HORATIO ALGER, Jr., an
author who lived among and for boys and himself remained a boy in heart and
association till death, was born at Revere, Mass., January 13, 1834. He was the
son of a clergyman, was graduated at Harvard College in 1852, and at its
Divinity School in 1860 and was pastor of the Unitarian Church at Brewster,
Mass., in 1862-66.
In the latter year he
settled in New York and began drawing public attention to the condition and
needs of street boys. He mingled with them, gained their confidence showed a
personal concern in their affairs, and stimulated them to honest and useful
living. With his first story he won the hearts of all red-blooded boys
everywhere, and of the seventy or more that followed over a million copies were
sold during the author’s lifetime.
In his later life he
was in appearance a short, stout, bald-headed man, with cordial manners and
whimsical views of things that amused all who met him. He died at Natick,
Mass., July 18, 1899.
Mr. Alger’s stories are
as popular now as when first published, because they treat of real live boys
who were always up and about-just like the boys found everywhere to-day. They
are pure in tone and inspiring in influence, and many reforms in the juvenile
life of New York may be traced to them. Among the best known are:
Strong and Steady;
Strive and Succeed; Try and Trust; Bound to Rise; Risen from the Ranks; Herbert
Carter’s Legacy; Brave and Bold; Jack’s Ward; Shifting for Himself; Wait and
Hope; Paul the Peddler; Phil the Fiddler; Slow and Sure; Julius the Street Boy;
Tom the Bootblack; Struggling Upward, Facing the World; The Cash Boy; Making
His Way; Tony the Tramp; Joe’s Luck; Do and Dare; Only an Irish Boy; Sink or
Swim; A Cousin’s Conspiracy; Andy Gordon; Bob Burton; Harry Vane; Hector’s
Inheritance; Mark Mason’s Triumph; Sam’s Chance; The Telegraph Boy; The Young
Adventurer; The Young Outlaw; The Young Salesman, and Luke Walton.
"HERE’S your prize
packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen,
and try your luck!"
The speaker, a boy of
fourteen, stood in front of the shabby brick building, on Nassau street, which
has served for many years as the New York post office. In front of him, as he
stood with his back to the building, was a small basket, filled with ordinary
letter envelopes, each labeled "Prize Package."
His attractive
announcement, which, at that time, had also the merit of novelty--for Paul had
himself hit upon the idea, and manufactured the packages, as we shall hereafter
explain--drew around him a miscellaneous crowd, composed chiefly of boys.
"What’s in the
packages, Johnny?" asked a bootblack, with his box strapped to his back.
"Candy," answered
Paul. "Buy one. Only five cents."
"There ain’t much
candy," answered the bootblack, with a disparaging glance.
"What if there isn’t?
There’s a prize."
"How big a
prize?"
"There’s a
ten-cent stamp in some of ’em. All have got something in ’em."
Influenced by this
representation, the bootblack drew out a five-cent piece, and said:
"Pitch one over
then. I guess I can stand it." An envelope was at once handed him.
"Open it,
Johnny," said a newsboy at his side. Twenty curious eyes were fixed upon
him as he opened the package. He drew out rather a scanty supply of candy, and
then turning to Paul, with a look of indignation, said:
"Where’s the
prize? I don’t see no prize. Give me back my five cents."
"Give it to me. I’ll
show you," said the young merchant.
He thrust in his
finger, and drew out a square bit of paper, on which was written-One Cent.
"There’s your
prize," he added, drawing a penny from his pocket.
"It ain’t much of
a prize," said the buyer. "Where’s your ten cents?"
"I didn’t say I
put ten cents into every package," answered Paul. "I’d burst up
pretty quick if I did that. Who’ll have another package? Only five cents!"
Curiosity and taste for
speculation are as prevalent among children as with men, so this appeal produced
its effect.
"Give me a
package," said Teddy O’Brien, a newsboy, stretching out a dirty hand,
containing the stipulated sum. He also was watched curiously as he opened the
package. He drew out a paper bearing the words-Two Cents.
"Bully for you,
Teddy! You’ve had better luck than I," said the bootblack.
The check was duly
honored, and Teddy seemed satisfied, though the amount of candy he received
probably could not have cost over half-a-cent. Still, he had drawn twice as
large a prize as the first buyer, and that was satisfactory.
"Who’ll take the
next?" asked Paul, in a businesslike manner. "Maybe there’s ten cents
in this package. That’s where you double your money. Walk up, gentlemen. Only
five cents!"
Three more responded to
this invitation, one drawing a prize of two cents, the other two of one cent
each. Just then, as it seemed doubtful whether any more would be purchased by
those present, a young man, employed in a Wall street house, came out of the
post office.
"What have you got
here?" he asked, pausing.
"Prize packages of
candy! Money prize in every package! Only five cents!"
"Give me one,
then. I never drew a prize in my life."
The exchange was
speedily made.
"I don’t see any
prize," he said, opening it.
"It’s on a bit of
paper, mister," said Teddy, nearly as much interested as if it had been
his own purchase.
"Oh, yes, I see.
Well, I’m in luck. Ten cents!"
"Ten cents!"
exclaimed several of the less fortunate buyers, with a shade of envy.
"Here’s your prize,
mister," said Paul, drawing out a ten-cent stamp from his vest pocket.
"Well, Johnny, you
do things on the square, that’s a fact. Just keep the ten cents, and give me
two more packages."
This Paul did with
alacrity; but the Wall street clerk’s luck was at an end. He got two prizes of
a penny each.
"Well," he
said, "I’m not much out of pocket. I’ve bought three packages, and it’s
only cost me three cents."
The ten-cent prize
produced a favorable effect on the business of the young peddler. Five more
packages were bought, and the contents eagerly inspected; but no other large
prize appeared. Two cents was the maximum prize drawn. Their curiosity being
satisfied, the crowd dispersed; but it was not long before another gathered. In
fact, Paul had shown excellent judgment in selecting the front of the post
office as his place of business. Hundreds passed in and out every hour, besides
those who passed by on a different destination. Thus many ears caught the young
peddler’s cry--"Prize packages! Only five cents apiece!"--and made a
purchase; most from curiosity, but some few attracted by the businesslike
bearing of the young merchant, and willing to encourage him in his efforts to
make a living. These last, as well as some of the former class, declined to
accept the prizes, so that these were so much gain to Paul.
At length but one
package remained, and this Paul was some time getting rid of. At last a
gentleman came up, holding a little boy of seven by the hand.
"Oh, buy me the
package, papa?" he said, drawing his father’s attention.
"What is there in
it, boy?" asked the gentleman.
"Candy," was
the answer.
Alfred, for this was
the little boy’s name, renewed his entreaties, having, like most boys, a taste
for candy.
"There it is,
Alfred," said his father, handing the package to his little son.
"There’s a prize
inside," said Paul, seeing that they were about to pass.
"We must look for
the prize by all means," said the gentleman. "What is this? One
cent?"
"Yes sir";
and Paul held out a cent to his customer.
"Never mind about
that! You may keep the prize."
"I want it,
pa," interposed Alfred, with his mouth full of candy.
"I’ll give you
another," said his father, still declining to accept the proffered prize.
Paul now found himself
in the enviable position of one who, at eleven o’clock, had succeeded in
disposing of his entire stock in trade, and that at an excellent profit, as we
soon shall see. Business had been more brisk with him than with many merchants
on a larger scale, who sometimes keep open their shops all day without taking
in enough to pay expenses. But, then, it is to be considered that in Paul’s
case expenses were not a formidable item. He had no rent to pay, for one thing,
nor clerk hire, being competent to attend to his entire business single-handed.
All his expense, in fact, was the first cost of his stock in trade, and he had
so fixed his prices as to insure a good profit on that. So, on the whole, Paul
felt very well satisfied at the result of his experiment, for this was his
first day in the prize-package business.
"I guess I’ll go
home," he said to himself. "Mother’ll want to know how I made
out." He turned up Nassau street, and had reached the corner of Maiden
lane, when Teddy O’Brien met him.
"Did you sell out,
Johnny?" he asked.
"Yes,"
answered Paul.
"How many packages
did you have?"
"Fifty."
"That’s bully. How
much you made?"
"I can’t tell yet.
I haven’t counted up," said Paul.
"It’s better’n
sellin’ papers, I’ll bet. I’ve only made thirty cents the day. Don’t you want
to take a partner, Johnny?"
"No, I don’t think
I do," said Paul, who had good reason to doubt whether such a step would
be to his advantage.
"Then I’ll go in
for myself," said Teddy, somewhat displeased at the refusal.
"Go ahead! There’s
nobody to stop you," said Paul.
"I’d rather go in
with you," said Teddy, feeling that there would be some trouble in making
the prize packages, but influenced still more by the knowledge that he had not
capital enough to start in the business alone.
"No," said
Paul, positively; "I don’t want any partner. I can do well enough
alone."
He was not surprised at
Teddy’s application. Street boys are as enterprising, and have as sharp eyes
for business as their elders, and no one among them can monopolize a profitable
business long. This is especially the case with the young street merchant. When
one has had the good luck to find some attractive article which promises to
sell briskly, he takes every care to hide the source of his supply from his
rivals in trade. But this is almost impossible. Cases are frequent where such
boys are subjected to the closest espionage, their steps being dogged for hours
by boys who think they have found a good thing and are determined to share it.
In the present case Paul had hit upon an idea which seemed to promise well, and
he was determined to keep it to himself as long as possible. As soon as he was
subjected to competition and rivalry his gains would probably diminish.
PAUL went up Centre
street and turned into Pearl. Stopping before a tenement-house, he entered,
and, going up two flights of stairs, opened a door and entered.
"You are home
early, Paul," said a woman of middle age, looking up at his entrance.
"Yes, mother; I’ve
sold out."
"You’ve not sold
out the whole fifty packages?" she asked, in surprise.
"Yes, I have. I
had capital luck."
"Why, you must
have made as much as a dollar, and it’s not twelve yet."
"I’ve made more
than that, mother. Just wait a minute, till I’ve reckoned up a little. Where’s
Jimmy?"
"Miss Beckwith
offered to take him out to walk with her, so I let him go. He’ll be back at
twelve."
While Paul is making a
calculation, a few words of explanation and description may be given, so that
the reader may understand better how he is situated.
The rooms occupied by
Paul and his mother were three in number. The largest one was about fourteen
feet square, and was lighted by two windows. It was covered with a neat, though
well-worn, carpet; a few cane-bottomed chairs were ranged at the windows, and
on each side of the table. There was a French clock on the mantel, a rocking
chair for his mother, and a few inexpensive engravings hung upon the walls.
There was a hanging bookcase containing two shelves, filled with books, partly
school books, supplemented by a few miscellaneous books, such as "Robinson
Crusoe," "Pilgrim’s Progress," a volume of "Poetical
Selections," an odd volume of Scott, and several others. Out of the main
room opened two narrow chambers, both together of about the same area as the
main room. One of these was occupied by Paul and Jimmy, the other by his
mother.
Those who are familiar
with the construction of a New York tenement-house will readily understand the
appearance of the rooms into which we have introduced them. It must, however,
be explained that few similar apartments are found so well furnished. Carpets
are not very common in tenement-houses, and if there are any pictures, they are
usually the cheapest prints. Wooden chairs, and generally every object of the
cheapest, are to be met with in the dwellings of the New York poor. If we find
something better in the present instance, it is not because Paul and his mother
are any better off than their neighbors. On the contrary, there are few whose
income is so small. But they have seen better days, and the furniture we see
has been saved from the time of their comparative prosperity.
As Paul is still at his
estimate, let us improve the opportunity by giving a little of their early
history.
Mr. Hoffman, the father
of Paul, was born in Germany, but came to New York when a boy of twelve, and
there he grew up and married, his wife being an American. He was a
cabinetmaker, and, being a skillful workman, earned very good wages, so that he
was able to maintain his family in comfort. They occupied a neat little cottage
in Harlem, and lived very happily, for Mr. Hoffman was temperate and kind, when
an unfortunate accident clouded their happiness, and brought an end to their
prosperity. In crossing Broadway at its most crowded part, the husband and
father was run over by a loaded dray, and so seriously injured that he lived
but a few hours. Then the precarious nature of their prosperity was found out.
Mr. Hoffman had not saved anything, having always lived up to the extent of his
income. It was obviously impossible for them to continue to live in their old
home, paying a rent of twenty dollars per month. Besides, Paul did not see any
good opportunity to earn his living in Harlem. So, at his instigation, his
mother moved downtown, and took rooms in a tenement-house in Pearl street,
agreeing to pay six dollars a month for apartments which would now command
double the price. They brought with them furniture enough to furnish the three
rooms, selling the rest for what it would bring, and thus obtaining a small
reserve fund, which by this time was nearly exhausted.
Once fairly established
in their new home, Paul went out into the streets to earn his living. The two
most obvious, and, on the whole, most profitable trades, were blacking boots
and selling newspapers. To the first Paul, who was a neat boy, objected on the
score that it would keep his hands and clothing dirty, and, street boy though
he had become, he had a pride in his personal appearance. To selling papers he
had not the same objection, but he had a natural taste for trade, and this led
him to join the ranks of the street peddlers. He began with vending matches,
but found so much competition in the business. and received so rough a
reception oftentimes from those who had repeated calls from others in the same
business, that he gave it up, and tried something else. But the same
competition which crowds the professions and the higher employments followed by
men, prevails among the street trades which are pursued by boys. If Paul had
only had himself to support, he could have made a fair living at match selling,
or any other of the employments he took up; but his mother could not earn much
at making vests, and Jimmy was lame, and could do nothing to fill the common
purse, so that Paul felt that his earnings must be the main support of the
family, and naturally sought out what would bring him in most money.
At length he had hit
upon selling prize packages, and his first experience in that line are recorded
in the previous chapter. Adding only that it was now a year since his father’s
death, we resume our narrative.
"Do you want to
know how much I’ve made, mother?" asked Paul, looking up at length from
his calculation.
"Yes, Paul."
"A dollar and
thirty cents."
"I did not think
it would amount to so much. The prizes came to considerable, didn’t they?"
"Listen, and I
will tell you how I stand:
One pound of candy. . .
. . . . . . . .20
Two packs of envelopes.
. . . . . . . .10
Prizes. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .90
-------------------------------------------
That makes . . . . . .
. . . . . $1.20
I sold the fifty
packages at five cents each, and that brought me in two dollars and a half.
Taking out the expenses, it leaves me a dollar and thirty cents. Isn’t that
doing well for one morning’s work?"
"It’s excellent;
but I thought your prizes amounted to more than ninety cents."
"So they did, but
several persons who bought wouldn’t take their prizes, and that was so much
gain."
"You have done
very well, Paul. I wish you might earn as much every day."
"I’m going to earn
some more this afternoon. I bought a pound of candy on the way home, and some
cheap envelopes, and I’ll be making up a new stock while I am waiting for
dinner."
Paul took out his candy
and envelopes, and set about making up the packages.
"Did any complain
of the small amount of candy you put in?"
"A few; but most
bought for the sake of the prizes."
"Perhaps you had
better be a little more liberal with your candy, and then there may not be so
much dissatisfaction where the prize is only a penny."
"I don’t know but
your are right, mother. I believe I’ll only make thirty packages with this
pound, instead of fifty. Thirty’ll be all I can sell this afternoon."
Just then the door
opened, and Paul’s brother entered.
Jimmy Hoffman, or lame
Jimmy, as he was often called, was a delicate-looking boy of ten, with a fair
complexion and sweet face, but incurably lame, a defect which, added to his
delicate constitution, was likely to interfere seriously with his success in
life. But, as frequently happens, Jimmy was all the more endeared to his mother
and brother by his misfortune and bodily weakness, and if either were obliged
to suffer from poverty, Jimmy would be spared the suffering.
"Well, Jimmy, have
you had a pleasant walk?" asked his mother.
"Yes, mother; I
went down to Fulton Market. There’s a good deal to see there."
"A good deal more
than in this dull room, Jimmy."
"It doesn’t seem
dull to me, mother, while you are here. How did you make out selling your prize
packages?"
"They are all
sold, Jimmy, every one. I am making some more."
"Shan’t I help
you?"
"Yes, I would like
to have you. Just take those envelopes, and write prize packages on every one
of them."
"All right,
Paul," and Jimmy, glad to be of use, got the pen and ink, and, gathering
up the envelopes, began to inscribe them as he had been instructed.
By the time the
packages were made up, dinner was ready. It was not a very luxurious repast.
There was a small piece of rump steak--not more than three-quarters of a
pound--a few potatoes, a loaf of bread, and a small plate of butter. That was
all; but then the cloth that covered the table was neat and clean, and the
knives and forks were as bright as new, and what there was tasted good.
"What have you
been doing this morning, Jimmy?" asked Paul.
"I have been
drawing, Paul. Here’s a picture of Friday. I copied it from ‘Robinson Crusoe.’
"
He showed the picture,
which was wonderfully like that in the book, for this--the gift of drawing--was
Jimmy’s one talent, and he possessed it in no common degree.
"Excellent,
Jimmy!" said Paul. "You’re a real genius. I shouldn’t be surprised if
you’d make an artist some day."
"I wish I
might," said Jimmy, earnestly. "There’s nothing I’d like
better."
"I’ll tell you
what, Jimmy. If I do well this afternoon, I’ll buy you a drawing-book and some
paper, to work on while mother and I are busy."
"If you can afford
it, Paul, I should like it so much. Some time I might earn something that
way."
"Of course you
may," said Paul, cheerfully. "I won’t forget you."
Dinner over, Paul went
out to business, and was again successful, getting rid of his thirty packages,
and clearing another dollar. Half of this he invested in a drawing- book, a
pencil and some drawing-paper for Jimmy. Even then he had left of his earnings
for the day one dollar and eighty cents. But this success in the new business
had already excited envy and competition, as he was destined to find out on the
morrow.
THE next morning Paul
took his old place in front of the post office. He set down his basket in
front, and, taking one of the packages in his hand, called out in a
businesslike manner, as on the day before, "Here’s your prize packages!
Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your
luck!"
He met with a fair
degree of success at first, managing in the course of an hour to sell ten
packages. All the prizes drawn were small, with the exception of one ten-cent
prize, which was drawn by a little bootblack, who exclaimed:
"That’s the way to
do business, Johnny. If you’ve got any more of them ten-cent prizes, I’ll give
you ten cents a piece for the lot."
"Better buy some
more and see," said Paul.
"That don’t go
down," said the other. "Maybe there’d be only a penny."
Nevertheless, the
effect of this large prize was to influence the sale of three other packages;
but as neither of these contained more than two-cent prizes, trade began to
grow dull, and for ten minutes all Paul’s eloquent appeals to gentlemen to walk
up and try their luck produced no effect.
At this point Paul
found that there was a rival in the field.
Teddy O’Brien, who had
applied for a partnership the day before, came up with a basket similar to his
own, apparently filled with similar packages. He took a position about six feet
distant from Paul, and began to cry out, in a shrill voice:
"Here’s your bully
prize packages! Best in the market! Here’s where you get your big prizes, fifty
cents in some of ’em. Walk up boys, tumble up, and take your pick afore they’re
gone. Fifty cents for five!"
"That’s a lie,
Teddy," said Paul, who saw that his rival’s attractive announcement was
likely to spoil his trade.
"No, ’tisn’t,"
said Teddy. "If you don’t believe it, just buy one and see."
"I’ll tell you
what I’ll do," said Paul, "I’ll exchange."
"No," said
Teddy; "I ain’t a-goin’ to risk givin’ fifty cents for one."
"More likely you’d
get ten for one. You’re a humbug."
"Have you really
got any fifty-cent prizes?" asked a newsboy, who had sold out his morning
stock of papers, and was lounging about the post office steps.
"Best way is to
buy, Johnny," said Teddy.
The boy did buy, but
his prize amounted to only one cent.
"Didn’t I tell you
so?" said Paul.
"Just wait a while
and see," said Teddy. "The lucky feller hasn’t come along. Here,
Mike, jest buy a package!"
Mike, a boy of fifteen,
produced five cents, and said, "I don’t mind if I do."
He selected a package,
and, without opening it, slipped it into his pocket.
"Why don’t you
open it?" said Teddy.
"What’s the
use?" said Mike. "There ain’t no fifty cents inside."
However, he drew it out
of his pocket, and opened it.
"What’s
this?" he exclaimed, pulling out a piece of scrip. "Howly St.
Patrick! it’s I that’s in luck, anyhow I’ve got the fifty cents!"
And he held up to view
a fifty-cent scrip.
"Let me look at
it," said Paul, incredulously.
But there was no room
for doubt. It was a genuine fifty cents, as Paul was compelled to admit.
"Didn’t I tell you
so?" said Teddy, triumphantly. "Here’s where you get fifty-cent
prizes."
The appeal was successful.
The sight of the fifty-cent prize led to a large call for packages, of which
Teddy immediately sold ten, while Paul found himself completely deserted. None
of the ten, however, contained over two cents. Still the possibility of drawing
fifty cents kept up the courage of buyers, while Paul’s inducements were so far
inferior that he found himself wholly distanced.
"Don’t you wish
you’d gone pardners with me?" asked Teddy, with a triumphant grin,
noticing Paul’s look of discomfiture. "You can’t do business alongside of
me."
"You can’t make
any money giving such big prizes," said Paul. "You haven’t taken in
as much as you’ve given yet."
"All right,"
said Teddy. "I’m satisfied if you are. Have a package, Jim?"
"Yes," said
Jim. "Mind you give me a good prize."
The package was bought,
and, on being opened, proved to contain fifty cents also, to Paul’s great
amazement. How Teddy’s business could pay, as it was managed, he could not
comprehend. One thing was certain, however, his new competitor monopolized the
trade, and for two hours Paul did not get a solitary customer.
