of this plan, the better he liked it, and the more he wondered that he had never before thought of making Rose a source of income.
CHAPTER XXV.
ROSE IS RESTORED TO HER BROTHER
When Mr. Martin re-entered his boarding-house late in the afternoon, Mrs. Waters looked as if she expected her bill to be paid.
"I couldn't change my fifty dollars," said Martin; "but it's all right, Mrs. Waters. You shall have the money to-morrow."
Notwithstanding the confidence with which he spoke, Mrs. Waters felt rather troubled in mind. She doubted very much whether it was all right, and would have felt very much relieved if she could have seen the bank-note which Martin talked about changing. However, there was no good excuse for questioning his statement, and she could only wait as patiently as she might. But she resolved that if the money were not forthcoming the next day, she would advise Mr. Martin to seek another boarding-place, and that without delay.
When breakfast was over the next morning, Martin said to Rose, "Put on your bonnet. I want you to go out with me."
Rose looked at him in surprise.
"I'm goin' to get her some new clothes, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Waters. "She needs 'em, and it will give me a good chance to change my bill."
This might be so. Mrs. Waters hoped it was. Rose, however, listened with amazement. Her stepfather had not bought her any clothes for years,—indeed, she could not remember when,—and it was not long since he had taken away and sold those which her brother bought her. The idea struck her with alarm that perhaps he had the same intention now.
"Come, don't be all day," said Martin, roughly. "Maybe I'll change my mind, and not buy you any if you're so long gettin' ready."
It took little time for Rose to make necessary preparations. After leaving the house, Mr. Martin led the way to Third Avenue, where they got on board the horse-cars. It struck Mr. Martin that a good place for Rose to commence her new profession would be in front of Fulton Ferry, where crowds of people were passing and repassing continually.
Rose did not venture to ask any questions till they reached their destination.
Then seeing the ferry, which she remembered, she asked hopefully, "Are we going to New York?"
"No, we aint. Don't you think of such a thing," said Martin, roughly.
"Are you going to buy me some clothes here? I don't see any stores."
"You've got clothes enough. You've got better clothes than I have."
"I thought," said Rose, "you told Mrs. Waters you were going to buy me some."
"Maybe I'll buy you some, if you do just as I tell you. I've got something for you to do."
They had now left the cars, and were crossing the street to the ferry.
"Now," said Martin, "I'll tell you what you must do. You must stand just there where people come out, and hold out your hand, and say, 'Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother.'"
"But," said Rose, in dismay, "that will be begging."
"S'pose it is," retorted her stepfather, doggedly. "Are you too proud to beg? Do you expect me to support you without you doin' anything?"
"I'm willing to work," said Rose, "but I don't want to beg."
"None of your impudence!" said Martin, angrily. "You must do just as I told you. Say, 'Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother.'"
These last words he brought out in a doleful whine, such as he thought might excite compassion.
"There, see if you can say it as I did."
"I haven't got any sick mother," pleaded Rose.
"What's the odds? Half of them aint. Only you must say so, or they won't give you anything. Come, are you ready?"
"I don't want to beg," said Rose, desperately.
"I tell you what, little gal," said Martin, fiercely; "if you don't do as I tell you, I'll give you the wust lickin' you ever had. Say what I told you."
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," repeated Rose, unwillingly.
"You don't say it feelin' enough," said Martin, critically. "Anybody would think you didn't care nothin' for your poor sick mother. Say it so;" and he repeated the whine.
Rose said it after him, and though her performance was not quite satisfactory to her stepfather, he decided that it would do.
"There, stand there," he said, "and begin. I'm goin' just across the street, and if you don't do it right, look out for a lickin'."
Rose took her position, feeling very much ashamed, and almost ready to cry. She wished she could escape the necessity; but looking across the street she saw Martin furtively shaking his fist at her, and turned desperately to follow his directions.
The boat was just in, and a throng of passengers was passing through the gate.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," said Rose, to a good-natured-looking man who passed her.
He looked at her anxious face, and something in it excited his pity. He took out ten cents, and gave it to her. Rose took it, feeling very much ashamed, and turned to the next passer.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," she said.
"Out of the way there, you young beggar!" said he, roughly. "Such nuisances as you are ought to be sent to the Island."
Rose drew back alarmed at this rough language, and for a moment kept silent, hardly daring to renew her appeal. But a look at James Martin's threatening face compelled her to continue, and again she made the appeal.