"There’s something
about this I don’t understand," he pondered, thoughtfully. "He must
lose money; but he’s spoiled my trade."
Paul did not like to
give up his beat, but he found himself compelled to. Accordingly he took his
basket, and moved off toward Wall street. Here he was able to start in business
without competitors, and succeeded in selling quite a number of packages, until
a boy came up, and said:
"There’s a feller
up at the post office that’s givin’ fifty-cent prizes. I got one of ’em."
There was a group of
half-a-dozen boys around Paul, two of whom were about to invest; but on hearing
thus they changed their intention, and walked of in the direction of the post
office.
Looking up, Paul saw
that the boy who had injured his trade was Mike, who had drawn the first
fifty-cent prize from his competitor.
"Can’t you stop
interfering?" he said, angrily. "I’ve lost two customers by
you."
"If you don’t like
it, you can lump it," said Mike, insolently. "This is a free country,
ain’t it?"
"It’s a mean
trick," said Paul, indignantly.
"Say that ag’in,
and I’ll upset your basket," returned Mike.
"I’ll say it as
often as I like," said Paul, who wasn’t troubled by cowardice. "Come
on, if you want to."
Mike advanced a step,
doubling his fists; but, finding that Paul showed no particular sign of fear,
he stopped short, saying: "I’ll lick you some other time."
"You’d better put
it off," said Paul. "Have a prize package, sir? Only five
cents!"
This was addressed to a
young man who came out of an insurance office.
"I don’t mind if I
do," said the young man. "Five cents, is it? What prize may I
expect?"
"The highest is
ten cents."
"There’s a boy
around the post office that gives fifty- cent prizes, mister," said Mike.
"You’d better buy of him."
"I’ll wait till
another time," said the young man. "Here’s the money, Johnny. Now for
the package."
"Look here,"
said Paul, indignantly, when his customer had gone away; "haven’t you
anything to do except to drive off my customers?"
"Give me two cents
on every package," said Mike, "and I’ll tell ’em you give dollar
prizes."
"That would be a
lie, and I don’t want to do business that way."
Mike continued his
persecutions a while longer, and then turned the corner into Nassau street.
"I’m glad he’s
gone," thought Paul. "Now there’s a chance for me."
He managed after a
while to sell twenty of his packages. By this time it was twelve o’clock, and
he began to feel hungry. He resolved, therefore, to go home to dinner and come
out again in the afternoon. He didn’t know how much he had made, but probably
about fifty cents. He had made more than double as much the day before in less
time; but then he did not suffer from competition. He began to doubt whether he
could long pursue this business, since other competitors were likely to spring
up.
As he walked by the
post office he had the curiosity to look and see how his competitor was getting
along.
Teddy had started,
originally, with seventy-five packages; but of those scarcely a dozen were
left. A group of boys were around him. Among them was Mike, who was just on the
point of buying another package. As before, he put it in his pocket, and it was
not till Teddy asked, "What luck, Mike?" that he drew it out, and
opening it again, produced fifty cents.
"It’s the big
prize!" he said. "Sure I’m in luck, anyhow.
"You’re the boy
that’s lucky," said Teddy, with a grin.
As Paul witnessed the
scene a light broke upon him. Now he understood how Teddy could afford to give
such large prizes. Mike and the other boy, Jim, were only confederates of
his--decoy ducks--who kept drawing over again the same prize, which was
eventually given back to Teddy. It was plain now why Mike put the package into
his pocket before opening it. It was to exchange it for another packet into
which the money had previously been placed, but which was supposed by the
lookers-on to be the same that had just been purchased. The prize could
afterward be placed in a new packet and used over again.
"That ain’t the
same package," said Paul, announcing his discovery. "He had it all
the while in his pocket."
"Look here,"
blustered Mike, "you jest mind your own business! That’s the best thing
for you."
"Suppose I don’t?"
"If you don’t
there may be a funeral to-morrow of a boy about your size."
There was a laugh at
Paul’s expense, but he took it coolly.
"I’ll send you a
particular invitation to attend, if I can get anybody to go over to the
island."
As Mike had been a
resident at Blackwell’s Island on two different occasions, this produced a
laugh at his expense, in the midst of which Paul walked off.
"HAVE you sold all
your packages, Paul?" asked Jimmy, as our hero entered the humble room,
where the table was already spread with a simple dinner.
"No," said
Paul, "I only sold twenty. I begin to think that the prize-package
business will soon be played out."
"Why?"
"There’s too many
that’ll go into it."
Here Paul related his
experience of the morning, explaining how it was that Teddy had managed to
distance him in the competition.
"Can’t you do the
same, Paul?" asked Jimmy. "Mother’s got a gold dollar she could lend
you."
"That might
do," said Paul; "but I don’t know any boy I could trust to draw it
except you, and some of them would know we were brothers."
"I think, Paul,
that would be dishonest," said Mrs. Hoffman. "I would rather make
less? if I were you, and do it honestly."
"Maybe you’re
right, mother. I’ll try it again this afternoon, keeping as far away from Teddy
as I can. If I find I can’t make it go, I’ll try some other business."
"Jimmy, have you
shown Paul your drawing?" said his mother.
"Here it is,
Paul," said Jimmy, producing his drawing- book, from which he had copied a
simple design of a rustic cottage.
"Why, that’s
capital, Jimmy," said Paul, in real surprise. "I had no idea you
would succeed so well."
"Do you really
think so, Paul?" asked the little boy, much pleased.
"I really do. How
long did it take you?"
"Only a short
time--not more than half an hour, I should think," said Mrs. Hoffman.
"I think Jimmy succeeded very well."
"You’ll make a
great artist some time, Jimmy," said Paul.
"I wish I
could," said the little boy. "I should like to earn some money, so
that you and mother need not work so hard."
"Hard work agrees
with me. I’m tough," said Paul. "But when we get to be men, Jimmy, we’ll
make so much money that mother needn’t work at all. She shall sit in the parlor
all day, dressed in silk, with nothing to do."
"I don’t think I
would enjoy that," said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.
"Will you be in
the candy business, then, Paul?" said Jimmy.
"No, Jimmy. It
would never do for the brother of a great artist to be selling candy round the
streets. I hope I shall have something better to do than that."
"Sit down to
dinner, Paul," said his mother. "It’s all ready."
The dinner was not a
luxurious one. There was a small plate of cold meat, some potatoes, and bread
and butter; but Mrs. Hoffman felt glad to be able to provide even that, and
Paul, who had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, did full justice to the
fare. They had scarcely finished, when a knock was heard at the door. Paul,
answering the summons, admitted a stout, pleasant-looking Irishwoman.
"The top of the
mornin’ to ye, Mrs. Donovan," said Paul, bowing ceremoniously.
"Ah, ye’ll be
afther havin’ your joke, Paul," said Mrs. Donovan, good-naturedly.
"And how is your health, mum, the day?"
"I am well, thank
you, Mrs. Donovan," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Sit down to the table, won’t
you? We’re just through dinner, but there’s something left."
"Thank you, mum, I’ve
jist taken dinner. I was goin’ to wash this afternoon, and I thought maybe you’d
have some little pieces I could wash jist as well as not."
"Thank you, Mrs.
Donovan, you are very kind; but you must have enough work of your own to
do."
"I’m stout and
strong, mum, and hard work agrees with me; but you’re a rale lady, and ain’t
used to it. It’s only a thrifle, but if you want to pay me, you could do a bit
of sewin’ for me. I ain’t very good with the needle. My fingers is too coarse,
belike."
"Thank you, Mrs.
Donovan; on those terms I will agree to your kind offer. Washing is a little
hard for me."
Mrs. Hoffman collected
a few pieces, and, wrapping them up in a handkerchief, handed them to her
guest.
"And now what have
you been doin’, Jimmy darlint?" said Mrs. Donovan, turning her broad,
good-humored face toward the younger boy.
"I’ve been drawing
a picture," said Jimmy. "Would you like to see it?"
"Now, isn’t that
illigant?" exclaimed Mrs. Donovan, admiringly, taking the picture and
gazing at it with rapt admiration. "Who showed you how to do it?"
"Paul bought me a
book, and I copied it out of that."
"You’re a rale
genius. Maybe you’ll make pictures some time like them we have in the church,
of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints. Do you think you could draw me,
now?" she asked, with curiosity.
"I haven’t got a
piece of paper big enough," said Jimmy, slyly.
"Ah, it’s pokin’
fun at me, ye are," said Mrs. Donovan, good-humoredly. "Just like my
Pat; he run into the room yesterday sayin’, ‘Mother, there’s great news. Barnum’s
fat woman is dead, and he’s comin’ afther you this afternoon. He’ll pay you ten
dollars a week and board.’ ‘Whist, ye spalpeen!’ said I; ‘is it makin’ fun of
your poor mother, ye are?’ but I couldn’t help laughing at the impertinence of
the boy. But I must be goin’."
"Thank you for
your kind offer, Mrs. Donovan. Jimmy shall go to your room for the
sewing."
"There’s no hurry
about that," said Mrs. Donovan. "I’ll jist bring it in meself when it’s
ready."
"She is very
kind," said Mrs. Hoffman, when Bridget Donovan had gone. "I shall be
glad to have her wash. I am apt to feel weak after it. What are you going to do
this afternoon, Paul?"
"I’II try to sell
out the rest of my stock of packages. Perhaps I shan’t succeed, but I’ll do my
best. Shall you have another picture to show me when I come back tonight,
Jimmy?"
"Yes, Paul; I love
to draw. I’m going to try this castle."
"It’s rather hard,
isn’t it?"
"I can do
it," said Jimmy, confidently.
Paul left the room with
his basket on his arm.
He was drawn by
curiosity to the spot where he had met with his first success, as well as his
first failure--the front of the post office. Here he became witness to an
unexpectedly lively scene; in other words, a fight, in which Teddy O’Brien and
his confederate, Mike, were the contestants. To explain the cause of the
quarrel, it must be stated that it related to a division of the spoils.
Teddy had sold out his
last package, seventy-five in number. For these he had received five cents
apiece, making in all three dollars and seventy-five cents, of which all but a
dollar and seventy-five cents, representing the value of the prizes and the
original cost of the packages and their contents, was profit. Now, according to
the arrangement entered into between him and Mike, the latter, for his
services, was to receive one cent on every package sold. This, however, seemed
to Teddy too much to pay, so, when the time of reckoning came, he stoutly
asseverated that there were but sixty packages.
"That don’t go
down," said Mike, indignantly; "it’s nearer a hundred."
"No, it isn’t. It’s
only sixty. You’ve got the fifty cents, and I’ll give you ten more."
"You must give me
the whole sixty, then," said Mike, changing his ground. "I drawed the
fifty as a prize."
Teddy was struck with
astonishment at the impudence of this assumption.
"It wasn’t no
prize," he said.
"Yes, it
was," said Mike. "You said so yourself. Didn’t he, Jim?"
Jim, who was also a
confederate, but had agreed to accept twenty-five cents in full for services
rendered, promptly answered:
"Shure, Mike’s
right. It was a prize he drew."
"You want to chate
me!" said Teddy, angrily.
"What have you
been doin’ all the mornin’?" demanded Mike. "You’re the chap to talk
about chatin’, ain’t you?"
"I’ll give you
twenty-five cents," said Teddy, "and that’s all I will give
you."
"Then you’ve got
to fight," said Mike, squaring off.
"Yes, you’ve got
to fight!" chimed in Jim, who thought he saw a chance for more money.
Teddy looked at his two
enemies, each of whom was probably more than a match for himself, and was not
long in deciding that his best course was to avoid a fight by running. Accordingly,
he tucked all the money into his pocket, and, turning incontinently, fled down
Liberty street, closely pursued by his late confederates. Paul came up just in
time to hear the termination of the dispute and watch the flight of his late
business rival.
"I guess Teddy won’t
go into the business again," he reflected. "I may as well take my old
stand."
Accordingly he once
more installed himself on the post office steps, and began to cry, "Prize
packages. Only five cents!"
Having no competitor
now to interfere with his trade, he met with fair success, and by four o’clock
was able to start for home with his empty basket, having disposed of all his
stock in trade.
His profits, though not
so great as the day before, amounted to a dollar.
"If I could only
make a dollar every day," thought Paul, "I would be satisfied."
PAUL continued in the
prize-package business for three weeks. His success varied, but he never made
less than seventy-five cents a day, and sometimes as much as a dollar and a
quarter. He was not without competitors. More than once, on reaching his
accustomed stand, he found a rival occupying it before him. In such cases he
quietly passed on, and set up his business elsewhere, preferring to monopolize the
trade, though the location might not be so good.
Teddy O’Brien did not
again enter the field. We left him, at the end of the last chapter, trying to
escape from Mike and Jim, who demanded a larger sum than he was willing to pay
for their services. He succeeded in escaping with his money, but the next day
the two confederates caught him, and Teddy received a black eye as a receipt in
full of all demands. So, on the whole, he decided that some other business
would suit him better, and resumed the blacking-box, which he had abandoned on
embarking in commercial pursuits.
Mike Donovan and Jim
Parker were two notoriously bad boys, preferring to make a living in any other
way than by honest industry. As some of these ways were not regarded as honest
in the sight of the law, each had more than once been sentenced to a term at
Blackwell’s Island. They made a proposition to Paul to act as decoy ducks for
him in the same way as for Teddy. He liked neither of the boys, and did not
care to be associated with them. This refusal Mike and Jim resented, and
determined to "pay off" Paul if they ever got a chance. Our hero from
time to time saw them hovering about him, but took very little notice of them.
He knew that he was a match for either, though Mike exceeded him in size, and
he felt quite capable of taking care of himself.
One day Mike and Jim,
whose kindred tastes led them to keep company, met at the corner of Liberty and
William streets. Mike looked unusually dilapidated. He had had a scuffle the
day before with another boy, and his clothes, always well ventilated, got torn
in several extra places. As it was very uncertain when he would be in a
financial condition to provide himself with another suit, the prospect was
rather alarming. Jim Parker looked a shade more respectable in attire, but his
face and hands were streaked with blacking. To this, however, Jim had become so
accustomed that he would probably have felt uncomfortable with a clean face
"How are you off
for stamps; Jim?" asked Mike.
"Dead broke,"
was the reply.
"So am I. I ain’t
had no breakfast."
"Nor I ’cept an
apple. Couldn’t I eat, though?"
"Suppose we borrow
a quarter of Paul Hoffman."
"He wouldn’t lend
a feller."
"Not if he knowed
it," said Mike, significantly.
"What do you mean,
Mike?" asked Jim, with some curiosity.
"We’ll borrow
without leave."
"How’ll we do
it?"
"I’ll tell
you," said Mike.
He proceeded to unfold
his plan, which was briefly this. The two were to saunter up to where Paul was
standing; and remain until the group, if there were any around him should be
dispersed. Then one was to pull his hat over his eyes, while the other would
snatch the basket containing his prize packages, and run down Liberty street,
never stopping until he landed in a certain alley known to both boys. The other
would run in a different direction, and both would meet as soon as practicable
for the division of the spoils. It was yet so early that Paul could not have
sold many from his stock. As each contained a prize, varying from one penny to
ten, they would probably realize enough to buy a good breakfast, besides the
candy contained in the packages. More money might be obtained by selling
packages, but there was risk in this. Besides, it would take time, and they
decided that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.
"That’s a good
idea," said Jim, approvingly. "Who’ll knock his hat over his
head?"
"You can,"
said Mike, "and I’ll grab the basket." But to this Jim demurred, for
two reasons: first, he was rather afraid of Paul, whose strength of arm he had
tested on a previous occasion; and, again, he was afraid that if Mike got off
with the basket he would appropriate the lion’s share.
"I’ll grab the
basket," he said.
"What for?"
said Mike, suspiciously, for he, too, felt some distrust of his confederate.
"You’re stronger’n
I am, Mike," said Jim. "Maybe he’d turn on me, and I can’t fight him
as well as you."
"That’s so,"
said Mike, who had rather a high idea of his own prowess, and felt pleased with
the compliment. "I’m a match for him."
"Of course you
be," said Jim, artfully, "and he knows it."
"Of course he
does," said Mike, boastfully. "I can lick him with one hand."
Jim had serious doubts
of this, but he had his reasons for concurring in Mike’s estimate of his own
powers.
"We’d better start
now," said Jim. "I’m awful hungry."
"Come along,
then."
They walked up Liberty
street, as far as Nassau. On reaching the corner they saw their unconscious
victim at his usual place. It was rather a public place for an assault, and
both boys would have hesitated had they not been incited by a double
motive--the desire of gain and a feeling of hostility.
They sauntered along,
and Mike pressed in close by Paul.
"What do you
want?" asked Paul, not liking the vicinity.
"What’s that to
you?" demanded Mike.
"Quit crowdin’
me."
"I ain’t crowdin’.
I’ve got as much right to be here as you.
"Here’s your prize
packages!" exclaimed Paul, in a businesslike tone.
"Maybe I’ll buy
one if you’ll give me credit till to- morrow," said Mike.
"Your credit isn’t
good with me," said Paul. "You must pay cash down."
"Then you won’t
trust me?" said Mike, pressing a little closer.
"No, I won’t,"
said Paul, decidedly.
"Then, take that,
you spalpeen?" said Mike, suddenly pulling Paul’s hat over his eyes.
At the same time Jim,
to whom he had tipped a wink, snatched the basket, which Paul held loosely in
his hand, and disappeared round the corner.
The attack was so
sudden and unexpected that Paul was at first bewildered. But he quickly
recovered his presence of mind, and saw into the trick. He raised his hat, and
darted in pursuit of Mike, not knowing in what direction his basket had gone.
"That’s a mean
trick!" he exclaimed, indignantly. Give me back my basket, you
thief!"
"I ain’t got no
basket," said Mike, facing round.
"Then you know
where it is."
"I don’t know
nothin’ of your basket."
"You pulled my hat
over my eyes on purpose to steal my basket."
"No, I didn’t. You
insulted me, that’s why I did it."
"Tell me where my
basket is, or I’ll lick you," said Paul, incensed.
"I ain’t nothin’
to do with your basket."
"Take that, then,
for pulling my hat over my eyes," and Paul, suiting the action to the
word, dealt Mike a staggering blow in the face.
"I’ll murder
you!" shouted Mike, furiously, dashing at Paul with a blow which might
have leveled him, if he had not fended it off.
Paul was not
quarrelsome, but he knew how to fight, and he was prepared now to fight in
earnest, indignant as he was at the robbery which entailed upon him a loss he
could ill sustain.
"I’ll give you all
you want," he said, resolutely, eyeing Mike warily, and watching a chance
to give him another blow.
The contest was brief,
being terminated by the sudden and unwelcome arrival of a policeman.
"What’s
this?" he asked authoritatively, surveying the combatants; Paul, with his
flushed face, and Mike, whose nose was bleeding freely from a successful blow
of his adversary.
"He pitched into
me for nothin’," said Mike, glaring at Paul, and rubbing his bloody nose
on the sleeve of his ragged coat.
"That isn’t
true," said Paul, excitedly. "He came up while I was selling prize
packages of candy in front of the post office, and pulled my hat over my eyes,
while another boy grabbed my basket."
"You lie!"
said Mike. "I don’t know nothin’ of your basket."
"Why did you pull
his hat over his eyes?" asked the policeman.
"Because he
insulted me."
"How did he insult
you?"
"He wouldn’t trust
me till to-morrow."
"I don’t blame him
much for that," said the policeman, who was aware of Mike’s shady
reputation, having on a former occasion been under the necessity of arresting
him. Even without such acquaintance, Mike’s general appearance would hardly
have recommended him to Officer Jones.
"I’ll let you go
this time," he said, "but if I catch you fighting again on my beat I’ll
march you off to the station-house."
Mike was glad to
escape, though he would almost have been willing to be arrested if Paul could
have been arrested also.
The officer walked
away, and Mike started down the street.
Paul followed him.
That didn’t suit Mike’s
ideas, as he was anxious to meet Jim and divide the spoils with him.
"What are you
follerin’ me for?" he demanded, angrily.
"I have my
reasons," said Paul.
"Then you’d better
stay where you are. Your company ain’t wanted."
"I know
that," said Paul, "but I’m going to follow you till I find my
basket."
"What do I know of
your basket?"
"That’s what I
want to find out."
Mike saw, by Paul’s
resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous of shaking him of, he
started on a run.
PAUL was not slow in
following Mike. He was a good runner, and would have had no difficulty in
keeping up with his enemy if the streets had been empty. But to thread his way
in and out among the numerous foot passengers that thronged the sidewalks was
not so easy. He kept up pretty well, however, until, in turning a street
corner, he ran at full speed into a very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was
quite knocked out of him by the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but
could not at first obtain breath enough to speak.
"I beg your
pardon, sir," said Paul, who, in spite of his desire to overtake Mike,
felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an apology.
"What do you mean,
sir," exploded the fat man, at last, "by tearing through the streets
like a locomotive? You’ve nearly killed me."
"I am very sorry,
sir."
"You ought to be.
Don’t you know better than to run at such speed? You ought to be indicted as a
public nuisance.
"I was trying to
catch a thief," said Paul.
"Trying to catch a
thief? How’s that?" asked the stout gentleman, his indignation giving way
to curiosity.
"I was selling
packages in front of the post office when he and another boy came up and stole
my basket."
"Indeed! What were
you selling?"
"Prize packages,
sir."
"What was in
them?"
"Candy."
"Could you make
much that way?"
"About a dollar a
day."
"I’d rather have
given you a dollar than had you run against me with such violence. I feel it
yet."
"Indeed, sir, I’m
very sorry."
"Well, I’ll
forgive you, under the circumstances. What’s your name?"
"Paul
Hoffman."
"Well, I hope you’ll
get back your basket. Some time, if you see me in the street, come up and let
me know. Would you know me again?"
"I think I should,
sir."
"Well,
good-morning. I hope you’ll catch the thief."
"I thank you,
sir."
They parted company,
but Paul did not continue the pursuit. The conversation in which he had taken
part had lasted so long that Mike had had plenty of time to find a refuge, and
there would be no use in following him.
So Paul went home.
"You are home
early, Paul," said his mother. "Surely you haven’t sold out by this
time."
"No, but all my
packages are gone."
"How is
that?"
"They were
stolen."
"Tell me about
it."
So Paul told the story.
"That Mike was
awful mean," said Jimmy, indignantly. "I’d like to hit him."
"I don’t think you
would hurt him much, Jimmy," said Paul, amused at his little brother’s
vehemence.
"Then I wish I was
a big, strong boy," said Jimmy.
"I hope you will
be, some time."
"How much was your
loss, Paul?" asked his mother.
"There were nearly
forty packages. They cost me about a dollar, but if I had sold them all they
would have brought me in twice as much. I had only sold ten packages."
"Shall you make
some more?"
"No, I think
not," said Paul. "I’ve got tired of the business. It’s getting poorer
every day. I’ll go out after dinner, and see if I can’t find something else to
do."
"You ain’t going
out now, Paul?" said Jimmy.
"No, I’ll stop and
see you draw a little while."
"That’s bully. I’m
going to try these oxen."
"That’s a hard
picture. I don’t think you can draw it, Jimmy."
"Yes, I can,"
said the little boy, confidently. "Just see if I don’t."
"Jimmy has
improved a good deal," said his mother.
"You’ll be a great
artist one of these days, Jimmy," said Paul.
"I’m going to try,
Paul," said the little boy. "I like it so much."
Little Jimmy had indeed
made surprising progress in drawing. With no instruction whatever, he had
succeeded in a very close and accurate imitation of the sketches in the drawing
books Paul had purchased for him. It was a great delight to the little boy to
draw, and hour after hour, as his mother sat at her work, he sat up to the
table, and worked at his drawing, scarcely speaking a word unless spoken to, so
absorbed was he in his fascinating employment.
Paul watched him
attentively.
"You’ll make a
bully artist, Jimmy," he said, at length, really surprised at his little
brother’s proficiency. "If you keep on a little longer, you’ll beat
me."
"I wish you’d draw
something, Paul," said Jimmy. "I never saw any of your
drawings."
"I am afraid, if
you saw mine, it would discourage you," said Paul. "You know, I’m
older and ought to draw better."
His face was serious,
but there was a merry twinkle of fun in his eyes.
"Of course, I know
you draw better," said Jimmy, seriously.
"What shall I
draw?" asked Paul.
"Try this horse,
Paul."
"All right!"
said Paul. "But you must go away; I don’t want you to see it till it is done."
Jimmy left the table,
and Paul commenced his attempt. Now, though Paul is the hero of my story, I am
bound to confess that he had not the slightest talent for drawing, though Jimmy
did not know it. It was only to afford his little brother amusement that he now
undertook the task.
Paul worked away for
about five minutes.
"It’s done,"
he said.
"So quick?"
exclaimed Jimmy, in surprise. "How fast you work!"
He drew near and
inspected Paul’s drawing. He had no sooner inspected it than he burst into a
fit of laughter. Paul’s drawing was a very rough one, and such a horse as he
had drawn will never probably be seen until the race has greatly degenerated.
"What’s the
matter, Jimmy?" asked Paul. "Don’t you like it?"
"It’s awful,
Paul," said the little boy, almost choking with mirth.
"I see how it
is," said Paul, with feigned resentment. You’re jealous of me because you
can’t draw as well."
"Oh, Paul, you’ll
kill me!" and Jimmy again burst into a fit of merriment. "Can’t you
really draw any better?"
"No, Jimmy,"
said Paul, joining in the laugh. "I can’t draw any better than an old cow.
You’ve got all the talent in the family in that line."
"But you’re smart
in other ways, Paul," said Jimmy, who had a great admiration of Paul,
notwithstanding the discovery of his artistic inferiority.
"I’m glad there’s
one that thinks so, Jimmy," said Paul. "I’ll refer to you when I want
a recommendation."
Jimmy resumed his
drawing, and was proud of the praises which Paul freely bestowed upon him.
"I’ll get you a
harder drawing book when you’ve got through with these," said Paul;
"that is, if I don’t get reduced to poverty by having my stock in trade
stolen again."
After a while came
dinner. This meal in Mrs. Hoffman’s household usually came at twelve o’clock. It
was a plain, frugal meal always, but on Sunday they usually managed to have
something a little better, as they had been accustomed to do when Mr. Hoffman
was alive.
Paul was soon through.
He took his hat from
the bureau, and prepared to go out.
"I’m going out to
try my luck, mother," he said. "I’ll see if I can’t get into
something I like a little better than the prize-package business."
"I hope you’ll
succeed, Paul."
"Better than I did
in drawing horses, eh, Jimmy?"
"Yes, I hope so,
Paul," said the little boy.
"Don’t you show
that horse to visitors and pretend it’s yours, Jimmy."
"No danger,
Paul."
Paul went downstairs
and into the street. He had no definite plan in his head, but was ready for
anything that might turn up. He did not feel anxious, for he knew there were
plenty of ways in which he could earn something. He had never tried blacking
boots, but still he could do it in case of emergency. He had sold papers, and
succeeded fairly in that line, and knew he could again. He had pitted himself
against other boys, and the result had been to give him a certain confidence in
his own powers and business abilities. When he had first gone into the street
to try his chances there, it had been with a degree of diffidence. But knocking
about the streets soon gives a boy confidence, sometimes too much of it; and
Paul had learned to rely upon himself; but the influence of a good, though
humble home, and a judicious mother, had kept him aloof from the bad habits
into which many street boys are led.
So Paul, though his
stock in trade had been stolen, and he was obliged to seek a new kind of
business, was by no means disheartened. He walked a little way downtown, and
then, crossing the City Hall Park, found himself on Broadway.
A little below the Astor
House he came to the stand of a sidewalk-merchant, who dealt in neckties. Upon
an upright framework hung a great variety of ties of different colors, most of
which were sold at the uniform price of twenty-five cents each.
Paul was acquainted
with the proprietor of the stand, and, having nothing else to do, determined to
stop and speak to him.
THE proprietor of the
necktie stand was a slender, dark-complexioned young man of about twenty-five,
or thereabouts. His name was George Barry. Paul had known him for over a year,
and whenever he passed his stand was accustomed to stop and speak with him.
"Well, George, how’s
business?" asked Paul.
"Fair," said
Barry. That isn’t what’s the matter."
"What is it,
then?"
"I’m sick. I ought
not to be out here to-day."
"What’s the matter
with you?"
"I’ve caught a bad
cold, and feel hot and feverish. I ought to be at home and abed."
"Why don’t you
go?"
"I can’t leave my
business."
"It’s better to do
that than to get a bad sickness."
"I suppose it is.
I am afraid I am going to have a fever. One minute I’m hot, another I’m cold.
But I can’t afford to close up my business."
"Why don’t you get
somebody to take your place?"
"I don’t know
anybody I could get that I could trust. They’d sell my goods, and make off with
the money."
"Can you trust
me?" asked Paul, who saw a chance to benefit himself as well as his
friend.
"Yes, Paul, I
could trust you, but I’m afraid I couldn’t pay you enough to make it worth
while for you to stand here."
"I haven’t got
anything to do just now," said Paul. "I was in the prize-package
business, but two fellows stole my stock in trade, and I’m not going into it
again. It’s about played out. I’m your man. Just make me an offer."
"I should like to
have you take my place for a day or two, for I know you wouldn’t cheat
me."
"You may be sure
of that."
"I am sure. I know
you are an honest boy, Paul. But I don’t know what to offer you."
"How many neckties
do you sell a day?" asked Paul, in a businesslike tone.
"About a dozen on
an average."
"And how much
profit do you make?"
"It’s half
profit."
Paul made a short
calculation. Twelve neckties at twenty-five cents each would bring three
dollars. Half of this was a dollar and a half.
"I’ll take your
place for half profits," he said.
"That’s
fair," said George Barry. "I’ll accept your offer. Can you begin now?"
"Yes."
"Then I’ll go home
and go to bed. It’s the best place for me.
"You’d better. I’ll
come round after closing up, and hand over the money."
"All right! You
know where I live?"
"I’m not
sure."
"No. -- Bleecker
street."
"I’ll come up this
evening."
George Barry walked
away, leaving Paul in charge of his business. He did so with perfect
confidence. Not every boy in Paul’s circumstances can be trusted, but he felt
sure that Paul would do the right thing by him.
I may as well say, in
this connection, that George Barry had a mother living. They occupied two rooms
in a lodging-house in Bleecker street, and lived very comfortably. Mrs. Barry
had an allowance of two hundred dollars a year from a relation. This, with what
she earned by sewing, and her son by his stand, supported them very
comfortably, especially as they provided and cooked their own food, which was,
of course, much cheaper than boarding. Still, the loss of the young man’s
earnings, even for a short time, would have been felt, though they had a
reserve of a hundred dollars in a savings bank, from which they might draw if
necessary. But George did not like to do this. The arrangement which he made
with Paul was a satisfactory one, for with half his usual earnings they would
still be able to keep out of debt, and not be compelled to draw upon the fund
in the bank. Of course, something depended on Paul’s success as a salesman, but
he would not be likely to fall much below the average amount of sales. So, on
the whole, George Barry went home considerably relieved in mind, though his
head was throbbing, and he felt decidedly sick.
Arrived at home, his
mother, who understood sickness, at once took measures to relieve him.
"Don’t mind the
loss of a few days, George," she said, cheerfully; "we shall be able
to get along very well."
"It’ll only be
part loss, mother," he said. "I’ve got Paul Hoffman to take my place
for half the profits."
"Paul Hoffman! Do
I know him?"
"I don’t think he
has ever been here but I have known him for a year."
"Can you trust
him?"
"Yes, I’m not at
all afraid. He is a smart boy, and as honest as he is smart. I think he will
sell nearly as much as I would."
"That is an
excellent arrangement. You needn’t feel uneasy, then."
"No, the business
will go on right."
"I should like to
see your salesman."
"You’ll see him
to-night, mother. He’s coming round this evening to let me know how he’s got
along, and hand over the money he’s taken."
"You’d better be
quiet now, George, and go to sleep, if you can. I’ll make you some warm tea. I
think it’ll do you good."
Meanwhile Paul assumed
charge of George Barry’s business. He was sorry his friend was sick, but he
congratulated himself on getting into business so soon.
"It’s more
respectable than selling prize packages," thought Paul. "I wish I had
a stand of my own."
He was still a street
merchant, but among street merchants there are grades as well as among
merchants whose claim to higher respectability rests upon having rent to pay.
Paul felt that it was almost like having a shop of his own. He had always
looked up to George Barry as standing higher than himself in a business way,
and he felt that even if his earnings should not be as great, that it was a
step upward to have sole charge of his stand, if only for a day or two.
Paul’s ambition was
aroused. It was for his interest to make as large sales as possible. Besides,
he thought he would like to prove to George Barry that he had made a good
selection in appointing him his substitute.
Now, if the truth must
be told, George Barry himself was not possessed of superior business ability.
He was lacking in energy and push. He could sell neckties to those who asked
for them, but had no particular talent for attracting trade. He would have been
a fair clerk, but was never likely to rise above a very moderate success. Paul
was quite different. He was quick, enterprising, and smart. He was a boy likely
to push his way to success unless circumstances were very much against him.
"I’d like to sell
more than George Barry," he said to himself. "I don’t know if I can,
but I’m going to try."
The day was half over,
and probably the most profitable, so far as business was concerned. Paul had
only four or five hours left.
"Let me see,"
he- said to himself. "I ought to sell six neckties to come up to the
average of half a day’s sale. I wonder whether I can do it."
As his soliloquy ended,
his quick eye detected a young man glancing at his stock, and he observed that
he paused irresolutely, as if half inclined to purchase."
"Can’t I sell you
a necktie to-day?" asked Paul, promptly.
"I don’t
know," said the other. "What do you charge?"
"You can have your
choice for twenty-five cents. That is cheap, isn’t it?"
"Yes, that’s
cheap. Let me look at them."
"Here’s one that
will suit your complexion," said Paul.
"Yes, that’s a
pretty one. I think I’ll take it."
"You have to pay
twice as much in the shops," continued Paul, as he rolled it up. "You
see, we have no rent to pay, and so we can sell cheap. You’ll save money by
always buying your neckties here."
"The only
objection to that is that I don’t live in the city. I am here only for a day. I
live about fifty miles in the country."
"Then I’ll tell
you what you’d better do," said Paul. "Lay in half a dozen, while you
are about it. It’ll only be a dollar and a half, and you’ll save as much as
that by doing it."
"I don’t know but
you are right," said his customer, whom the suggestion impressed
favorably. "As you say, it’s only a dollar and a half, and it’ll give me a
good stock."
"Let me pick them
out for you," said Paul, briskly, "unless there’s something you see
yourself."
"I like that
one."
"All right. What
shall be the next?"
Finally, the young man
selected the entire half-dozen, and deposited a dollar and a half in Paul’s
hands.
"Come and see me
again," said Paul, "and if you have any friends coming to the city,
send them to me."
"I will,"
said the other.
"Tell them it’s
the first stand south of the Astor House. Then they won’t miss it."
"That’s a good
beginning," said Paul to himself, with satisfaction. "Half a day’s
average sales already, and I’ve only been here fifteen minutes. Let me see,
what will my profits be on that? Three shillings, I declare. That isn’t bad,
now!"
Paul had reason to be
satisfied with himself. If he had not spoken, the young man would very probably
have gone on without purchasing at all, or, at any rate, remained: content with
a single necktie. Paul’s manner and timely word had increased his purchase
sixfold. That is generally the difference between a poor salesman and one of
the first class. Anybody can sell to those who are anxious to buy; but it takes
a smart man to persuade a customer that he wants what otherwise he would go
without. The difference in success is generally appreciated by dealers, and a
superior salesman is generally paid a handsome salary.
"I don’t believe
George Barry would have sold that man so many ties," thought Paul. "I
hope I shall have as good luck next time."
But this, of course,
was not to be expected. It is not every customer who can be persuaded to buy
half-a-dozen ties, even by the most eloquent salesman. However, in the course
of an hour more, Paul had sold three more to single customers. Then came a man
who bought two. Then there was a lull, and for an hour Paul sold none at all.
But business improved a little toward the close of the afternoon, and when it
was time to close up, our young merchant found that he had disposed of fifteen.
"My share of the
profits will be ninety-three cents," thought Paul, with satisfaction.
"That isn’t bad for an afternoon’s work."
PAUL transferred his
frame of goods to a neighboring office at the end of the afternoon, the arrangement
having been made by George Barry, on first entering into business as a street
merchant. This saved a good deal of trouble, as otherwise he would have been
compelled to carry them home every night and bring them back in the morning.
"Well, Paul,"
asked his mother, when he returned to supper, "have you found anything to
do yet?"
"I have got
employment for a few days," said Paul. "to tend a necktie stand. The
man that keeps it is sick."
"How much does he
pay you, Paul?" asked Jimmy.
"Half the profits.
How much do you think I have made this afternoon?"
"Forty
cents."
"What do you say
to ninety-three cents? Just look at this," and Paul displayed his
earnings.
"That is
excellent."
"I had good luck.
Generally, I shan’t make more in a whole day than this."
"That will be
doing very well."
"But I shall make
more, if I can. One fellow bought six neckties of me this afternoon. I wish
everybody would do that. Now, mother, I hope supper is most ready, for selling
neckties has made me hungry."
"Almost ready,
Paul."
It was a humble meal,
but a good one. There were fresh rolls and butter, tea and some cold meat. That
was all; but the cloth was clean, and everything looked neat. All did justice
to the plain meal, and never thought of envying the thousands who, in their
rich uptown mansions, were sitting down at the same hour to elaborate dinners
costing more than their entire week’s board.
"Are you going
out, Paul?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, noticing that he took his hat.
"Yes, I must go and
see George Barry, and carry the money I have received for sales."
"Where does he
live?"
"In Bleecker
street. I shan’t be gone long."
Paul reached the number
which had been given him. It was a large, four-story house, with the appearance
of a barracks.
"Mr. Barry,"
said the servant, in answer to his question-- "he lives upstairs on the
fourth floor. Room on the right."
Paul plodded his way
upstairs, and found the room without difficulty.
On knocking, the door
was opened by Mrs. Barry, who looked at him inquiringly.
"Does George Barry
live here?" asked Paul.
"Yes. Are you the
one he left in charge of his business?"
Paul answered in the
affirmative, adding, "How is he?"
"He seems quite
feverish. I am afraid he is going to have a fever. It’s fortunate he came home.
He was not able to attend to his business."
"Can I see
him?"
"Come in,"
said Mrs. Barry.
The room was covered
with a worn carpet, but looked neat and comfortable. There was a cheap
sewing-machine in one corner, and some plain furniture. There was a bedroom
opening out of this room, and here it was that George Barry lay upon the bed.
"Is that Paul
Hoffman, mother?" was heard from the bedroom.
"Yes," said
Paul, answering for himself.
"Go in, if you
like," said Mrs. Barry. "My son wishes to see you.
"How do you feel
now, George?" asked Paul.
"Not very well,
Paul. I didn’t give up a minute too soon. I think I am going to have a
fever."
"That is not
comfortable," said Paul. "Still, you have your mother to take care of
you."
"I don’t know how
I should get along without her. Can you look after my business as long as I am
sick?"
"Yes; I have
nothing else to do."
"Then that is off
my mind. By the way, how many ties did you sell this afternoon?"
"Fifteen."
"What!"
demanded Barry, in surprise. "You sold fifteen?"
"Yes."
"Why, I never sold
so many as that in an afternoon."
"Didn’t you?"
said Paul, gratified. "Then you think I did well?"
"Splendidly. How
did you do it?"
"You see, there
was a young man from the country that I persuaded to buy six, as he could not
get them so cheap at home. That was my first sale, and it encouraged me."
"I didn’t think
you’d sell more than six in the whole afternoon."
"Nor did I, when I
started; but I determined to do my best. I don’t expect to do as well every
day."
"No, of course
not. I’ve been in the business more than a year; and I know what it is. Some
days are very dull."
"I’ve got the
money for you. The fifteen ties came to three dollars and seventy-five cents. I
keep one-fourth of this as my commission. That leaves two dollars and
eighty-two cents."
"Quite correct.
However, you needn’t give me the money. You may need to change a bill, or else
lose a sale. It will do if you settle with me at the end of the week."
"I see you have
confidence in me, George. Suppose I should take a fancy to run away with the
money?"
"I am not
afraid."
"If I do, I will
give you warning a week beforehand."
After a little more
conversation, Paul withdrew, thinking he might worry the sick man. He offered
to come up the next evening, but George Barry said, "It would be too much
to expect you to come up every evening. I shall be satisfied if you come up
every other evening."
"Very well,"
said Paul. "Then you may expect me Saturday. I hope I shall have some good
sales to report, and that I shall find you better."
Paul descended to the
street, and walked slowly homeward. He couldn’t help wishing that the stand was
his own, and the entire profits his. This would double his income, and enable
him to save up money. At present this was hardly possible. His own earnings had
been, and were likely to continue, very fluctuating. Still, they constituted
the main support of the family. His mother made shirts for an establishment on
Broadway at twenty-five cents each, which was more than some establishments
paid. She could hardly average more than one shirt a day, in addition to her
household work, and in order to accomplish this, even, she was obliged to work
very steadily all day. Jimmy, of course, earned nothing. Not that he was too
young. There were plenty of little newsboys who were as small as he--perhaps
smaller. I have seen boys, who did not appear to be more than four years old,
standing at the corners, crying the news in their childish treble. But Paul was
not willing to have Jimmy sent out into the streets to undergo the rough
discipline of street life. He was himself of a strong, robust nature, and did not
shrink from the rough and tumble of life. He felt sure he could make his way,
and give as well as receive blows. But Jimmy was shy and retiring, of a timid,
shrinking nature, who would suffer from what would only exhilarate Paul, and
brace him for the contest. So it was understood that Jimmy was to get an
education, studying at present at home with his mother, who had received a good
education, and that Mrs. Hoffman and Paul were to be the breadwinners. "I
wish mother didn’t have to sit so steadily at her work," thought Paul,
many a time. He resolved some time to relieve her from the necessity; but at
present it was impossible. To maintain their small family in comfort required
all that both could earn.
The next morning Paul
started out after breakfast for the street stand, wondering what success he was
destined to meet with.
About the middle of the
forenoon Mrs. Hoffman prepared to go out.
"Do you think you
can stay alone for an hour or two, Jimmy?" she asked.
"Yes,
mother," answered Jimmy, who was deep in a picture which he was copying
from one of the drawing- books Paul had bought him. "Where are you going
mother?"
"To carry back
some work, Jimmy. I have got half- a-dozen shirts done, and must return them,
and ask for more."
"They ought to pay
you more than twenty-five cents apiece, mother. How long has it taken you to
make them?"
"Nearly a
week."
"That is only a
dollar and a half for a week’s work."
"I know it, Jimmy;
but they can get plenty to work at that price, so it won’t do for me to
complain. I shall be very glad if I can get steady work, even at that
price."
Jimmy said no more, and
Mrs. Hoffman, gathering up her bundle, went out.