This time it was a lady she addressed,—mild and pleasant,—who paused a moment, and spoke gently.
"Is your mother quite sick, my dear?" she asked, in a voice of compassion.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Rose, faintly, ashamed of the falsehood she was uttering.
"Have you any brothers and sisters?"
"One brother," answered Rose, glad that here at least she could tell the truth.
"Here's something for you," said the lady, placing twenty-five cents in the child's outstretched palm.
All the passengers had now passed through the portal, and she had some respite.
James Martin crossed the street, and, coming up to her, asked, "How much did you get?"
Rose opened her hand.
"Thirty-five cents in five minutes," he said, elated. "Come, little gal, you're gettin' on finely. I shouldn't wonder if you'd take three or four dollars by two o'clock. We'll go home then."
"But I don't like to beg," said Rose.
"Don't let me hear none of that," said Martin, angrily. "You're lazy, that's what's the matter. You've got to earn your livin', there's no two ways about that, and this is the easiest way to do it. There aint no work about beggin'."
Since Martin was mean enough to live on the money begged by a little girl, it isn't likely that he would understand the delicate scrupulousness which made Rose ashamed of soliciting charity.
"I'll take the money," said her stepfather, "and you can get some more when the next boat comes in. I'm goin' away a few minutes," he proceeded; "but you must stay here just where you are, and keep on just as if I was here. I won't be gone long. If I find you haven't done nothing when I come back, look out for yourself."
James Martin had reflected that the thirty-five cents would be sufficient to get him a drink and a couple of cigars, and it was to obtain these that he went away. He found it rather dull work, standing on the sidewalk and watching Rose, and he thought that by inspiring her with a little wholesome fear, she would go on just as well in his absence. Still it might be as well to encourage her a little.
"If you're a good gal," he proceeded, in a changed tone, "and get a lot of money, I'll buy you some candy when we go home."
This, however, did not cheer Rose much. She would much prefer to go without the candy, if she might be relieved from her present disagreeable employment.
If Mr. Martin had been aware that among the passengers on the next boat were Rough and Ready and Ben Gibson, he would scarcely have felt so safe in leaving Rose behind. Such, however, was the case. While Rose was plunged in sorrowful thought, filled with shame at the thought of her employment, deliverance was near at hand.
The boat came in, and she felt compelled to resume her appeal.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," she said, holding out her hand.
"Where is your poor sick mother?" asked the person addressed.
"She's dead," said Rose, forgetting herself.
"That's what I thought," he answered, laughing, and passed on, of course without giving anything.
Rather mortified at the mistake she had made, Rose turned to address the next passenger, when she uttered a joyful cry.
"O Rufie!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.
"Rose, is it you?" he exclaimed, surprised and delighted. "How came you here? I came over to Brooklyn on purpose to find you; but I had no idea you were so near."
"Mr. Martin sent me here to beg."
"To beg!" repeated Rufus, indignantly. "And where is he now?"
"He's gone away," said Rose, "but he's coming right back."
"Then he won't find you, that's all. Come, Ben, we'll go right back by the next boat, and carry Rose with us. I didn't expect to be so lucky."
"Won't Martin be mad?" said Ben. "I'd like to see him when he finds your sister gone."
"He shan't see her again very soon," said Rufus, "not if I can help it. Come along, Rose."
He paid their fare by the boat, and hurried Rose on board. It started in the course of two or three minutes on its return trip. On the way he made Rose tell him how she had been treated, and was very angry when told of the persecutions to which she had been subjected.
"But it's all over now, Rosy," he said, putting his arm caressingly round his little sister's neck, "you're safe now, and nobody shall trouble you. Miss Manning will be rejoiced to see you again."
"I shall be so glad to get home again, Rufie," said Rose, earnestly; "Miss Manning's so much nicer than Mrs. Waters."
"And am I as nice as Mr. Martin?" asked Rufus, laughing.
"Ten thousand million times," said Rose, emphatically. "He isn't nice at all."
Meanwhile we return to Mr. Martin.
When he got back, he looked in vain for Rose.
"Where's she gone?" he asked himself, angrily.
He looked about him on all sides, but no Rose was to be seen. It occurred to him that perhaps she might have taken some of the money obtained by begging, and gone over to New York in the boat, in the hope of finding her brother. If so, he would follow her.
To make sure, he asked the fare-taker.
"Did you see a little girl begging just outside the gate a few minutes ago?"
"Yes."
"She's gone away. Did you see where she went?"