She had a little more
than half a mile to go. This did not require long. She entered the large door,
and advanced to the counter behind which stood a clerk with a pen behind his
ear.
"How many?"
he said, as she laid the bundle upon the counter.
"Six."
"Name?"
"Hoffman."
"Correct. I will
look at them."
He opened the bundle
hastily, and surveyed the work critically. Luckily there was no fault to find,
for Mrs. Hoffman was a skillful seamstress.
"They will
do," he said, and, taking from a drawer the stipulated sum, paid for them.
"Can I have some
more?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, anxiously.
"Not to-day. We’re
overstocked with goods made up. We must contract our manufacture."
This was unexpected,
and carried dismay to the heart of the poor woman. What she could earn was very
little but it was important to her.
"When do you think
you can give me some more work?" she asked.
"It may be a month
or six weeks," he answered, carelessly.
A month or six weeks!
To have her supply of work cut off for so long a time would, indeed, be a dire
misfortune. But there was nothing to say. Mrs. Hoffman knew very well that no
one in the establishment cared for her necessities. So, with a heavy heart, she
started for home, making up her mind to look elsewhere for work in the
afternoon. She could not help recalling, with sorrow, the time when her husband
was living, and they lived in a pleasant little home, before the shadow of
bereavement and pecuniary anxiety had come to cloud their happiness. Still, she
was not utterly cast down. Paul had proved himself a manly and a helpful boy,
self-reliant and courageous, and, though they might be pinched, she knew that
as long as he was able to work they would not actually suffer.
MRS. HOFFMAN went out
in the afternoon, and visited several large establishments in the hope of
obtaining work. But everywhere she was met with the stereotyped reply,
"Business is so dull that we are obliged to turn off some who are
accustomed to work for us. We have no room for new hands."
Finally she decided
that it would be of no use to make any further applications, and went home,
feeling considerably disheartened.
"I must find
something to do," she said to herself. "I cannot throw upon Paul the
entire burden of supporting the family.
But it was not easy to
decide what to do. There are so few paths open to a woman like Mrs. Hoffman.
She was not strong enough to take in washing, nor, if she had been, would Paul,
who was proud for his mother, though not for himself, have consented to her
doing it. She determined to think it over during the evening, and make another
attempt to get work of some kind the next day.
"I won’t tell Paul
till to-morrow night," she decided. "Perhaps by that time I shall
have found something to do.
All that day, the first
full day in his new business, Paul sold eighteen ties. He was not as successful
proportionately as the previous afternoon. Still his share of the profits
amounted to a dollar and twelve cents, and he felt quite satisfied. His sales
had been fifty per cent. more than George Barry’s average sales, and that was
doing remarkably well, considering that the business was a new one to him.
The next morning about
ten o’clock, as he stood behind his stand, he saw a stout gentleman approaching
from the direction of the Astor House. He remembered him as the one with whom he
had accidentally come in collision when he was in pursuit of Mike Donovan.
Having been invited to speak to him, he determined to do so.
"Good-morning,
sir," said Paul, politely.
"Eh? Did you speak
to me?" inquired the stout gentleman.
"Yes, sir; I bade
you good-morning."
"Good-morning. I
don’t remember you, though. What’s your name?"
"Paul Hoffman. Don’t
you remember my running against you a day or two since?"
"Oho! you’re the
boy, then. You nearly knocked the breath out of me."
"I am very sorry,
sir."
"Of course you
didn’t mean to. Is this your stand?"
"No, sir; I am
tending for the owner, who is sick."
"Does he pay you
well?"
"He gives me half
the profits."
"And does that pay
you for your labor?"
"I can earn about
a dollar a day."
"That is good. It
is more than I earned when I was of your age."
"Indeed,
sir!"
"Yes; I was a poor
boy, but I kept steadily at work, and now I am rich."
"I hope I shall be
rich some time," said Paul.
"You have the same
chance that I had."
"I don’t care so
much for myself as for my mother and my little brother. I should like to become
rich for their sake."
"So you have a
mother and a brother. Where do they live?"
Paul told him.
"And you help
support them?"
"Yes, sir."
"That’s a good
boy," said the gentleman, approvingly. "Is your mother able to earn
anything?"
"Not much, sir.
She makes shirts for a Broadway store, but they only pay her twenty-five cents
apiece."
"That’s very
small. She can sew well, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, sir; no
fault is ever found with her work."
"Do you think she
would make me a dozen shirts?"
"She would be glad
to do so," said Paul, quickly, for he knew that his new acquaintance would
pay far more liberally than the Broadway firm.
"I will give the
price I usually pay--ten shillings apiece."
Ten shillings in New
York currency amount to a dollar and a quarter, which would be five times the
price Mrs Hoffman had been accustomed to receive. A dozen shirts would come to
fifteen dollars, which to a family in their circumstances would be a great
help.
"Thank you,
sir," said Paul. "My mother will accept the work thankfully, and will
try to suit you. When shall I come for the cloth?"
"You may come to
my house this evening, and I will give you a pattern, and an order for the
materials on a dry goods dealer in Broadway."
"Where do you
live, sir?"
"No. ---- Madison
avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Thirty-fifth streets. My name is Preston. Can
you remember it?"
"Yes, sir; but I
will put it down to make sure."
"Well,
good-morning."
"Good-morning,
sir. I suppose you don’t want a tie this morning?"
"I don’t think you
keep the kind I am accustomed to wear," said Mr. Preston, smiling. "I
stick to the old fashions, and wear a stock."
The old gentleman had
scarcely gone, when two boys of twelve or thirteen paused before the stand.
"That’s a bully
tie, Jeff?" said George, the elder of the two. "I have a good mind to
buy it."
"It won’t cost
much," said Jeff. "Only twenty-five cents. But I like that one
better."
"If you buy one, I
will."
"All right,"
said Jeff, whose full name was Jefferson. "We can wear them to
dancing-school this afternoon."
So the two boys bought
a necktie, and this, in addition to previous sales, made six sold during the
morning.
"I hope I shall do
as well as I did yesterday," thought Paul. "If I can make nine
shillings every day I won’t complain. It is better than selling
prize-packages."
Paul seemed likely to
obtain his wish, since at twelve o’clock, when he returned home to dinner, he
had sold ten ties, making rather more than half of the previous day’s sales.
Mrs. Hoffman had been
out once more, but met with no better success than before. There seemed to be
no room anywhere for a new hand. At several places she had seen others, out of
employment like herself, who were also in quest of work. The only encouragement
she received was that probably in a month or six weeks business might so far
improve that she could obtain work. But to Mrs. Hoffman it was a serious matter
to remain idle even four weeks. She reflected that Paul’s present employment
was only temporary, and that he would be forced to give up his post as soon as
George Barry should recover his health, which probably would be within a week
or two. She tried in vain to think of some temporary employment, and
determined, in case she should be unsuccessful in the afternoon, which she
hardly anticipated, to consult Paul what she had better do.
Paul noticed when he
came in that his mother looked more sober and thoughtful than usual.
"Have you a
headache, mother?" he inquired.
"No, Paul,"
she said, smiling faintly.
"Something
troubles you, I am sure," continued Paul.
"You are right,
Paul," said Mrs. Hoffman, "though I didn’t mean to tell you till
evening."
"What is it?"
asked Paul, anxiously.
"When I carried
back the last shirts I made for Duncan & Co., they told me I couldn’t have
any more for a month or six weeks."
"That will give
you some time to rest, mother," said Paul, who wanted to keep back his
good news for a while.
"But I can’t
afford to rest, Paul."
"You forget that I
am earning money, mother. I am sure I can earn a dollar a day."
"I know you are a
good, industrious boy, Paul, and I don’t know how we should get along without
you. But it is necessary for me to do my part, though it is small."
"Don’t be anxious,
mother; I am sure we can get along."
"But I am not
willing that the whole burden of supporting the family should come upon you.
Besides, you are not sure how long you can retain your present
employment."
"I know that,
mother; but something else will be sure to turn up. If I can’t do anything
else, I can turn bootblack, though I would prefer something else. There is no
chance of my being out of work long."
"There are fewer
things for me to do," said his mother, "but perhaps you can think of
something. I shall go out this afternoon, and try my luck once more. If I do
not succeed, I will consult with you this evening."
"Suppose I tell
you that I have work for you, enough to last for two or three weeks, that will
pay five times as well as the work you have been doing; what would you say to
that?" asked Paul, smiling.
"Are you in
earnest, Paul?" asked his mother, very much surprised.
"Quite in earnest,
mother. There’s a gentleman up- town that wants a dozen shirts made, and is
willing to pay ten shillings apiece."
"Ten shillings!
Why, that’s a dollar and a quarter."
"Of course it is.
I told him I thought you would accommodate him."
"You are sure I
can get the work to do?"
"Certainly. I am
to go up to his house this evening and get the pattern and an order for the
materials."
"It seems too good
to be true," said his mother. "Why, I can earn at least a dollar a
day."
"Then you will be
doing as well as I am."
"Tell me how you
heard of it, Paul," said Mrs. Hoffman.
Paul told the story of
the manner in which he formed Mr. Preston’s acquaintance.
"It’s lucky you
ran into him, Paul," said Jimmy.
"He didn’t think
so at the time," said Paul, laughing. "He said I nearly knocked the
breath out of him."
"You won’t go out
this afternoon, mother, will you?" asked Jimmy.
"No, it will not
be necessary now; I didn’t think this morning that such a piece of good luck
was in store for, me."
AFTER supper Paul
brushed his clothes carefully and prepared to go to the address given him by
Mr. Preston. He decided to walk one way, not wishing to incur the expenses of
two railroad fares. The distance was considerable, and it was nearly eight o’clock
when he arrived at his destination.
Paul found himself
standing before a handsome house of brown stone. He ascended the steps, and
inquired, on the door being opened, if Mr. Preston was at home.
"I’ll see,"
said the servant.
She returned in a short
time, and said: "He says you may come upstairs."
Paul followed the
servant, who pointed out a door at the head of the first staircase.
Paul knocked, and,
hearing "Come in" from within, he opened the door and entered.
He found himself in a
spacious chamber, handsomely furnished. Mr. Preston, in dressing-gown and
slippers, sat before a cheerful, open fire.
"Come and sit down
by the fire," he said, sociably.
"Thank you, sir, I
am warm with walking," and Paul took a seat near the door.
"I am one of the
cold kind," said Mr. Preston, "and have a fire earlier than most
people. You come about the shirts, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will your mother
undertake them?"
"With pleasure,
sir. She can no longer get work from the shop."
"Business dull, I
suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I am glad I
thought of giving her the commission. How’s business with you to-day, eh?"
"Pretty good,
sir."
"How many neckties
did you sell?"
"Nineteen,
sir."
"And how much do
you get for that?"
"Nine shillings
and a half--a dollar and eighteen cents."
"That’s pretty
good for a boy like you. When I was of your age I was working on a farm for my
board and clothes."
"Were you,
sir?" asked Paul, interested.
"Yes, I was bound
out till I was twenty-one. At the end of that time I was to receive a hundred
dollars and a freedom suit to begin the world with. That wasn’t a very large
capital, eh?"
"No, sir."
"But the death of
my employer put an end to my apprenticeship at the age of eighteen. I hadn’t a
penny of money and was thrown upon my own resources. However, I had a pair of
good strong arms, and a good stock of courage. I knew considerable about
farming, but I didn’t like it. I thought I should like trade better. So I went
to the village merchant, who kept a small dry-goods store, and arranged with
him to supply me with a small stock of goods, which I undertook to sell on
commission for him. His business was limited, and having confidence in my
honesty, he was quite willing to intrust me with what I wanted. So I set out
with my pack on my back and made a tour of the neighboring villages."
Paul listened with
eager interest. He had his own way to make, and it was very encouraging to find
that Mr. Preston, who was evidently rich and prosperous, was no better off at
eighteen than he was now.
"You will want to
know how I succeeded. Well, at first only moderately; but I think I had some
tact in adapting myself to the different classes of persons with whom I came in
contact; at any rate, I was always polite, and that helped me. So my sales
increased, and I did a good thing for my employer as well as myself. He would
have been glad to employ me for a series of years, but I happened to meet a
traveling salesman of a New York wholesale house, who offered to obtain me a
position similar to his own. As this would give me a larger field and larger
profits, I accepted gladly, and so changed the nature of my employment. I
became very successful. My salary was raised from time to time, till it reached
five thousand dollars. I lived frugally and saved money, and at length bought
an interest in the house by which I had been so long employed. I am now senior
partner, and, as you may suppose, very comfortably provided for.
"Do you know why I
have told you this?" asked Mr. Preston, noticing the eagerness with which
Paul had listened.
"I don’t know,
sir; but I have been very much interested."
"It is because I
like to give encouragement to boys and young men who are now situated as I used
to be. I think you are a smart boy."
"Thank you,
sir."
"And, though you
are poor, you can lift yourself to prosperity, if you are willing to work hard
enough and long enough."
"I am not afraid
of work," said Paul, promptly.
"No, I do not
believe you are. I can tell by a boy’s face, and you have the appearance of one
who is willing to work hard. How long have you been a street peddler?"
"About a year,
sir. Before that time my father was living, and I was kept at school."
"You will find the
street a school, though of a different kind, in which you can learn valuable
lessons. If you can get time in the evening, however, it will be best to keep
up your school studies."
"I am doing that
now, sir."
"That is well. And
now, about the shirts. Did your mother say how long it would take her to make
them?"
"About three
weeks, I think, sir. Will that be soon enough?"
"That will do.
Perhaps it will be well, however, to bring half the number whenever they are
finished."
"All right,
sir."
"I suppose your
mother can cut them out if I send a shirt as a pattern?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Preston rose, and,
going to a bureau, took therefrom a shirt which he handed to Paul. He then
wrote a few lines on a slip of paper, which he also handed our hero.
"That is an order
on Barclay & Co.," he explained, "for the requisite materials. If
either you or your mother presents it, they will be given you."
"Very good,
sir," said Paul.
He took his cap, and
prepared to go.
"Good-evening, Mr.
Preston," he said.
"Good-evening. I
shall expect you with the shirts when they are ready."
Paul went downstairs
and into the street, thinking that Mr. Preston was very sociable and agreeable.
He had fancied that rich men were generally "stuck up," but about Mr.
Preston there seemed an absence of all pretense. Paul’s ambition was aroused
when he thought of the story he had heard, and he wondered whether it would be
possible for him to raise himself to wealth and live in as handsome a house as
Mr. Preston. He thought what a satisfaction it would be if the time should ever
come when he could free his mother from the necessity of work, and give little
Jimmy a chance to develop his talent for drawing. However, such success must be
a long way off, if it ever came.
He had intended to ride
home, but his mind was so preoccupied that he forgot all about it, and had got
some distance on his way before it occurred to him. Then, not feeling
particularly tired, he concluded to keep on walking, as he had commenced.
"It will save me
six cents," he reflected, "and that is something. If I am ever going
to be a prosperous merchant, I must begin to save now."
So he kept on walking.
Passing the Cooper Institute, he came into the Bowery, a broad and busy street,
the humble neighbor of Broadway, to which it is nearly parallel.
He was still engaged in
earnest thought, when he felt a rude slap on the back. Looking round, he met
the malicious glance of Mike Donovan, who probably would not have ventured on
such a liberty if he had not been accompanied by a boy a head taller than
himself, and, to judge from appearances, of about the same character.
"What did you do
that for, Mike?" demanded Paul.
"None of your
business. I didn’t hurt you, did I?" returned Mike, roughly.
"No, but I don’t
care to be hit that way by you."
"So you’re putting
on airs, are you?"
"No, I don’t do
that," returned Paul; "but I don’t care about having anything to do
with you."
"That’s because
you’ve got a new shirt, is it?" sneered Mike.
"It isn’t
mine."
"That’s what I
thought. Who did you steal it from?"
"Do you mean to
insult me, Mike Donovan?" demanded Paul, angrily.
"Just as you
like," said Mike, independently.
"If you want to
know why I don’t want to have anything to do with you, I will tell you."
"Tell ahead."
"Because you’re a
thief."
"If you say that
again, I’ll lick you," said Mike, reddening with anger.
"It’s true. You
stole my basket of candy the other day, and that isn’t the only time you’ve
been caught stealing."
"I’ll give you the
worst licking you ever had. Do you want to fight?" said Mike, flourishing
his fist.
"No, I don’t,"
said Paul. "Some time when I haven’t a bundle, I’ll accommodate you."
"You’re a
coward!" sneered Mike, gaining courage as he saw Paul was not disposed for
an encounter.
"I don’t think I
am," said Paul, coolly.
"I’ll hold your
shirt," said Mike’s companion, with a grin, "if you want to
fight."
Paul, however, did not
care to intrust the shirt to a stranger of so unprepossessing an appearance.
He, therefore,
attempted to pass on. But Mike, encouraged by his reluctance, stepped up and
shook his fist within an inch of Paul’s nose, calling him at the same time a
coward. This was too much for Paul’s self-restraint. He dropped the shirt and
pitched into Mike in so scientific a manner that the latter was compelled to
retreat, and finally to flee at the top of his speed, not without having first
received several pretty hard blows.
"I don’t think he
will meddle with me again," said Paul to himself, as he pulled down the
sleeves of his jacket.
He walked back, and
looked for the shirt which he had laid down before commencing the combat. But
he looked in vain. Nothing was to be seen of the shirt or of Mike’s companion.
Probably both had disappeared together.
THE LOSS of the shirt
was very vexatious. It was not so much the value of it that Paul cared for,
although this was a consideration by no means to be despised by one in his
circumstances; but it had been lent as a pattern, and without it his mother
would be unable to make Mr. Preston’s shirts. As to recovering it, he felt that
there was little chance of this. Besides, it would involve delay, and his
mother could not afford to remain idle. Paul felt decidedly uncomfortable.
Again Mike Donovan had done him an injury, and this time of a more serious
nature than before.
What should he do?
There seemed but one
answer to this question. He must go back to Mr. Preston, explain the manner in
which he had lost his shirt, and ask him for another, promising, of course, to
supply the place of the one lost. He was not sure whether Mr. Preston would
accept this explanation. He might think it was only an attempt to defraud him.
But, at any rate, it seemed the only thing to do, and it must be done at once.
He entered a passing car, for it was too late to walk.
"I wish I had
taken the car down," thought Paul. "Then I shouldn’t have lost the
shirt."
But it was too late for
regrets now. He must do the best that remained to him.
It was nearly ten o’clock
when Paul once more stood before the door of Mr. Preston’s boarding-place. He
rang the bell and asked to see him.
"You have been
here before this evening?" said the servant.
"Yes."
"Then you know the
room. You can walk right up."
Paul went upstairs and
knocked at Mr. Preston’s room. He was bidden to come in, and did so.
Mr. Preston looked up
with surprise.
"I suppose you are
surprised to see me," said Paul, rather awkwardly.
"Why, yes. I did
not anticipate that pleasure quite so soon," said Mr. Preston, smiling.
"I am afraid it
won’t be a pleasure, for I bring bad news."
"Bad news?"
repeated the gentleman, rather startled.
"Yes; I have lost
the shirt you gave me."
"Oh, is that
all?" said Mr. Preston, looking relieved. "But how did you lose
it?"
"I was walking
home down the Bowery, when two fellows met me. One of them, Mike Donovan,
forced me into a fight. I gave him a licking," added Paul, with
satisfaction; "but when it was all over, I found the other fellow had run
off with the shirt."
"I don’t believe
it will fit him," said Mr. Preston, laughing.
As the speaker probably
weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, it was, indeed, rather doubtful. Paul
couldn’t help laughing himself at the thought.
"You were
certainly unlucky," said Mr. Preston. "Did you know the boy you
fought with?"
"Yes, sir; he once
before stole my stock of candy, when I was in the prize-package business."
"That was the day
we got acquainted," remarked Mr. Preston.
"Yes, sir."
"He doesn’t seem
to be a very particular friend of yours."
"No; he hates me,
Mike does, though I don’t know why. But I hope you won’t be angry with me for
losing the shirt?"
"No; it doesn’t
seem to be your fault, only your misfortune."
"I was afraid you
might think I had made up the story, and only wanted to get an extra shirt from
you."
"No, my young
friend; I have some faith in physiognomy, and you have an honest face. I don’t
believe you would deceive me."
"No, I wouldn’t,"
said Paul, promptly. "If you will trust me with another shirt, mother will
make you an extra one to make up for the one I have lost."
"Certainly you
shall have the extra shirt, but you needn’t supply the place of the one
lost."
"It is only fair
that I should."
"That may be, and
I am glad you made the offer, but the loss is of little importance to me. It
was no fault of yours that you lost it, and you shall not suffer for it."
"You are very
kind, sir," said Paul, gratefully.
"Only just,
Paul."
Mr. Preston went to the
bureau, and drew out another shirt, which he handed to Paul.
"Let me suggest,
my young friend," he said, "that you ride home this time. It is late,
and you might have another encounter with your friend. I should like to see him
with the shirt on," and Mr. Preston laughed heartily at the thought.
Paul decided to follow
his patron’s advice. He had no idea of running any more risk in the matter. He
accordingly walked to Fourth avenue and got on board the car.
It was nearly eleven o’clock
when he reached home. As it was never his habit to stay out late, his mother
had become alarmed at his long absence.
"What kept you so
late, Paul?" she asked.
"I’ll tell you,
pretty soon, mother. Here’s the shirt that is to serve as a pattern. Can you
cut out the new shirts by it?"
Mrs. Hoffman examined
it attentively.
"Yes," she
said; "there will be no difficulty about that. Mr. Preston must be a
pretty large man."
"Yes, he is big
enough for an alderman; but he is very kind and considerate, and I like him.
You shall judge for yourself when I tell you what happened this evening."
It will not be
necessary to tell Paul’s adventure over again. His mother listened with
pardonable indignation against Mike Donovan and his companion.
"I hope you won’t
have anything to do with that bad boy, Paul," she said.
"I shan’t, if I
can help it," said Paul. "I didn’t want to speak to him to-night, but
I couldn’t help myself. Oh, I forgot to say, when half the shirts are ready, I
am to take them to Mr. Preston."
"I think I can
make one a day."
"There is no need
of working so steadily, mother. You will be well paid, you know."
"That is true; and
for that reason I shall work more cheerfully. I wish I could get paid as well
for all my work."
"Perhaps Mr.
Preston will recommend you to his friends, and you can get more work that way."
"I wish I
could."
"I will mention it
to him, when I carry back the last half dozen."
"Is he going to
send the cloth?"
"I nearly forgot
that, too. I have an order on Barclay & Co. for the necessary amount of
cloth. I can go up there to-morrow morning and get it."
"That will take
you from your work, Paul."
"Well, I can close
up for a couple of hours."
"I don’t think
that will be necessary. I will go up myself and present the order, and get them
to send it home for me."
"Will they do
that?"
"It is their
custom. Or, if the bundle isn’t too large. I can bring it home myself in the
car."
"That’s all right,
then. And now, mother, as it’s past eleven o’clock, I think we may as well both
go to bed."
The next day Paul went
as usual to his business, and Mrs. Hoffman, after clearing away the breakfast,
put on her bonnet and shawl, and prepared to go for the materials for the
shirts.
The retail store of
Barclay & Co. is of great size, and ranks among the most important in New
York. It was not so well filled when Mrs. Hoffman entered as it would be later.
She was directed to the proper counter, where she presented the order, signed
by Mr. Preston. As he was a customer of long standing, there was no difficulty
about filling the order. A bundle was made up, which, as it contained the
materials for twelve shirts, necessarily was of considerable size.
"Here is your
bundle, ma’am," said the clerk.
Mrs. Hoffman’s strength
was slender, and she did not feel able to carry the heavy bundle offered her. Even
if she took the car, she would be obliged to carry it a portion of the way, and
she felt that it would overtask her strength.
"Don’t you send
bundles?" she asked.
"Sometimes,"
said the clerk, looking superciliously at the modest attire of the poor widow,
and mentally deciding that she was not entitled to much consideration. Had she
been richly dressed, he would have been very obsequious, and insisted on
sending home the smallest parcel. But there are many who have two rules of
conduct, one for the rich, and quite a different one for the poor, and among
these was the clerk who was attending upon Mrs. Hoffman.
"Then," said
Mrs. Hoffman, "I should like to have you send this."
"It’s a great deal
of trouble to send everything," said the clerk, impertinently.
"This bundle is
too heavy for me to carry," said the widow, deprecatingly.
"I suppose we can
send it," said the clerk, ill- naturedly, "if you insist upon
it."
Meanwhile, though he
had not observed it, his employer had approached, and heard the last part of
the colloquy. He was considered by some as a hard man, but there was one thing
he always required of those in his employ; that was to treat all purchasers with
uniform courtesy, whatever their circumstances.
"Are you objecting
to sending this lady’s bundle?" said Mr. Barclay, sternly.
The clerk looked up in
confusion.
"I told her we
would send it," he stammered.
"I have heard what
passed. You have been deficient in politeness. If this happens again, you leave
my employ.
"I will take your
address," said the clerk, in a subdued tone.
Mrs. Hoffman gave it,
and left the store, thankful for the interference of the great merchant who had
given his clerk a lesson which the latter, as he valued his situation, found it
advisable to bear in mind.
WHILE Mike Donovan was
engaged in his contest with Paul, his companion had quietly walked off with the
shirt. It mattered very little to him which party conquered, as long as he
carried off the spoils. His conduct in the premises was quite as unsatisfactory
to Mike as it was to Paul. When Mike found himself in danger of being
overpowered, he appealed to his companion for assistance, and was incensed to
see him coolly disregarding the appeal, and selfishly appropriating the booty.
"The mane
thafe!" he exclaimed after the fight was over, and he was compelled to
retreat. "He let me be bate, and wouldn’t lift his finger to help me. I’d
like to put a head on him, I would."
Just at that moment
Mike felt quite as angry with his friend, Jerry McGaverty, as with his late
opponent.
"The shirt’s mine,
fair," he said to himself, "and I’ll make Jerry give it to me."
But Jerry had
disappeared, and Mike didn’t know where to look for him. In fact, he had
entered a dark alleyway, and, taking the shirt from the paper in which it was
wrapped, proceeded to examine his prize.
The unusual size struck
him.
"By the
powers," he muttered, "it’s big enough for me great-grandfather and
all his children. I wouldn’t like to pay for the cloth it tuck to make it. But
I’ll wear it, anyway."
Jerry was not
particular as to an exact fit. His nether garments were several sizes too large
for him, and the shirt would complete his costume appropriately. He certainly
did need a new shirt, for the one he had on was the only article of the kind he
possessed, and was so far gone that its best days, if it ever had any, appeared
to date back to a remote antiquity. It had been bought cheap in Baxter street,
its previous history being unknown.
Jerry decided to make
the change at once. The alley afforded a convenient place for making the
transfer. He accordingly pulled off the ragged shirt he wore and put on the
article he had purloined from Paul. The sleeves were too long, but he turned up
the cuffs, and the ample body he tucked inside his pants.
"It fits me too
much," soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself after the exchange.
"I could let out the half of it, and have enough left for meself. Anyhow,
it’s clane, and it came chape enough."
He came out of the
alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if it had been worth carrying
away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more than one shirt. It was his habit to
wear one until it was ready to drop off from him, and then get another if he
could. There is a practical convenience in this arrangement, though there are
also objections which will readily occur to the reader.
On the whole, though
the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it, he regarded himself
complacently.
The superabundant
material gave the impression of liberal expenditure and easy circumstances,
since a large shirt naturally costs more than a small one. So Jerry, as he
walked along the Bowery, assumed a jaunty air, precisely such as some of my
readers may when they have a new suit to display. His new shirt was quite
conspicuous, since he was encumbered neither with vest nor coat.
Mike, feeling sore over
his defeat, met Jerry the next morning on Chatham street. His quick eye
detected the improved state of his friend’s apparel, and his indignation rose,
as he reflected that Jerry had pocketed the profits while the hard knocks had
been his.
"Jerry!" he
called out.
Jerry did not see fit
to heed the call. He was sensible that Mike had something to complain of, and
he was in no hurry to meet his reproaches.
"Jerry
McGaverty!" called Mike, coming near.
"Oh, it’s you,
Mike, is it?" answered Jerry, unable longer to keep up the pretense of not
hearing.
"Yes, it’s
me," said Mike. "What made you leave me for last night?"
"I didn’t want to
interfere betwane two gintlemen," said Jerry, with a grin. "Did you
mash him, Mike?"
"No," said
Mike, sullenly, "he mashed me. Why didn’t you help me?"
"I thought you was
bating him, so, as I had some business to attind to, I went away."
"You went away wid
the shirt."
"Yes, I took it by
mistake. Ain’t it an illigant fit?"
"It’s big enough
for two of you."
"Maybe I’ll grow
to it in time," said Jerry.
"And how much are
you goin’ to give me for my share?" demanded Mike.
"Say that ag’in,"
said Jerry.
Mike repeated it.
"I thought maybe I
didn’t hear straight. It ain’t yours at all. Didn’t I take it?"
"You wouldn’t have
got it if I hadn’t fit with Paul."
"That ain’t nothin’
to me," said Jerry. "The shirt’s mine, and I’ll kape it."
Mike felt strongly
tempted to "put a head on" Jerry, whatever that may mean; but, as
Jerry was a head taller already, the attempt did not seem quite prudent. He indulged
in some forcible remarks, which, however, did not disturb Jerry’s equanimity.
"I’ll give you my
old shirt, Mike," he said, "if you can find it. I left it in an alley
near the Old Bowery,"
"I don’t want the
dirty rag," said Mike, contemptuously.
Finally a compromise
was effected, Jerry offering to help Mike on the next occasion, and leave the
spoils in his hands.
I have to chronicle
another adventure of Jerry’s, in which he was less fortunate than he had been
in the present case. He was a genuine vagabond, and lived by his wits, being
too lazy to devote himself to any regular street employment, as boot blacking
or selling newspapers. Occasionally he did a little work at each of these, but
regular, persistent industry was out of his line. He was a drone by
inclination, and a decided enemy to work. On the subject of honesty his
principles were far from strict. If he could appropriate what did not belong to
him he was ready to do so without scruple. This propensity had several times
brought him into trouble, and he had more than once been sent to reside
temporarily on Blackwell’s Island, from which he had returned by no means
improved.
Mike was not quite so
much of a vagabond as his companion. He could work at times, though he did not
like it, and once pursued the vocation of a bootblack for several months with
fair success. But Jerry’s companionship was doing him no good, and it seemed
likely that eventually he would become quite as shiftless as Jerry himself.
Jerry, having no
breakfast, strolled down to one of the city markets. He frequently found an
opportunity of stealing here, and was now in search of such a chance. He was a
dexterous and experienced barrel thief, a term which it may be necessary to
explain. Barrels, then, have a commercial value, and coopers will generally pay
twenty- five cents for one in good condition. This is enough, in the eyes of
many a young vagabond, to pay for the risk incurred in stealing one.
Jerry prowled round the
market for some time, seeking a good opportunity to walk off with an apple or
banana, or something eatable. But the guardians of the stands seemed unusually
vigilant, and he was compelled to give up the attempt, as involving too great
risk. Jerry was hungry, and hunger is an uncomfortable feeling. He began to
wish he had remained satisfied with his old shirt, dirty as it was, and carried
the new one to some of the Baxter street dealers, from whom he could perhaps
have got fifty cents for it. Now, fifty cents would have paid for a breakfast
and a couple of cigars, and those just now would have made Jerry happy.
"What a fool I was
not to think of it!" he said. "The old shirt would do me, and I could
buy a bully breakfast wid the money I’d get for this."
Just at this moment he
espied an empty barrel--a barrel apparently quite new and in an unguarded
position. He resolved to take it, but the affair must be managed slyly.
He lounged up to the
barrel, and leaned upon it indolently. Then, in apparent unconsciousness, he
began to turn it, gradually changing its position. If observed, he could easily
deny all felonious intentions. This he kept up till he got round the corner,
when, glancing around to see if he was observed, he quickly lifted it on his
shoulder and marched off.
All this happened
without his being observed by the owner of the barrel. But a policeman, who
chanced to be going his rounds, had been a witness of Jerry’s little game. He
remained quiet till Jerry’s intentions became evident, then walked quietly up
and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Put down that
barrel!" he said, authoritatively.
Jerry had been
indulging in visions of the breakfast he would get with the twenty-five cents
he expected to obtain for the barrel, and the interruption was not an agreeable
one. But he determined to brazen it out if possible.
"What for will I
put it down?" he said.
"Because you have
stolen it, that’s why."
"No," said
Jerry, "I’m carrying it round to my boss. It’s his."
"Where do you
work?"
"In Fourth
street," said Jerry, at random.
"What
number?"
"No. 136."
"Then your boss
will have to get some one in your place, for you will have to come with
me."
"What for?"
"I saw you steal
the barrel. You’re a barrel thief, and this isn’t the first time you’ve been
caught at it. Carry back the barrel to the place you took it from and then come
with me."
Jerry tried to beg off,
but without avail.
At that moment Mike
Donovan lounged up. When he saw his friend in custody, he felt a degree of
satisfaction, remembering the trick Jerry had played on him.
"Where are you
goin’, Jerry?" he asked, with a grin, as he passed him. "Did ye buy
that barrel to kape your shirt in?"
Jerry scowled but
thought it best not to answer, lest his unlawful possession of the shirt might
also be discovered, and lead to a longer sentence.
"He’s goin’ down
to the island to show his new shirt," thought Mike, with a grin.
"Maybe he’ll set the fashion there."
Mike was right. Jerry
was sent to the island for two months, there introducing Mr. Preston’s shirt to
company little dreamed of by its original proprietor.
THE next day Mrs.
Hoffman commenced work upon Mr. Preston’s shirts. She worked with much more
cheerfulness now that she was sure of obtaining a liberal price for her labor.
As the shirts were of extra size, she found herself unable to finish one in a
day, as she had formerly done, but had no difficulty in making four in a week.
This, however, gave her five dollars weekly, instead of a dollar and a half as
formerly. Now, five dollars may not seem a very large sum to some of my young
readers, but to Mrs. Hoffman it seemed excellent compensation for a week’s
work.
"If I could only
earn as much every week," she said to Paul on Saturday evening, "I
should feel quite rich."
"Your work will
last three weeks, mother, and perhaps at the end of that time some of Mr.
Preston’s friends may wish to employ you."
"I hope they
will."
"How much do you
think I have made?" continued Paul.
"Six
dollars."
"Seven dollars and
a half."
"So between us we
have earned over twelve dollars."
"I wish I could
earn something," said little Jimmy, looking up from his drawing.
"There’s time
enough for that, Jimmy. You are going to be a great artist one of these
days."
"Do you really
think I shall?" asked the little boy, wistfully.
"I think there is
a good chance of it. Let me see what you are drawing."
The picture upon which
Jimmy was at work represented a farmer standing upright in a cart, drawn by a
sturdy, large-framed horse. The copy bore a close resemblance to the original,
even in the most difficult portions--the face and expression, both in the man
and the horse, being carefully reproduced.
"This is
wonderful, Jimmy," exclaimed Paul, in real surprise. "Didn’t you find
it hard to get the man’s face just right?"
"Rather
hard," said Jimmy; "I had to be careful, but I like best the parts
where I have to take the most pains."
"I wish I could
afford to hire a teacher for you," said Paul. "Perhaps, if mother and
I keep on earning so much money, we shall be able to some time."
By the middle of the
next week six of the shirts were finished, and Paul, as had been agreed upon,
carried them up to Mr. Preston. He was fortunate enough to find him at home.
"I hope they will
suit you," said Paul.
"I can see that
the sewing is excellent," said Mr. Preston, examining them. "As to
the fit, I can tell better after I have tried one on."
"Mother made them
just like the one you sent; but if there is anything wrong, she will, of
course, be ready to alter them."
"If they are just
like the pattern, they will be sure to suit me."
"And now, my young
friend," he added, "let me know how you are getting on in your own
business."
"I am making a
dollar a day, sometimes a little more."
"That is very
good."
"Yes, sir; but it
won’t last long."
"I believe you
told me that the stand belonged to some one else."
"Yes, sir; I am
only tending it in his sickness; but he is getting better, and when he gets
about again, I shall be thrown out of business."
"But you don’t
look like one who would remain idle long."
"No, sir; I shall
be certain to find something to do, if it is only blacking boots."
"Have you ever
been in that business?"
"I’ve tried about
everything," said Paul, laughing.
"I suppose you
wouldn’t enjoy boot-blacking much?"
"No, sir; but I
would rather do that than be earning nothing."
"You are quite
right there, and I am glad you have no false shame in the matter. There are
plenty who have. For instance, a stout, broad-shouldered young fellow applied
to me thus morning for a clerkship. He said he had come to the city in search
of employment, and had nearly expended all his money without finding anything
to do. I told him I couldn’t give him a clerkship, but was in want of a porter.
I offered him the place at two dollars per day. He drew back, and said he
should not be willing to accept a porter’s place."
"He was very
foolish," said Paul.
"So I thought. I
told him that if such were his feelings, I could not help him. Perhaps he may
regret his refusal, when he is reduced to his last penny. By the way, whenever
you have to give up your stand, you may come to me, and I will see what I can
do for you."
"Thank you,
sir."
"And now, about
these shirts; I believe I agreed to pay a dollar and a quarter each."
"Yes, sir."
"As they are of
extra size, I think I ought to pay twelve shillings, instead of ten."
"My mother thinks
herself well paid at ten shillings."
"There must be a
great deal of work about one. Twelve shillings are none too much," and Mr.
Preston placed nine dollars in Paul’s hand.
"Thank you,"
said Paul, gratefully. "My mother will consider herself very lucky."
When Mrs. Hoffman
received from Paul a dollar and a half more than she anticipated, she felt in
unusually good spirits. She had regretted the loss of her former poorly paid
work, but it appeared that her seeming misfortune had only prepared the way for
greater prosperity. The trouble was that it would not last. Still, it would
tide over the dull time, and when this job was over, she might be able to
resume her old employment. At any rate, while the future seemed uncertain, she
did not feel like increasing her expenditures on account of her increased
earnings, but laid carefully away three-quarters of her receipts to use
hereafter in case of need.
Meanwhile, Paul
continued to take care of George Barry’s business. He had been obliged to renew
the stock, his large sales having materially reduced it. Twice a week he went
up to see his principal to report sales. George Barry could not conceal the
surprise he felt at Paul’s success.
"I never thought
you would do so well," he said. "You beat me."
"I suppose it’s
because I like it," said Paul. "Then, as I get only half the profits,
I have to work the harder to make fair wages."
"It is fortunate
for my son that he found you to take his place," said Mrs. Barry. "He
could not afford to lose all the income from his business."
"It is a good
thing for both of us," said Paul. "I was looking for a job just when
he fell sick."
"What had you been
doing before?"
"I was in the
prize-package business, but that got played out, and I was a gentleman at
large, seeking for a light, genteel business that wouldn’t require much
capital."
"I shall be able
to take my place pretty soon now," said the young man. "I might go
to-morrow, but mother thinks it imprudent."
"Better get back
your strength first, George," said his mother, "or you may fall sick
again."
But her son was
impatient of confinement and anxious to get to work again. So, two days
afterward, about the middle of the forenoon, Paul was surprised by seeing
George Barry get out of a Broadway omnibus, just in front of the stand.
"Can I sell you a
necktie, Mr. Barry?" he asked, in a Joke.
"I almost feel
like a stranger," said Barry, "it’s so long since I have been
here."
"Do you feel
strong enough to take charge now?" asked Paul.
"I am not so
strong as I was, and the walk from our rooms would tire me; but I think if I
rode both ways for the present I shall be able to get along."
"Then you won’t
need me any longer?"
"I would like to
have you stay with me to-day. I don’t know how I shall hold out."
"All right! I’ll
stop."
George Barry remained
in attendance the rest of the day. He found that his strength had so far
returned that he should be able to manage alone hereafter, and he told Paul so.
"I am glad you are
well again, George," said Paul. "It must have been dull work staying
at home sick."
"Yes, it was dull;
but I felt more comfortable from knowing that you were taking my place. If I
get sick again I will send for you."
"I hope you won’t
get sick; but if you do, I will do what I can to help you."
So the two parted on
the best of terms. Each had been of service to the other, and neither had cause
to complain.
"Well," said
Paul to himself, "I am out of work again. What shall I go at next?"
It was six o’clock, and
there was nothing to be done till the morrow. He went slowly homeward,
revolving this subject in his mind. He knew that he need not remain idle. He
could black boots, or sell newspapers, if nothing better offered, and he
thought it quite possible that he might adopt the latter business, for a few
days at least. He had not forgotten Mr. Preston’s injunction to let him know
when he got out of business; but, as the second half dozen shirts would be
ready in three or four days, he preferred to wait till then, and not make a
special call on Mr Preston. He had considerable independence of feeling, and
didn’t like to put himself in the position of one asking a favor, though he had
no objection to accept one voluntarily offered.
"Well,
mother," he said, entering his humble home, "I am out of
business."
"Has George
recovered, then?"
"Yes, he was at
the stand to-day, but wanted me to stay with him till this evening."
"Oh, I’m so
sorry!" said Jimmy.
"Sorry that George
has got well? For shame, Jimmy!"
"No, I don’t mean
that, Paul. I am sorry you are out of work."
"I shall find
plenty to do, Jimmy. Perhaps Mr. Stewart will take me in as senior partner, if
I ask him."
"I don’t think he
will," said Jimmy, laughing.
"Then perhaps I
can get a few scholars in drawing. Can’t you recommend me?"
"I am afraid not,
Paul, unless you have improved a good deal."
PAUL was up betimes the
next morning. He had made up his mind for a few days, at least, to sell
newspapers, and it was necessary in this business to begin the day early. He
tool a dollar with him and invested a part of it in a stock of dailies. He
posted himself in Printing House square, and began to look out for customers.
Being an enterprising boy, he was sure to meet with fair success in any
business which he undertook. So it happened that at ten o’clock he had sold out
his stock of papers, and realized a profit of fifty cents.
It was getting late for
morning papers, and there was nothing left to do till the issue of the first
edition of the afternoon papers.
"I’ll go down and
see how George Barry is getting along," thought Paul.
He crossed Broadway and
soon reached the familiar stand.
"How’s business,
George?" he inquired.
"Fair," said
Barry. "I’ve sold four ties."
"How do you
feel?"
"I’m not so strong
as I was, yet. I get tired more easily. I don’t think I shall stay in this
business long."
"You don’t? What
will you do then?"
"I’ve got a chance
in Philadelphia, or I shall have by the first of the month."
"What sort of a
chance?"
"Mother got a
letter yesterday from a cousin of hers who has a store on Chestnut street. He
offers to take me as a clerk, and give me ten dollars a week at first, and more
after a while."
"That’s a good
offer. I should like to get one like it."
"I’ll tell you
what, Paul, you’d better buy out my stand. You know how to sell ties, and can
make money."
"There’s only one
objection, George."
"What’s
that?"
"I haven’t got any
capital."