"She went over to New York in the boat, about twenty minutes ago."
"Did she go alone?"
"No; there were two boys went with her."
Martin asked for a description of the boys, and realized to his intense disappointment that his plans were foiled, and that Rough and Ready had recovered his sister. He was provoked with himself for leaving her, and his vexation was the greater that he had not only lost Rose and the money she might have made for him, but also the sum which the newsboy stood ready to pay for the return of his sister.
"Confound the luck!" he muttered. "It's always against me."
CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION
"Now," said Rufus, "we'll surprise Miss Manning. She won't be expecting you."
"Do you think Mr. Martin will come after me, Rufie?" asked Rose, anxiously.
"If he does he won't get you."
"I shan't dare to go out in the street."
"You had better not go out alone. I'll tell Miss Manning about it. I think it will be best to move to some other street, as long as Mr. Martin knows the old place."
"Maybe he'd like to adopt me instead of Rose," suggested Ben, humorously. "I'd make an interestin'-lookin' girl if I could only borrer a dress that would fit me."
"You'd have to give up smoking, Ben. Girls don't smoke."
"I'm afraid that wouldn't agree with me," said Ben.
"I guess Mrs. Waters would find you a tough customer, if she undertook to shut you up in the cellar."
"Yes," said Ben, "she'd find me as tough as a ten-year-old turkey."
At Printing House Square, Ben left the party, and resumed his professional occupation. As he will not again be mentioned in this story, I will mention that an account of his subsequent career may be found in "Mark, the Match Boy," the third volume of this series.
Miss Manning was sitting in her humble room sewing diligently. She was thinking sadly how cheerless and lonely it was since Rose had disappeared. She was not very sanguine about recovering her, since it was much easier to hide a little girl than to find her among such a wilderness of houses as the great city contains. But, as she sat at her work, a sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, and directly afterwards the door flew open, and little Rose, rushing forward, threw her arms around her neck.
"Have you come back again, Rose?" exclaimed the seamstress, joyfully.
"Yes, Miss Manning, I'm so glad to see you again;" and Rose kissed her again and again.
"How did you find her, Rufus?" asked Miss Manning, returning the embrace.
The newsboy related the story briefly.
Then Rose was called upon to give an account of all that had happened to her.
"What a wicked woman Mrs. Waters must be!" said the mild seamstress, with a display of indignation unusual for her. "She ought to be ashamed of herself to shut you up in a dark cellar."
"I was so afraid of the rats," said Rose, shuddering. "I was afraid they would eat me up."
"You'd make a pretty large mouthful for a common-sized rat," said Rufus, smiling.
"They might have bitten me, though," said Rose.
"Well, they shan't trouble you any more, little sister," said Rufus. "Mr. Martin will be a smart man if he gets hold of you again."
"He might carry you off, Rufie," said Rose, in momentary alarm.
"I'd like to see him do it," said Rough and Ready, drawing up his youthful form. "He'd wish he hadn't, that's all," he added, with a laugh.
"I think, Miss Manning," he proceeded, "we'd better move, so as to put Martin off the track. As long as Rose lives here, he'll be prowling round, and some time he might get hold of her again."
"I am perfectly willing," said the seamstress. "My week's up to-morrow, and I can move at once. Suppose we go out and find a place this afternoon."
"All right," said Rufus. "But I've got to leave you now. I've a business engagement down in Wall Street."
"Among the bulls and bears," said Miss Manning, smiling.
"Are there bulls and bears in Wall Street?" said Rose, alarmed. "Oh, don't go down there, Rufie. You'll get killed."
"They won't hurt me, Rose. I haven't got money enough," said the newsboy, smiling. "Don't be afraid. I'll come back early in the afternoon."
The newsboy took the nearest route to Wall Street, It is a short street; but an immense volume of business is transacted there every day. It is lined with banks and business offices, especially those of brokers, lawyers, insurance companies, and moneyed institutions. There were plenty of bulls and bears upon the street; but they looked very much alike, and Rufus could not tell them apart.
As these terms may seem mysterious to some of my young readers, it may be as well to say that "bulls" are those who are striving to carry up the price of stocks, and "bears" are those who are making an effort to depress them.
Our hero was not long in finding the office of Mr. Turner.
He had to go up a short flight of steps, at the head of which a door opened into a hall or entry-way. On one side of this was the office of Mr. Turner. Opening the office-door, he found himself in a large room fitted up with a counter, behind which were two or three young men, who were, no doubt, clerks.