"It don’t need
much."
"How much?"
"I’ll sell out all
my stock at cost price."
"How much do you
think there is?"
"About twenty-five
dollars’ worth. Then there is the frame, which is worth, say ten dollars,
making thirty-five in all. That isn’t much."
"It’s more than I’ve
got. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take it, and pay you five dollars down
and the rest in one month."
"I would take your
offer, Paul, but I need all the money how. It will be expensive moving to
Philadelphia and I shall want all I can get."
"I wish I could
buy you out," said Paul, thoughtfully.
"Can’t you borrow
the money?"
"How soon do you
want to give up?"
"It’s the
seventeenth now. I should like to get rid of it by the twenty-second."
"I’ll see what I
can do. Just keep it for me till to- morrow."
"All right."
Paul walked home
revolving in his mind this unexpected opportunity. He had made, as George Barry’s
agent, a dollar a day, though he received only half the profits. If he were
himself the proprietor, and did equally well, he could make twelve dollars a
week. The calculation almost took away his breath. Twelve dollars a week would
make about fifty dollars a month. It would enable him to contribute more to the
support of the family, and save up money besides. But the great problem was,
how to raise the necessary money. If Paul had been a railroad corporation, he
might have issued first mortgage bonds at a high rate of interest, payable in
gold, and negotiated them through some leading banker. But he was not much
versed in financial schemes, and therefore was at a loss. The only wealthy
friend he had was Mr. Preston, and he did not like to apply to him till he had
exhausted other ways and means.
"What makes you so
sober, Paul?" asked his mother, as he entered the room. "You are home
early."
"Yes, I sold all
my papers, and thought I would take an early dinner, so as to be on hand in
time for the first afternoon papers."
"Don’t you feel
well?"
"Tiptop; but I’ve
had a good offer, and I’m thinking whether I can accept it."
"What sort of an
offer?"
"George Barry
wants to sell out his stand."
"How much does he
ask?"
"Thirty-five
dollars."
"Is it worth
that?"
"Yes, it’s worth
all that, and more, too. If I had it I could make two dollars a day. But I
haven’t got thirty-five dollars."
"I can let you
have nine, Paul. I had a little saved up, and I haven’t touched the money Mr.
Preston paid me for the shirts."
"I’ve got five
myself, but that will only make fourteen."
"Won’t he wait for
the rest?"
"No, he’s going to
Philadelphia early next week, and wants the whole in cash."
"It would be a
pity to lose such a good chance," said Mrs. Hoffman.
"That’s what I
think."
"You could soon
save up the money on two dollars a day."
"I could pay for
it in a month--I mean, all above the fourteen dollars we have."
"In a day or two I
shall have finished the second half- dozen shirts, and then I suppose Mr.
Preston will pay me nine dollars more. I could let you have six dollars of
that."
"That would make
twenty. Perhaps George Barry will take that. If he won’t I don’t know but I
will venture to apply to Mr. Preston."
"He seems to take
an interest in you. Perhaps he would trust you with the money."
"I could offer him
a mortgage on the stock," said Paul.
"If he has
occasion to foreclose, he will be well provided with neckties," said Mrs.
Hoffman, smiling.
"None of which he
could wear. I’ll tell you what, mother, I should like to pick up a pocketbook
in the street, containing, say, twenty or twenty-five dollars."
"That would be
very convenient," said his mother; "but I think it will hardly do to
depend on such good luck happening to you. By the way," she said,
suddenly, "perhaps I can help you, after all. Don’t you remember that gold
ring I picked up in Central Park two years ago?"
"The one you
advertised?"
"Yes. I
advertised, or, rather, your father did; but we never found an owner for
it."
"I remember it
now, mother. Have you got the ring still?"
"I will get
it."
Mrs. Hoffman went to
her trunk, and, opening it, produced the ring referred to. It was a gold ring
with a single stone of considerable size.
"I don’t know how
much it is worth," said Mrs. Hoffman; "but if the ring is a diamond,
as I think it is, it must be worth as much as twenty dollars."
"Did you ever
price it?"
"No, Paul; I have
kept it, thinking that it would be something to fall back upon if we should
ever be hard pressed. As long as we were able to get along without suffering, I
thought I would keep it. Besides, I had another feeling. It might belong to
some person who prized it very much, and the time might come when we could find
the owner. However, that is not likely after so long a time. So, if you cannot
raise the money in any other way, you may sell the ring."
"I might pawn it
for thirty days, mother. By that time I should be able to redeem it with the
profits of my business."
"I don’t think you
could get enough from a pawn- broker."
"I can try, at any
rate; but first I will see George Barry, and find out whether he will take
twenty dollars down, and the rest at the end of a month."
Paul wrapped up the
ring in a piece of paper, and deposited it in his vest pocket. He waited till
after dinner, and then went at once to the necktie stand, where he made the
proposal to George Barry.
The young man shook his
head.
"I’d like to
oblige you, Paul," he said, "but I must have the money. I have an
offer of thirty-two dollars, cash, from another party, and I must take up with
it if I can’t do any better. I’d rather sell out to you, but you know I have to
consult my own interest."
"Of course,
George, I can’t complain of that."
"I think you will
be able to borrow the money somewhere."
"Most of my
friends are as poor as myself," said Paul. "Still, I think I shall be
able to raise the money. Only wait for me two days."
"Yes, Paul, I’ll
wait that long. I’d like to sell out to you, if only because you have helped me
when I was sick. But for you all that would have been lost time."
"Where there’s a
will there’s a way, George," said Paul. "I’m bound to buy your stand
and I will raise the money somehow."
Paul bought a few
papers, for he did not like to lose the afternoon trade, and in an hour had
sold them all off, realizing a profit of twenty cents. This made his profits
for the day seventy cents.
"That isn’t as
well as I used to do," said Paul to himself, "but perhaps I can make
something more by and by. I will go now and see what I can get for the
ring."
As he had determined,
he proceeded to a pawnbroker’s shop which he had often passed. It was on
Chatham street, and was kept by an old man, an Englishman by birth, who, though
he lived meanly in a room behind his shop, was popularly supposed to have
accumulated a considerable fortune.
STUFFED behind the
counter, and on the shelves of the pawnbroker’s shop, were articles in almost
endless variety. All was fish that came to his net. He was willing to advance
on anything that had a marketable value, and which promised to yield him, I was
about to say, a fair profit. But a fair profit was far from satisfying the old
man. He demanded an extortionate profit from those whom ill- fortune drove to
his door for relief.
Eliakim Henderson, for
that was his name, was a small man, with a bald head, scattering yellow
whiskers, and foxlike eyes. Spiderlike he waited for the flies who flew of
their own accord into his clutches, and took care not to let them go until he
had levied a large tribute. When Paul entered the shop, there were three
customers ahead of him. One was a young woman, whose pale face and sunken
cheeks showed that she was waging an unequal conflict with disease. She was a
seamstress by occupation, and had to work fifteen hours a day to earn the
little that was barely sufficient to keep body and soul together. Confined in her
close little room on the fourth floor, she scarcely dared to snatch time to
look out of the window into the street beneath, lest she should not be able to
complete her allotted task. A two days’ sickness had compelled her to have
recourse to Eliakim Henderson. She had under her arm a small bundle covered
with an old copy of the Sun.
"What have you got
there?" asked the old man, roughly. "Show it quick, for there’s
others waiting."
Meekly she unfolded a
small shawl, somewhat faded from long use.
"What will you
give me on that?" she asked, timidly.
"It isn’t worth
much."
"It cost five
dollars."
"Then you got
cheated. It never was worth half the money. What do you want on it?"
The seamstress intended
to ask a dollar and a half, but after this depreciation she did not venture to
name so high a figure.
"A dollar and a
quarter," she said.
"A dollar and a
quarter!" repeated the old man, shrilly. "Take it home with you. I
don’t want it."
"What will you
give?" asked the poor girl, faintly.
"Fifty cents. Not
a penny more."
"Fifty
cents!" she repeated, in dismay, and was about to refold it. But the
thought of her rent in arrears changed her half-formed intention.
"I’ll take it,
sir."
The money and ticket
were handed her, and she went back to her miserable attic-room, coughing as she
went.
"Now, ma’am,"
said Eliakim.
His new customer was an
Irish woman, by no means consumptive in appearance, red of face and portly of
figure.
"And what’ll ye be
givin’ me for this?" she asked, displaying a pair of pantaloons.
"Are they yours,
ma’am?" asked Eliakim, with a chuckle.
"It’s not Bridget
McCarty that wears the breeches," said that lady. "It’s me husband’s,
and a dacent, respectable man he is, barrin’ the drink, which turns his head.
What’ll ye give for ’em?"
"Name your
price," said Eliakim, whose principle it was to insist upon his customers
making the first offer.
"Twelve shillin’s,"
said Bridget.
"Twelve
shillings!" exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands. "That’s all
they cost when they were new."
"They cost every
cint of five dollars," said Bridget. "They was made at one of the
most fashionable shops in the city. Oh, they was an illigant pair when they was
new."
"How many years
ago was that?" asked the pawnbroker.
"Only six months,
and they ain’t been worn more’n a month."
"I’ll give you
fifty cents."
"Fifty
cints!" repeated Mrs. McCarty, turning to the other customers, as if to
call their attention to an offer so out of proportion to the valuable article
she held in her hand. "Only fifty cints for these illigant breeches! Oh,
it’s you that’s a hard man, that lives on the poor and the nady."
"You needn’t take
it. I should lose money on it, if you didn’t redeem it."
"He says he’d lose
money on it," said Mrs. McCarty. "And suppose he did, isn’t he
a-rollin’ in gold?"
"I’m poor,"
said Eliakim; "almost as poor as you, because I’m too liberal to my
customers."
"Hear till
him!" said Mrs. McCarty. "He says he’s liberal and only offers fifty
cints for these illigant breeches."
"Will you take
them or leave them?" demanded the pawnbroker, impatiently.
"You may give me
the money," said Bridget; "and it’s I that wonder how you can slape
in your bed, when you are so hard on poor folks."
Mrs. McCarty departed
with her money, and Eliakim fixed his sharp eyes on the next customer. It was a
tall man, shabbily dressed, with a thin, melancholy-looking face, and the
expression of one who had struggled with the world, and failed in the struggle.
"How much for
this?" he asked, pointing to the violin, and speaking in a slow,
deliberate tone, as if he did not feel at home in the language.
"What do you want
for it?"
"Ten dollar,"
he answered.
"Ten dollars! You’re
crazy!" was the contemptuous comment of the pawnbroker.
"He is a very good
violin," said the man. "If you would like to hear him," and he
made a movement as if to play upon it.
"Never mind!"
said Eliakim. "I haven’t any time to hear it. If it were new it would be
worth something; but it’s old, and----"
"But you do not
understand," interrupted the customer, eagerly. "It is worth much
more than new. Do you see, it is by a famous maker? I would not sell him, but I
am poor, and my Bettina needs bread. It hurts me very much to let him go. I
will buy him back as soon as I can."
"I will give you
two dollars, but I shall lose on it, unless you redeem it."
"Two dollar!"
repeated the Italian. "Ocielo! it is nothing. But Bettina is at home
without bread, poor little one! Will you not give three dollar?"
"Not a cent
more."
"I will take
it."
"There’s your
money and ticket."
And with these the poor
Italian departed, giving one last lingering glance at his precious violin, as
Eliakim took it roughly and deposited it upon a shelf behind him. But he
thought of his little daughter at home, and the means of relief which he held
in his hand, and a smile of joy lightened his melancholy features. The future
might be dark and unpromising, but for three days, at any rate, she should not
want bread.
Paul’s turn came next.
"What have you
got?" asked the pawnbroker.
Paul showed the ring.
Eliakim took it, and
his small, beadlike eyes sparkled avariciously as he recognized the diamond,
for his experience was such that he could form a tolerably correct estimate of
its value. But he quickly suppressed all outward manifestations of interest,
and said, indifferently, "What do you want for it?"
"I want twenty
dollars," said Paul, boldly.
"Twenty
dollars!" returned the pawnbroker. "That’s a joke."
"No, it isn’t,"
said Paul. "I want twenty dollars, and you can’t have the ring for
less."
"If you said
twenty shillings, I might give it to you," said Eliakim; "but you
must think I am a fool to give twenty dollars."
"That’s cheap for
a diamond ring," said Paul. "It’s worth a good deal more."
The pawnbroker eyed
Paul sharply. Did the boy know that it was a diamond ring? What chance was
there of deceiving him as to its value? The old man, whose business made him a
good judge, decided that the ring was not worth less than two hundred and fifty
dollars, and if he could get it into his possession for a trifle, it would be a
paying operation.
"You’re mistaken,
boy," he said. "It’s not a diamond."
"What is it?"
"A very good
imitation."
"How much is it
worth?"
"I’ll give you
three dollars."
"That won’t do. I
want to raise twenty dollars, and if I can’t get that, I’ll keep the
ring."
The pawnbroker saw that
he had made a mistake. Paul was not as much in need of money as the majority of
his customers. He would rather pay twenty dollars than lose the bargain, though
it went against the grain to pay so much money. But after pronouncing the stone
an imitation, how could he rise much above the offer he had already made? He
resolved to approach it gradually. Surveying it more closely, he said:
"It is an
excellent imitation. I will give you five dollars."
Paul was not without
natural shrewdness, and this sudden advance convinced him that it was, after
all, a real stone. He determined to get twenty dollars or carry the ring home.
"Five dollars won’t
do me any good," he said. "Give me back the ring."
"Five dollars is a
good deal of money," said Eliakim.
"I’d rather have
the ring."
"What is your
lowest price?"
"Twenty
dollars."
"I’ll give you
eight."
"Just now you said
it was worth only three," said Paul, sharply.
"It is very fine
gold. It is better than I thought. Here is the money."
"You’re a little
too fast," said Paul, coolly. "I haven’t agreed to part with the ring
for eight dollars, and I don’t mean to. Twenty dollars is my lowest
price."
"I’ll give you
ten," said the old man, whose eagerness increased with Paul’s
indifference.
"No, you won’t.
Give me back the ring."
"I might give
eleven, but I should lose money."
"I don’t want you
to lose money, and I’ve concluded to keep the ring," said Paul, rightly
inferring from the old man’s eagerness that the ring was much more valuable
than he had at first supposed.
But the old pawnbroker
was fascinated by the sparkling bauble. He could not make up his mind to give
it up. By fair means or foul he must possess it. He advanced his bid to twelve,
fourteen, fifteen dollars, but Paul shook his head resolutely. He had made up
his mind to carry it to Ball & Black’s, or some other first-class jewelers,
and ascertain whether it was a real diamond or not, and if so to obtain an
estimate of its value.
"I’ve changed my
mind," he said. "I’ll keep the ring. Just give it back to me."
BUT to give it back was
not Eliakim’s intention. Should he buy it at twenty dollars, he would make at
least two hundred, and such bargains were not to be had every day. He decided
to give Paul his price.
"I will give you
twenty dollars," he said; "but it is more than the ring is
worth."
"I have concluded
not to take twenty dollars," said Paul. "You may give it back."
"You agreed to
take twenty dollars," said Eliakim, angrily.
"That was when I
first came in. You said you wouldn’t give it."
"I have changed my
mind."
"So have I,"
said Paul. "You had a chance to get it, but now it’s too late."
Eliakim was deeply
disappointed. Generally he had his own way with his customers, who, being in
urgent need of money, were obliged to accept such terms as he chose to offer.
But now the tables were turned, and Paul proved more than a match for him. He
resolved to attempt intimidation.
"Boy, where did
you get this ring?" he asked, in a significant tone.
"Honestly,"
said Paul. "That’s all you need to know."
"I don’t believe
it," said the old man, harshly. "I believe you stole it."
"You may believe
what you like, but you must give it back to me," said Paul, coolly.
"I’ve a great mind
to call a policeman," said Eliakim.
"If you did,"
said Paul, "I’d tell him that you were anxious to get the ring, though you
believed it to be stolen. Perhaps he might have something to say to you."
Eliakim perceived the
force of Paul’s argument, for in law the receiver of stolen goods is as bad as
the thief, and there had been occasions when the pawnbroker had narrowly
escaped punishment for thus indirectly conniving at theft.
"If you say you
got it honestly, I’ll buy it of you," he said, changing his tune.
"What will you take?"
"I don’t care
about selling to-day," answered Paul.
"I’ll give you
twenty-five dollars."
"I can’t sell
without consulting my mother. It belongs to her."
Reluctantly Eliakim
gave back the ring, finding his wiles of no effect.
"Bring your mother
round to-morrow," he said. "I’ll give you a better price than you
will get anywhere else."
"All right,"
said Paul. "I’ll tell her what you say."
The old pawnbroker
followed Paul with wistful glances, vainly wishing that he had not at first
depreciated the ring to such an extent, that his subsequent advances had
evidently excited his customer’s suspicion that it was more valuable than be
supposed. He felt that he had lost it through not understanding the character
of the boy with whom he had to deal.
"Well, Paul, what
news of the ring?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, as he re-entered the room.
"I was offered
twenty-five dollars for it," said Paul.
"Did you sell
it?"
"No, mother."
"Why not?"
asked Jimmy. "Twenty-five dollars is a lot of money."
"I know it,"
said Paul; "but the ring is worth a great deal more."
"What makes you
think so, Paul?"
"Because the offer
was made by a pawnbroker, who never pays quarter what an article is worth. I am
sure the ring is worth a hundred dollars."
"Yes, I am sure it
is worth all that."
"A hundred
dollars!" repeated Jimmy, awestruck at the magnitude of the sum.
"What shall we do
about it, Paul?" asked his mother. "A hundred dollars will do us more
good than the ring."
"I know that,
mother. What I propose is, to carry it to Ball & Black’s, or Tiffany’s, and
sell it for whatever they say it is worth. They are first-class houses, and we
can depend upon fair treatment."
"Your advice is
good, Paul. I think we will follow it. When will you go?"
"I will go at
once. I have nothing else to do, and I would like to find out as soon as I can
how much it will bring. Old Henderson wanted me to think, at first, that it was
only imitation, and offered me twenty shillings on it. He’s an old cheat. When
he found that I wasn’t to be humbugged, he raised his offer by degrees to
twenty-five dollars. That was what made me suspect its value."
"If you get a
hundred dollars, Paul," said Jimmy, "you can buy out the stand."
"That depends on
whether mother will lend me the money," said Paul. "You know it’s
hers. She may not be willing to lend without security."
"I am so
unaccustomed to being a capitalist," said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling,
"that I shan’t know how to sustain the character. I don’t think I shall be
afraid to trust you, Paul."
Once more, with the
ring carefully wrapped in a paper and deposited in his pocketbook, Paul started
uptown. Tiffany, whose fame as a jeweler is world-wide, was located on
Broadway. He had not yet removed to his present magnificent store on Union
Square. Paul knew the store, but had never entered it. Now, as he entered, he
was struck with astonishment at the sight of the immense and costly stock,
unrivaled by any similar establishment, not only in the United States, but in
Europe. Our hero walked up to the counter, and stood beside a richly-dressed
lady who was bargaining for a costly bracelet. He had to wait ten minutes while
the lady was making her choice from a number submitted to her for inspection.
Finally she selected one, and paid for it. The clerk, now being at leisure,
turned to our hero and asked:--
"Well, young man,
what can I do for you?"
"I have a ring
which I should like to show you. I want to know how much it is worth."
"Very well. Let me
see it."
When Paul produced the
diamond ring, the clerk, who had long been in the business, and perceived its
value at once, started in surprise.
"This is a very
valuable ring," he said.
"So I
thought," said Paul. "How much is it worth?"
"Do you mean how
much should we ask for it?"
"No; how much
would you give for it?"
"Probably two
hundred and fifty dollars." Paul was quite startled on finding the ring so
much more valuable than he had supposed. He had thought it might possibly be
worth a hundred dollars; but he had not imagined any rings were worth as much
as the sum named.
"Will you buy it
of me?" he asked.
The clerk regarded Paul
attentively, and, as he thought, a little suspiciously.
"Does the ring
belong to you?" he asked.
"No, to my
mother."
"Where did she buy
it?"
"She didn’t buy it
at all. She found it one day at Central Park. It belongs to her now. She
advertised for an owner, and examined the papers to see if it was advertised as
lost, but could hear nothing of the one to whom it belonged."
"How long ago was
this?"
"Two years
ago."
"I will show this
ring to Mr. Tiffany," said the clerk.
"Very well."
Paul took a seat and
waited.
Soon Mr. Tiffany came
up.
"Are you the boy
who brought in the ring?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"You say your
mother found it two years ago in Central Park?"
"Yes, sir."
"It is a valuable
ring. I should be willing to buy it for two hundred and fifty dollars, if I
were quite certain that you had a right to dispose of it."
"I have told you
the truth, Mr. Tiffany," said Paul, a little nettled at having his word
doubted.
"That may be, but
there is still a possibility that the original owner may turn up."
"Won’t you buy it,
then?" asked Paul, disappointed, for, if he were unable to dispose of the
ring, he would have to look elsewhere for the means of buying out Barry’s
street stand.
"I don’t say that;
but I should want a guaranty of indemnity against loss, in case the person who
lost it should present a claim."
"In that
case," said Paul, "I would give you back the money you paid me."
Mr. Tiffany smiled.
"But suppose the
money were all spent," he suggested. "I suppose you are intending to
use the money?"
"I am going to
start in business with it," said Paul, "and I hope to add to
it."
"Every one thinks
so who goes into business; but some get disappointed. You see, my young friend,
that I should incur a risk. Remember, I don’t know you. I judge from your
appearance that you are honest; but appearances are sometimes deceitful."
"Then I suppose
you won’t buy it?" said Paul, who saw the force of this remark.
"If you can bring
here any responsible gentleman who knows you, and is willing to guarantee me
against loss in the event of the owner’s being found I will buy the ring for
two hundred and fifty dollars."
Paul brightened up. He
thought at once of Mr. Preston, and, from the friendly interest which that
gentleman appeared to take in him, he judged that he would not refuse him this
service.
"I think I can do
that," he said. "Do you know Mr. Andrew Preston? He is a wealthy gentleman,
who lives on Madison avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Thirty- fifth
streets."
"Not personally. I
know him by reputation."
"Will he be
satisfactory?"
"Entirely
so."
"He knows me
well," said Paul. "I think he will be willing to stand security for
me. I will come back in a day or two."
Paul took the ring, and
left the store. He determined to call that evening on Mr. Preston, and ask the
favor indicated.
PAUL had an errand
farther uptown, and, on leaving Tiffany’s walked up as far as Twenty-third
street. Feeling rather tired, he got on board a University place car to return.
They had accomplished, perhaps, half the distance, when, to his surprise,
George Barry entered the car.
"How do you happen
to be here, at this time, Barry?" he asked. "I thought you were
attending to business."
"I closed up for a
couple of hours, having an errand at home. Where have you been?"
"To Tiffany’s."
"What, the
jewelers?"
"Yes."
"To buy a diamond
ring, I suppose," said Barry, jocosely.
"No--not to buy,
but to sell one."
"You are
joking," said his companion, incredulously.
"No, I am not. The
ring belongs to my mother. I am trying to raise money enough on it to buy you
out."
"I didn’t know
your mother was rich enough to indulge in such expensive jewelry."
"She isn’t, and
that’s the reason I am trying to sell it."
"I mean, I didn’t
think she was ever rich enough."
"I’ll explain
it," said Paul. "The ring was found some time since in Central Park.
As no owner has ever appeared, though we advertised it, we consider that it
belongs to us."
"How much is it
worth?"
"Mr. Tiffany
offered two hundred and fifty dollars for it."
Barry uttered an
exclamation of surprise.
"Well, that is
what I call luck. Of course, you accepted it."
"I intend to do
so; but I must bring some gentleman who will guarantee that I am all right and
have the right to sell it."
"Can you do
that?"
"I think so! I am
going to ask Mr. Preston. I think he will do me that favor."
"Then there’s a
fair chance of your buying me out."
"Yes. I guess I
can settle the whole thing up to-morrow."
"Have you got the
ring with you?"
"Yes."
"I should like to
see it, if you have no objection."
Paul drew it from his
pocket, and passed it over to Barry.
"It’s a handsome
one, but who would think such a little thing could be worth two hundred and
fifty dollars?"
"I’d rather have
the money than the ring."
"So would I."
On the right of Paul sat
a man of about forty, well- dressed and respectable in appearance, with a heavy
gold chain ostentatiously depending from his watch pocket, and with the air of
a substantial citizen. He listened to the conversation between Barry and Paul
with evident interest, and when Barry had returned the ring, he said:
"Young gentleman,
would you be kind enough to let me look at your ring? I am myself in business
as a Jeweler in Syracuse, and so feel an interest in examining it."
"Certainly,
sir," said Paul, the stranger’s explanation of his motives inspiring him
with perfect confidence.
The jeweler from
Syracuse took the ring in his hands and appeared to examine it carefully.
"This is a
handsome ring," he said, "and one of great value. How much were you
offered for it at Tiffany’s?"
"Two hundred and
fifty dollars."
"It is worth
more."
"Yes, I suppose
so," said Paul; "but he has to sell it, and make a profit."
"He could do that,
and yet make a profit. I will pay you two hundred and seventy-five dollars, myself--that
is, on one condition."
"I don’t object to
getting twenty-five dollars more," said Paul. "What is the
condition?"
"I have an order
from a gentleman for a diamond ring for a young lady--an engagement ring, in
short. If this suits him, as I think it will, I will pay you what I said. I can
easily get three hundred and twenty-five from him."
"How are you going
to find out whether it will suit him?"
"Easily. He is
stopping at the same hotel with me."
"What hotel is
that?"
"Lovejoy’s. If you
can spare the time and will come with me now, we can arrange matters at once.
By the way, you can refer me to some responsible citizen, who will guarantee
you. Not, of course, that I have any doubts, but we business men are forced to
be cautious."
Paul mentioned Mr.
Preston’s name.
"Quite
satisfactory," answered the jeweler. "I know Mr. Preston personally,
and as I am pressed for time, I will accept his name without calling upon him.
What is your name?"
"Paul
Hoffman."
"I will note it
down."
The gentleman from
Syracuse drew out a memorandum book, in which he entered Paul’s name.
"When you see Mr.
Preston, just mention my name; Felix Montgomery."
"I will do
so."
"Say, if you
please, that I would have called upon him, but, coming to the city strictly on
business, was too hurried to do so."
This also Paul
promised, and counted himself fortunate in falling in with a friend, or, at all
events, acquaintance of Mr. Preston, since he was likely to make twenty-five
dollars more than he would otherwise have done.
When he got out of the
car at the Astor House, the stranger said:
"It will be half
an hour before I can reach Lovejoy’s, as I have a business call to make first.
Can you call there, say, in three-quarters of an hour?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, then,
I will expect you. Inquire for me at the desk, and ask the servant to conduct
you to my room-- you remember my name?"
"Yes, sir--Mr.
Felix Montgomery."
"Quite right.
Good-by, then, till we meet."
Mr. Felix Montgomery
went into the Astor House, and remained about five minutes. He then came out on
the steps, and, looking about him to see if Paul was anywhere near, descended
the steps, and walked across to Lovejoy’s Hotel. Going up to the desk, he
inquired:
"Can you
accommodate me with a room?"
"Yes, sir; please
enter your name."
The stranger entered
his name with a flourish, as Felix Montgomery, Syracuse.
"Room No.
237," said the clerk; "will you go up now?"
"Yes, I think
so."
"Any
luggage?"
"My trunk will be
brought from the St. Nicholas in the course of the afternoon."
"We require
payment in advance where there is no luggage."
"Very well. I will
pay for one day. I am not sure but I shall get through my business in time to
go away to-morrow."
Here the servant
appeared to conduct Mr. Montgomery to his room.
"By the way,"
he said, turning back, as if it were an afterthought, "I directed a boy to
call here for me in about half an hour. When he comes you may send him up to my
room."
"Very well,
sir."
Mr. Montgomery followed
the servant upstairs to room No. 237. It was rather high up, but he seemed well
pleased that this was the case.
"Hope you won’t
get tired of climbing, sir," said the servant.
"No--I’ve got
pretty good wind."
"Most gentlemen
complain of going up so far."
"It makes little
difference to me."
At length they reached
the room, and Mr. Montgomery entered.
"This will answer
very well," he said, with a hasty glance about him. "When my trunk
comes, I want it sent up."
"Yes, sir."
"I believe that is
all; you can go."
The servant retired and
Mr. Felix Montgomery sat down upon the bed.
"My little plot
seems likely to succeed," he said to himself. "I’ve been out of luck
lately, but this boy’s ring will give me a lift. He can’t suspect anything. He’ll
be sure to come."
Probably the reader has
already suspected that Mr. Felix Montgomery was not a jeweler from Syracuse,
nor had he any claim to the name under which he at present figured. He was a
noted confidence man, who lived by preying upon the community. His appearance
was in his favor, and it was his practice to assume the dress and air of a
respectable middle-aged citizen, as in the present instance. The sight of the
diamond ring had excited his cupidity, and he had instantly formed the design
of getting possession of it, if possible. Thus far, his plan promised success.
Meanwhile, Paul
loitered away the time in the City Hall Park for half an hour or more. He did
not care to go home until his negotiation was complete, and he could report the
ring sold, and carry home the money.
"Won’t mother be
astonished," he thought, "at the price I got for the ring? I’m in
luck this morning."
When the stipulated
time had passed, Paul rose from the bench on which he was seated, and walked to
Lovejoy’s Hotel, not far distant.
"Has Mr. Felix
Montgomery a room here?" he asked.
"Yes,"
answered the clerk. "Did you wish to see him?"
"Yes, sir."
"He mentioned that
a boy would call by appointment. Here, James, show this boy up to No. 237--Mr.
Montgomery’s room."
A hotel servant
appeared, and Paul followed him up several flights of stairs till they stood
before No. 237.
"This is the room,
sir," said James. "Wait a minute, and I’ll knock."
In answer to the knock,
Mr. Montgomery himself opened the door.
"Come in," he
said to Paul; "I was expecting you."
So Paul, not suspecting
treachery, entered No. 237.
"TAKE a
seat," said Mr. Montgomery. "My friend will be in directly. Meanwhile
will you let me look at the ring once more?"
Paul took it from his
pocket, and handed it to the jeweler from Syracuse, as he supposed him to be.
Mr. Montgomery took it
to the window, and appeared to be examining it carefully.
He stood with his back
to Paul, but this did not excite suspicion on the part of our hero.
"I am quite
sure," he said, still standing with his back to Paul, "that this will
please my friend. From the instructions he gave me, it is precisely what he
wanted."
While uttering these
words, he had drawn a sponge and a vial of chloroform from his side pocket. He
saturated the former from the vial, and then, turning quickly, seized Paul, too
much taken by surprise to make immediate resistance, and applied the sponge to
his nose. When he realized that foul play was meditated, he began to struggle,
but he was in a firm grasp, and the chloroform was already beginning to do its
work. His head began to swim, and he was speedily in a state of insensibility.
When this was accomplished, Mr. Felix Montgomery, eyeing the insensible boy
with satisfaction, put on his hat, walked quickly to the door, which he locked
on the outside, and made his way rapidly downstairs. Leaving the key at the
desk, he left the hotel and disappeared.
Meanwhile Paul slowly
recovered consciousness. As he came to himself, he looked about him bewildered,
not at first comprehending where he was. All at once it flashed upon him, and
he jumped up eagerly and rushed to the door. He tried in vain to open it.
"I am regularly
trapped!" he thought, with a feeling of mingled anger and vexation.
"What a fool I was to let myself be swindled so easily! I wonder how long
I have been lying here insensible?"
Paul was not a boy to
give up easily. He meant to get back the ring if it was a possible thing. The
first thing was, of course, to get out of his present confinement. He was not
used to hotel arrangements and never thought of the bell, but, as the only
thing he could think of, began to pound upon the door. But it so happened that
at this time there were no servants on that floor, and his appeals for help
were not heard. Every moment that he had to wait seemed at least five, for no
doubt the man who had swindled him was improving the time to escape to a place
of safety. Finding that his blows upon the door produced no effect, he began to
jump up and down upon the floor, making, in his heavy boots, a considerable
noise.
The room directly under
No. 237 was occupied by an old gentleman of a very nervous and irascible
temper, Mr. Samuel Piper, a country merchant, who, having occasion to be in the
city on business for a few days, had put up at Lovejoy’s Hotel. He had fatigued
himself by some business calls, and was now taking a little rest upon the bed,
when he was aroused from half-sleep by the pounding overhead.
"I wish people
would have the decency to keep quiet," he said to himself, peevishly.
"How can I rest with such a confounded racket going on above!"
He lay back, thinking
the noise would cease, but Paul, finding the knocking on the door ineffectual,
began to jump up and down, as I have already said. Of course this noise was
heard distinctly in the room below.
"This is getting
intolerable!" exclaimed Mr. Piper, becoming more and more excited.
"The man ought to be indicted as a common nuisance. How they can allow
such goings-on in a respectable hotel, I can’t understand. I should think the
fellow was splitting wood upstairs."
He took his cane, and,
standing on the bed, struck it furiously against the ceiling, intending it as
signal to the man above to desist. But Paul, catching the response, began to
jump more furiously than ever, finding that he had attracted attention.
Mr. Piper became
enraged.
"The man must be a
lunatic or overcome by drink," he exclaimed. "I can’t and I won’t
stand it."
But the noise kept on.
Mr. Piper put on his
shoes and his coat, and, seizing his cane, emerged upon the landing. He espied
a female servant just coming upstairs.
"Here, you
Bridget, or Nancy, or whatever your name is," he roared, "there’s a
lunatic upstairs, making a tremendous row in the room over mine. If you don’t
stop him I’ll leave the hotel. Hear him now!"
Bridget let fall her
duster in fright.
"Is it a crazy
man?" she asked.
"Of course he must
be. I want you to go up and stop him."
"Is it me that
would go near a crazy man?" exclaimed Bridget, horror-struck; "I
wouldn’t do it for a million dollars; no, I wouldn’t."
"I insist upon
your going up," said Mr. Piper, irritably. "He must be stopped. Do
you think I am going to stand such an infernal thumping over my head?"
"I wouldn’t do it
if you’d go down on your knees to me," said Bridget, fervently.
"Come along, I’ll
go with you."
But the terrified girl
would not budge.
"Then you go down
and tell your master there’s a madman up here. If you don’t, I will."
This Bridget consented
to do; and, going downstairs, gave a not very coherent account of the
disturbance. Three male servants came back with her.
"Is that the
man?" asked the first, pointing to Mr. Piper, who certainly looked half
wild with irritation.
"Yes," said
Bridget, stupidly.
Immediately Mr. Piper
found himself pinioned on either side by a stout servant.
"What have you
been kickin’ up a row for?" demanded the first.
"Let me alone, or
I’ll have the law take care of you," screamed the outraged man. "Can’t
you hear the fellow that’s making the racket?"
Paul, tired with
thumping, had desisted for a moment, but now had recommenced with increased
energy. The sounds could be distinctly heard on the floor below.
"Excuse me, sir. I
made a mistake," said the first speaker, releasing his hold. "We’ll
go up and see what’s the matter."
So the party went
upstairs, followed at a distance by Bridget, who, influenced alike by fear and
curiosity, did not know whether to go up or retreat.
The sounds were easily
traced to room No. 237. In front of this, therefore, the party congregated.
"What’s the matter
in there?" asked James, the first servant, putting his lips to the
keyhole.
"Yes," chimed
in Mr. Piper, irritably; "what do you mean by such an infernal
hubbub?"
"Open the door,
and let me out," returned Paul, eagerly.
The party looked at
each other in surprise. They did not expect to find the desperate maniac a boy.
"Perhaps there’s
more than one of them," suggested the second servant, prudently.
"Why don’t you
come out yourself?" asked James. "I am locked in."
The door was opened
with a passkey and Paul confronted the party.
"Now, young man,
what do you mean by making such a disturbance?" demanded Mr. Piper,
excitably. "My room is just below, and I expected every minute you would
come through."
"I am sorry if I
disturbed you, sir," said Paul, politely; "but it was the only way I
could attract attention."
"How came you
locked up here?"
"Yes," chimed
in James, suspiciously, "how came you locked up here?"
"I was drugged
with chloroform, and locked in," said Paul.
"Who did it?"
"Mr. Felix
Montgomery; or that’s what he called himself. I came here by appointment to
meet him."
"What did he do
that for?"
"He has carried
off a diamond ring which I came up here to sell him."
"A very improbable
story," said Mr. Piper, suspiciously. "What should such a boy have to
do with a diamond ring?"
Nothing is easier than
to impart suspicion. Men are prone to believe evil of each other; and Paul was
destined to realize this. The hotel servants, ignorant and suspicious, caught
the suggestion.
"It’s likely he’s
a’ thafe," said Bridget, from a safe distance.
"If I were,"
said Paul, coolly, "I shouldn’t be apt to call your attention by such a
noise. I can prove to you that I am telling the truth. I stopped at the office,
and the bookkeeper sent a servant to show me up here."
"If this is
true," said Mr. Piper, "why, when you found yourself locked in, didn’t
you ring the bell, instead of making such a confounded racket? My nerves won’t
get over it for a week."
"I didn’t think of
the bell," said Paul; "I am not much used to hotels."
"What will we do
with him?" asked James, looking to Mr. Piper for counsel.
"You’d better take
him downstairs, and see if his story is correct," said the nervous
gentleman, with returning good sense.
"I’ll do it,"
said James, to whom the very obvious suggestion seemed marked by extraordinary
wisdom, and he grasped Paul roughly by the arm.
"You needn’t hold
me," said our hero, shaking off the grasp. "I haven’t any intention
of running away. I want to find out, if I can, what has become of the man that
swindled me."
James looked doubtfully
at Mr. Piper.
"I don’t think he
means to run away," said that gentleman. "I begin to think his story
is correct. And hark you, my young friend, if you ever get locked up in a hotel
room again, just see if there is a bell before you make such a confounded
racket."
"Yes, sir, I
will," said Paul, half-smiling; "but I’ll take care not to get locked
up again. It won’t be easy for anybody to play that trick on me again."
The party filed
downstairs to the office and Paul told his story to the bookkeeper.
"Have you seen Mr.
Montgomery go out?" asked our hero.
"Yes, he went out
half an hour ago, or perhaps more. He left his key at the desk, but said
nothing. He seemed to be in a hurry."
"You didn’t notice
in what direction he went?"
"No."
Of course no attempt
was made to detain Paul. There could be no case against him. He went out of the
hotel, and looked up and down Broadway in a state of indecision. He did not
mean to sit down passively and submit to the swindle. But he had no idea in
what direction to search for Mr. Felix Montgomery.
PAUL stood in the
street irresolute. He looked hopelessly up and down Broadway, but of course the
jeweler from Syracuse was not to be seen. Seeking for him in a city containing
hundreds of streets and millions of inhabitants was about as discouraging as
hunting for a needle in a haystack. But difficult as it was, Paul was by no
means ready to give up the search. Indeed, besides the regret he felt at the
loss, he was mortified at having been so easily outwitted.
"He’s taken me in
just as if I was a country boy," thought Paul. "I dare say he’s
laughing at me now. I’d like to get even with him."
Finally he decided to
go to Tiffany’s, and ask them to detain any one who might bring in the ring and
offer it for sale. He at once acted upon this thought, and, hailing a Broadway
stage, for no time was to be lost, soon reached his destination. Entering the
store, he walked up to the counter and addressed the clerk to whom he had
before shown the ring.
"Do you remember
my offering you a diamond ring for sale this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, I remember
it very well. Have you got it with you?"
"No, it has been
stolen from me."
"Indeed! How was
that?" asked the clerk, with interest.
"I met in the cars
a well-dressed man, who called himself a jeweler from Syracuse. He examined the
ring, and offered me more than Mr. Tiffany, but asked me to bring it to him at
Lovejoy’s Hotel. When I got there, he drugged me with chloroform, and when I
recovered he was gone."
"You have been
unlucky. There are plenty of such swindlers about. You should have been careful
about displaying the ring before strangers."
"I was showing it
to a friend."
"Have you notified
the police?"
"Not yet. I came
here to let you know, because I thought the thief might bring it in here to
sell."
"Very likely. Give
me a description of him."
Paul described Mr.
Felix Montgomery to the best of his ability.
"I think I should
know him from your description. I will speak to Mr. Tiffany, and he will no
doubt give orders to detain any person who may offer the ring for sale."
"Thank you."
"If you will give
me your address, we will notify you in case the ring is brought in."
Paul left his address,
and went out of the store, feeling that he had taken one step toward the
recovery of his treasure. He next visited the police headquarters, and left a
detailed description of the man who had relieved him of the ring and of the
circumstances attending the robbery. Then he went home.
His mother looked up as
he entered.
"Well, Paul?"
she said, inquiringly.
"I’ve got bad
news, mother," he said.
"What is it? Tell
me quick!" she said, nervously.
"The ring has been
stolen from me."
"How did it
happen, Paul?"
"First, I must
tell you how much the ring is worth. I went up to Tiffany’s, and showed the
ring to Mr. Tiffany himself. He told me that he would give me two hundred and
fifty dollars for it, if I would satisfy him that I had a right to sell
it."
"Two hundred and
fifty dollars!" repeated Mrs. Hoffman, in amazement.
"Yes, the diamond
is very large and pure."
"Two hundred and
fifty dollars would be a great help to us."
"Yes, mother, that
is what makes me feel so bad about being swindled out of it."
"Tell me how it
happened. Is there no chance of recovering it?"
"A little. I shall
do what I can. I have already notified the police, and Mr. Tiffany."
"You have not told
me yet how you lost it."
When Paul had told the
story, his mother asked, "Did you mention it in the cars that you had
offered it at Tiffany’s?"
"Yes, and I
mentioned his offer."
"Perhaps the thief
would be cautious about going there, for that very reason. He might think the
ring would be recognized."
"He would go to a
large place, thinking that so valuable a ring would be more readily purchased
there."
"He might go to
Ball & Black’s."
"That is
true."
"It would be well
to give notice there also."
"I will go up
there at once. I only wish I could meet Mr. Felix Montgomery; I don’t think he
would find it so easy to outreach me a second time."
"Take some dinner
first, Paul."
"Then I must hurry
it down, mother; I don’t want to run the risk of getting too late to Ball &
Black’s. I can’t help thinking what a splendid thing it would be if we had the
two hundred and fifty dollars. I would buy out Barry’s stand, and I would get a
sewing-machine for you, and we could live much more comfortably. It makes me
mad to think I let that villain take me in so! He must think me jolly
green."
"Anybody might
have been deceived, Paul. You mustn’t blame yourself too much for that."
Leaving Paul on his way
to Ball & Black’s, we return to Mr. Felix Montgomery, as we shall continue
to call him, though he had no right to the name. After stupefying Paul, as
already described, he made his way downstairs, and, leaving his key at the
desk, went out.
"I hope my young
friend will enjoy himself upstairs," he chuckled to himself. "He’s
quite welcome to the use of the room till to-morrow morning. It’s paid for in
advance, and I don’t think I shall find it convenient to stop there."