"Is Mr. Turner in?" asked the newsboy, going up to the counter.
"Not just now; he's at the Board,"—meaning the Stock Board, where stocks are bought and sold. "Can I do your business?"
"No; Mr. Turner asked me to call."
"You can wait for him, if you like."
Rough and Ready sat down in an arm-chair, and took up the morning paper. He had been thus engaged about twenty minutes, when he heard the door open, and, looking up, saw Mr. Turner.
"Good-morning, Mr. Turner," said our hero, laying aside the paper, and rising.
"Oh, good-morning, Rufus. I am glad to see you. Wait a few minutes, and I will be at leisure."
He went behind the counter, and gave a few quick business directions to his clerks.
"James, go to the Park Bank, and get these shares transferred to John Wade," he said to the youngest clerk, who thereupon seized his hat and left the office.
It was not long before Mr. Turner was disengaged. Coming out from behind the counter, he drew up an arm-chair, and sat down opposite Rufus.
"So you are a newsboy?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"But you don't want to be a newsboy always?"
"No, sir," said Rufus, promptly. "Only there isn't much chance for me to get anything better to do."
"How much do you earn by selling papers?"
"About eight dollars a week."
"And out of that you support your sister and yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose you have not been able to lay up any money."
"Yes, sir."
"How much?"
"Three hundred dollars."
"Three hundred dollars!" repeated Mr. Turner, in surprise. "Surely you could not save up so much as that?"
"No, sir, I found it."
"Tell me about it."
Our hero told of his adventure in the bar-room.
"So you have not spent any of this money?"
"No, sir; I put it in the savings-bank."
"That is well," said the broker, approvingly. "It shows that you have more good sense than most boys of your class. Now I have a proposition to make to you. How should you like to enter this office?"
"I should like it very much, sir."
"Better than being a newsboy?"
"Yes, sir; there aint any chance to rise in the paper business."
"And here, if you do your duty, there will be a chance to rise."
"Yes, sir, that's what I mean."
"Very well, I will tell you what I will do. You did me a signal service last night. You saved me from losing a large sum of money, and, what is worse, from serious personal injury. I want to do some thing for you in return. I think you are a smart boy, and, what is better, an honest and trustworthy boy. It so happens that my youngest clerk is in poor health, and is about to leave my employment. I will give you his place."
"Thank you, sir," said Rufus.
"As to salary I shall for the present give you the same you have been earning by selling papers,—that is, eight dollars a week. It is nearly double what I have been accustomed to pay, but that is of no consequence. Besides this, I will give you two hundred dollars to add to your fund in the savings-bank, increasing it to five hundred."
"You are very, very kind," said Rufus.
"I owe you some kindness," said Mr. Turner. "There are other ways in which I shall find an opportunity to serve you. But of that we will speak here-after. When do you want to come?"
"Whenever you think best, sir."
"Then let it be next Monday morning, at nine o'clock. James will remain a week or two, till you get a little familiar with your duties. And now, my young friend, this is all the time I can spare you this morning. Good-by till Monday."
Mr. Turner shook hands with Rufus, and the latter left the office with the strange feeling which we always have when a great change is going to take place in our course of life. He was about to bid farewell to the life of a newsboy, and enter upon a business career in Wall Street. He could not help feeling a thrill of new importance as he thought of this, and his ambition was roused. Why should he not rise to a position of importance like the men whom he had heard of and seen, whose beginnings had been as humble as his own? He determined to try, at all events.
He returned to Miss Manning to acquaint her and Rose with his good fortune. The seamstress seemed quite impressed with the news.
"Who knows what may come of it, Rufus?" she said. "Some day you may be a rich man,—perhaps president of a bank."
"Which shall I be, Rose, a bull or a bear?" inquired Rufus, playfully.
"You can't be a bull," said Rose, positively, "for you haven't got any horns."
"Then I suppose I must be a bear," said the newsboy, laughing.
So Rufus ceased to be a newsboy, and here appropriately closes the story of "Rough and Ready; or, Life among the New York Newsboys." But a new career dawns upon our hero, brighter than the past, but not without its trials and difficulties. Those who are interested to hear of his new life, and are curious to learn what became of Mr. Martin, will find the account given in a subsequent volume, for next Christmas, to be called a "Rufus and Rose; or, The Adventures of Rough and Ready." Before writing this, however, I propose to publish, as the next volume of this series, the experiences of one of the newsboy's friends, under the title of