He took the ring from
his vest pocket and glanced at it furtively.
"It’s a
beauty," he murmured, complacently. "I never saw a handsomer ring of
the size. What was it the boy said he was offered for it? Two hundred and fifty
dollars! That’ll give me a lift, and it doesn’t come any too soon. My money is
pretty low."
He walked across the
City Hall Park, and at Barclay street entered a University place car.
"Evenin’ paper,
mister?" said a ragged newsboy, whose garments were constructed on the most
approved system of ventilation.
"What have you
got?"
"Evenin’ Post,
Mail, Express!"
"Give me an
Express. Here’s ten cents."
"I haven’t got but
three cents change, mister."
"Never mind the
change," said Mr. Montgomery, in a fit of temporary generosity, occasioned
by his good luck.
"Thank you,
sir," said the newsboy, regarding Mr. Montgomery as a philanthropist
worthy of his veneration.
Felix Montgomery leaned
back in his seat, and, with a benevolent smile, ran his eyes over the columns
of the Express. Among the paragraphs which attracted his attention was one
relating to a comrade, of similar profession, who had just been arrested in
Albany while in the act of relieving a gentleman of his pocketbook.
"Jerry always was
a bungler," said Mr. Montgomery, complacently, to himself. "He can’t
hold a candle to me. I flatter myself that I know how to manage a little
affair, like this, for instance, as well as the next man. It’ll take a sharp
detective to lay hold of me."
It might have been
thought that the manner in which he had gained possession of the ring would
have troubled Mr. Montgomery, but it was many years since he had led an honest
life. He had made a living by overreaching others, and his conscience had
become so blunted as to occasion him little trouble. He appeared to think that
the world owed him a living, and that he was quite justified in collecting the
debt in any way he could.
About twenty minutes
brought the car to Amity street and Mr. Montgomery signaled the conductor, and,
the car being stopped, he got out.
He walked a few rods in
a westerly direction, and paused before a three-story brick house, which
appeared to have seen better days. It was now used as a boarding, or rather
lodging-house. The guests were not of a very high character, the landlady not
being particular as long as her rent was paid regularly. Mr. Montgomery
ascended the steps in a jaunty way, and, opening the door with a passkey,
ascended the front staircase. He paused before a room on the third floor, and
knocked in a peculiar manner.
The door was opened by
a tall woman, in rather neglected attire.
"So you’re
back," she said.
"Yes, my dear,
home again. As the poet says, ‘There is no place like home.’ "
"I should hope
there wasn’t," said Mrs. Montgomery, looking about her disdainfully.
"A very delightful home it makes with such a charming prospect of the back
yard. I’ve been moping here all day."
"You’ve found
something to console you, I see," said her husband, glancing at the table,
on which might be seen a bottle of brandy, half-emptied, and a glass.
"Yes," said
Mrs. Montgomery; "I felt so bad I had to send out for something. It took
every cent I had. And, by the way, Mrs. Flagg sent in her bill, this morning,
for the last two weeks’ board; she said she must have it."
"My dear,"
said Mr. Montgomery, "she shall have it."
"You don’t mean to
say you’ve got the money, Tony!" exclaimed his wife, in surprise.
"No, I haven’t got
the money; but I’ve got what’s just as good."
"What have you
got?"
"What do you say
to this?" and Mr. Montgomery drew from his pocket the diamond ring, whose
loss was so deeply felt by our hero.
"Is that
genuine?" asked the lady.
"It’s the real
thing."
"What a beauty!
Where did you get it?"
"It was kindly
presented me by a young man of the tender age of fifteen or thereabouts, who
had no further use for it."
"You did him out
of it, that is. Tell me how you did it."
Mr. Montgomery told the
story. His wife listened with interest and appreciation.
"That was a smart
operation, Tony," she said.
"I should say it
was, Maria."
"How much is the
ring worth?"
"Two hundred and
fifty dollars."
"Can you get that
for it?"
"I can get that
for it."
"Tony, you are a
treasure."
"Have you just
found that out, my dear?"
IT will be inferred,
from the preceding conversation, that Mrs. Montgomery was not likely to be
shocked by the lack of honesty in her husband. Her conscience was as elastic as
his; and she was perfectly willing to help him spend his unlawful gains.
"How soon are you
going to sell the ring?" she asked. I should like to dispose of it at
once, Maria."
"You will need to.
Mrs. Flagg wants her bill paid at once."
"I quite
understand the necessity of promptness, my dear. Only, you know, one has to be
cautious about disposing of articles obtained in this way."
"You say you left
the boy locked up. It seems to me, you’d better sell the ring before he has a
chance to get out and interfere."
"I don’t know but
you’re right, my dear. Well, we’ll get ready."
"Do you want me to
go with you?"
"Yes; it will
disarm suspicion if you are with me. I think I’ll go as a country parson."
"Country parsons
are not apt to have diamond rings to dispose of."
"Very true, my
dear. The remark does credit to your good judgment and penetration. But I know
how to get over that."
"As how?"
"Be a little more
particular about your speech, my dear. Remember, you are a minister’s wife, and
must use refined expressions. What is easier than to say that the ring was
given me by a benevolent lady of my congregation, to dispose of for the benefit
of the poor?"
"Well thought of,
Tony. You’ve got a good head- piece."
"You’re right, my
dear. I don’t like to indulge in self-praise, but I believe I know a thing or
two. And now for the masquerade. Where are the duds?"
"In the black
trunk."
"Then we’d better
lose no time in putting them on."
Without describing the
process of transformation in detail, it will be sufficient to say that the next
twenty minutes wrought a decided change in the appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Felix
Montgomery. The former was arrayed in a suit of canonical black, not of the
latest cut. A white neckcloth was substituted for the more gaudy article worn
by the jeweler from Syracuse, and a pair of silver-bowed spectacles, composed
of plain glass, lent a scholarly air to his face. His hair was combed behind
his ears, and, so far as appearance went, he quite looked the character of a
clergyman from the rural districts.
"How will I do, my
dear?" he asked, complacently.
"Tiptop,"
answered the lady. "How do I look?"
Mrs. Montgomery had put
on a dress of sober tint, and scant circumference, contrasting in a marked
manner with the mode then prevailing. A very plain collar encircled her neck.
Her hands were incased in brown silk gloves, while her husband wore black kids.
Her bonnet was exceedingly plain, and her whole costume was almost Quaker-like
in its simplicity.
Her husband surveyed
her with satisfaction.
"My dear," he
said, "you are a fitting helpmeet for the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield
Centre. By Jove, you do me credit!"
" ‘By Jove’ is not
a proper expression for a man of your profession, Mr. Barnes," said the
new minister’s wife, with a smile.
"You are right, my
dear. I must eschew profanity, and cultivate a decorous style of speech. Well,
are we ready?"
"I am."
"Then let us set
forth on our pilgrimage. We will imagine, Mrs. Barnes, that we are about to
make some pastoral calls."
They emerged into the
street. On the way downstairs they met Mrs. Flagg, the landlady, who bowed
respectfully. She was somewhat puzzled, however, not knowing when they were let
in.
"Good-morning,
madam," said Mr. Barnes. "Are you the landlady of this
establishment?"
"Yes, sir."
"I have been
calling on one of your lodgers--Mr. Anthony Blodgett (this was the name by
which Mr. Felix Montgomery was known in the house). He is a very worthy
man."
Now, to tell the truth,
Mrs. Flagg had not been particularly struck by the moral worth of her lodger,
and this testimony led her to entertain doubts as to the discernment of her
clerical visitor.
"You know him,
then?"
"I know him as
myself, madam. Have you never heard him mention the name of Rev. Mr. Barnes, of
Hayfield Centre, Connecticut?"
"I can’t say I
have," answered the landlady.
"That is singular.
We were always very intimate. We attended the same school as boys, and, in
fact, were like Damon and Pythias."
Mrs. Flagg had never
heard of Damon and Pythias, still she understood the comparison.
"You’re in rather
a different line now," she remarked, dryly.
"Yes, our
positions are different. My friend dwells in the busy metropolis, while I pass
a quiet, peaceful existence in a secluded country village, doing what good I
can. But, my dear, we are perhaps detaining this worthy lady from her domestic
avocations. I think we must be going."
"Very well, I am
ready."
The first sound of her
voice drew the attention of the landlady. Mrs. Felix Montgomery possessed a
thin somewhat shrill, voice, which she was unable to conceal, and, looking
attentively at her, Mrs. Flagg penetrated her disguise. Then, turning quickly
to the gentleman, aided by her new discovery, she also recognized him.
"Well, I
declare," said she, "if you didn’t take me in beautifully."
Mr. Montgomery laughed
heartily.
"You wouldn’t know
me, then?" he said.
"You’re got up
excellent," said Mrs. Flagg, with a slight disregard for grammar. "Is
it a joke?"
"Yes, a little
practical joke. We’re going to call on some friends and see if they know
us."
"You’d do for the
theatre," said the landlady, admiringly.
"I flatter myself
I might have done something on the stage, if my attention had been turned that
way. But, my dear, we must be moving, or we shan’t get through our calls."
"I wonder what
mischief they are up to now," thought Mrs. Flagg, as she followed them to
the door. "I know better than to think they’d take the trouble to dress up
that way just to take in their friends. No, they’re up to some game. Not that I
care, as long as they get money enough to pay my bill."
So the worldly-wise
landlady dismissed them from her thoughts, and went about her work.
Mr. Barnes and his wife
walked up toward Broadway at a slow, decorous pace, suited to the character
they had assumed. More than one who met them turned back to look at what they
considered a perfect type of the country minister and his wife. They would have
been not a little surprised to learn that under this quiet garb walked two of
the most accomplished swindlers in a city abounding in adventurers of all
kinds.
Mr. Barnes paused a
moment to reprove a couple of urchins who were pitching pennies on the
sidewalk.
"Don’t you know
that it’s wrong to pitch pennies?" he said gravely.
"None of your
chaff, mister," retorted one of the street boys, irreverently. "When did
you come from the country, old Goggles?"
"My son, you
should address me with more respect."
"Just get out of
the way, mister! I don’t want to hear no preachin’."
"I am afraid you
have been badly brought up, my son."
"I ain’t your son,
and I wouldn’t be for a shillin’. Just you go along, and let me alone!"
"A sad case of
depravity, my dear," remarked Mr. Barnes to his wife. "I fear we must
leave these boys to their evil ways."
"You’d
better," said one of the boys.
"They’re smart
little rascals!" said Mr. Montgomery, when they were out of hearing of the
boys. "I took them in, though. They thought I was the genuine
article."
"We’d better not
waste any more time," said his wife. "That boy might get out, you
know, and give us trouble."
"I don’t believe
he will get out in a hurry. I locked the door and he’d have to pound some time
before he could make any one hear, I declare, I should like to see how he
looked when he recovered from his stupor, and realized that his ring was
gone."
"What sort of boy
was he, Tony?"
"Better not call
me by that name, my dear. It might be heard, you know, and might not be
considered in character. As to your question, he was by no means a stupid boy.
Rather sharpish, I should say."
"Then how came he
to let you take him in?"
"As to that, I
claim to be rather sharp myself, and quite a match even for a smart boy. I
haven’t knocked about the world forty-four years for nothing."
They were now in
Broadway. Turning the corner of Amity street, they walked a short distance
downtown, and paused before the handsome jewelry store of Ball & Black.
"I think we had
better go in here," said Felix Montgomery--(I hesitate a little by which
of his numerous names to call him).
"Why not go to
Tiffany’s?"
"I gather from what
the boy told me that the ring has already been offered there. It would be very
likely to be recognized and that would be awkward, you know."
"Are you sure the
ring has not been offered here? asked his wife.
"Quite sure. The
boy would have mentioned it, had such been the case."
"Very well. Let us
go in then."
The Rev. Mr. Barnes and
his wife, of Hayfield Centre; entered the elegant store, and ten minutes later
Paul Hoffman entered also, and took his station at the counters wholly
unconscious of the near proximity of the man who had so artfully swindled him.
ON entering the large
jewelry store Mr. Montgomery and his wife walked to the rear of the store, and
advanced to the counter, behind which stood a clerk unengaged.
"What shall I show
you?" he inquired
"I didn’t come to
purchase," said Mr. Montgomery, with suavity, "but to sell. I suppose
you purchase jewelry at times?"
"Sometimes,"
said the clerk. "Let me see what you have."
"First," said
the adventurer, "let me introduce myself. I am the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of
Hayfield Centre, Connecticut. You perhaps know the place?"
"I don’t think I
remember it," said the clerk, respectfully.
"It is a small
place," said Mr. Montgomery, modestly, "but my tastes are plain and
unobtrusive, and I do not aspire to a more conspicuous post. However, that is
not to the purpose. A lady parishioner, desiring to donate a portion of her
wealth to the poor, has placed in my hand a diamond ring, the proceeds to be
devoted to charitable objects. I desire to sell it, and, knowing the high
reputation of your firm feel safe in offering it to you. I know very little of
the value of such things, since they are not in my line, but I am sure of fair
treatment at your hands."
"You may depend
upon that," said the clerk, favorably impressed with the appearance and
manners of his customer. "Allow me to see the ring."
The brilliant was
handed over the counter.
"It is quite
valuable," said he, scrutinizing it closely.
"So I supposed, as
the lady is possessed of wealth. You may rely upon its being genuine."
"I am not
authorized to purchase, said the clerk, "but I will show it to one of the
firm."
Just at that moment,
Mr. Montgomery, chancing to look toward the door, was startled by seeing the
entrance of Paul Hoffman. He saw that it would be dangerous to carry the
negotiation any farther and he quickly gave a secret signal to his wife.
The hint was instantly
understood and acted upon.
Mrs. Montgomery uttered
a slight cry, and clung to her husband’s arm.
"My dear,"
she said, "I feel one of my attacks coming on. Take me out quickly.
"My wife is
suddenly taken sick," said Mr. Montgomery, hurriedly. "She is subject
to fits. If you will give me the ring, I will return to-morrow and negotiate
for its sale."
"I am very
sorry," said the clerk, with sympathy, handing back the ring. "Can I
get anything for the lady?"
"No, thank you.
The best thing to do is to get her into the open air. Thank you for your kindness."
"Let me help
you," said the clerk, and coming from behind the counter he took one arm
of Mrs. Montgomery, who, leaning heavily on her husband and the clerk, walked,
or rather was carried, to the street door.
Of course, the
attention of all within the store was drawn to the party.
"What was the
matter?" inquired a fellow-clerk, as the salesman returned.
"It was a
clergyman from Connecticut, who wished to sell a diamond ring, given to him for
charitable purposes. His wife was taken suddenly sick. He will bring it back
to-morrow."
"Was the ring a
valuable one?"
"It must be worth
in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars."
Paul listened to this
explanation, and a sudden light flashed upon him, as he heard the estimated
value of the ring. There had been something familiar in the appearance of the
adventurer, though, on account of his successful disguise and his being
accompanied by a lady, he had not before felt any suspicion as to his identity
with the man who had swindled him. Now he felt convinced that it was Mr. Felix
Montgomery, and that it was his own appearance which had led to the sudden
sickness and the precipitate departure.
"That trick won’t
work, Mr. Montgomery," he said to himself. "I’ve got on your track
sooner than I anticipated, and I mean to follow you up."
Reaching the sidewalk,
he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery just turning the corner of a side
street. The pair supposed they were safe, not thinking that our hero had
recognized them, and the lady no longer exhibited illness, and was walking
briskly at her husband’s side. Paul hurried up and tapped the adventurer on the
shoulder. Mr. Montgomery, turning, was annoyed on finding that he had not yet
escaped. He determined, however, to stick to his false character, and deny all
knowledge of the morning’s transaction.
"Well, my young
friend," he said, "do you want me? I believe I have not the pleasure
of your acquaintance."
"You are mistaken
there, Mr. Felix Montgomery," said Paul, significantly.
"By what name did
you address me?" said the swindler, assuming a tone of surprise.
"I addressed you
as Mr. Felix Montgomery."
You have made a
mistake, my good friend. I am an humble clergyman from Connecticut. I am called
the Rev. Mr. Barnes. Should you ever visit Hayfield Centre, I shall be glad to
receive a call from you."
"When I last met
you, you were a jeweler from Syracuse," said Paul, bluntly.
Mr. Montgomery laughed
heartily.
"My dear," he
said, turning to his wife, "is not this an excellent joke? My young friend
here thinks he recognizes in me a jeweler from Syracuse."
"Indeed, you are
quite mistaken," said the lady. "My husband is a country minister. We
came up to the city this morning on a little business."
"I understand on
what business," said Paul. "You wanted to dispose of a diamond
ring."
Mr. Montgomery was
disposed to deny the charge, but a moment’s reflection convinced him that it
would be useless, as Paul had doubtless been informed in Ball & Black’s of
his business there. He decided to put on a bold front and admit it.
"I suppose you
were in Ball & Black’s just now," he said.
"I was."
"And so learned my
business there? But I am at a loss to understand why you should be interested
in the matter."
"That ring is
mine," said Paul. "You swindled me out of it this morning."
"My young friend,
you must certainly be insane," said Mr. Montgomery, shrugging his
shoulders. "My dear, did you hear that?"
"He is an impudent
boy," said the lady. "I am surprised that you should be willing to
talk to him."
"If you leave here
I will put a policeman on your track," said Paul.
He looked so determined
that Mr. Montgomery found that he must parley.
"You are under a
strange hallucination, my young friend," he said. "If you will walk
along with me, I think I can convince you of your mistake."
"There is no
mistake about the matter," said Paul, walking on with them. "The ring
is mine, and I must have it."
"My dear, will you
explain about the ring? He may credit your testimony."
"I don’t see that
any explanation is necessary," said the lady. "However, since you
wish it, I will say that the ring was handed you by Mrs. Benton, a wealthy lady
of your parish, with instructions to sell it, and devote the proceeds to
charitable purposes."
"Is that
explanation satisfactory?" asked Mr. Montgomery.
"No, it is
not," said Paul, resolutely. "I don’t believe one word of it. I
recognize you in spite of your dress. You gave me chloroform this morning in a
room in Lovejoy’s Hotel, and when I was unconscious you made off with the ring
which I expected to sell you. You had better return it, or I will call a
policeman."
"I am not the
person you take me for," said Felix Montgomery.
"You are the
jeweler from Syracuse who swindled me out of my ring."
"I never was a
jeweler, and never lived in Syracuse," said the adventurer, with entire
truth.
"You may be right,
but that is what you told me this morning."
"I wish you would
go away, and cease to annoy us," said the lady, impatiently.
"I want my
ring."
"We have no ring
of yours."
"Show me the ring,
and if it is not mine I will go away."
"You are a very
impudent fellow, upon my word," said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply, "to
accuse a gentleman like my husband of taking your ring. I don’t believe you
ever had one."
"My dear,"
interposed her husband, mildly, "I dare say my young friend here really
thinks we have his ring. Of course it is a great mistake. Imagine what our
friends in Hayfield Centre would think of such a charge! But you must remember
that he is unacquainted with my standing in the community. In order to satisfy
his mind, I am willing to let him see the ring."
"To let him see
the ring?" repeated the lady, in surprise.
"Yes. Here, my
lad," taking the ring from his pocket, "this is the ring. You will
see at once that it is not yours."
"I see that it is
mine," said Paul, taking the proffered ring, and preparing to go,
astonished at his own good fortune in so easily: recovering it.
"Not so
fast!" exclaimed Mr. Montgomery, seizing him by the shoulder. "Help!
Police!"
An officer had turned
the corner just before, and it was: this that had suggested the trap. He came
up quickly, and, looking keenly from one to the other, inquired what was the
matter.
"This boy has just
purloined a ring from my wife," said Mr. Montgomery. "Fortunately I
caught him in the act."
"Give up the ring,
you young scoundrel!" said the officer, imposed upon by the clerical
appearance of the adventurer.
"It is mine,"
said Paul.
"None of your gammon!
Give up the ring, and come with me."
The ring was restored
to Mr. Montgomery, who overwhelmed the officer with a profusion of thanks.
"It is not a
diamond, only an imitation," he said, "but my wife values it as the
gift of a friend. Don’t be too hard on the boy. He may not be so bad as he
seems."
"I’ll attend to
him," said the policeman, emphatically. "I’ll learn him to rob ladies
of rings in the street. Come along, sir!"
Paul tried to explain
matters, but no attention was paid to his protestations. To his anger and
mortification he saw the swindler make off triumphantly with the ring, while
he, the wronged owner, was arrested as a thief.
But at the
station-house he had his revenge. He was able to prove to his captor that he
had lodged information against Mr. Montgomery, and the policeman in turn was
mortified to think how readily he had been imposed upon. Of course Paul was set
free, but the officer’s blundering interference seemed to render the recovery
of the ring more doubtful than ever.
"WELL, that was a
narrow escape," said Mr. Montgomery, with a sigh of relief. "I think
I managed rather cleverly, eh?"
"I wanted to box
the boys ears," said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply.
"It wouldn’t have
been in character, my dear. Ha, ha!" he laughed, softly, "we imposed
upon the officer neatly. Our young friend got rather the worst of it."
"Why don’t you
call things by their right names? He isn’t much of a friend."
"Names are of no
consequence, my dear."
"Well, what are
you going to do next?" asked the lady, abruptly.
"About the
ring?"
"Of course."
"I hardly
know," said Mr. Montgomery, reflectively. "If it were not for
appearing too anxious, I would go back to Ball & Black’s now that our young
friend is otherwise engaged, and can’t interrupt us."
"Suppose we
go?"
"Well, you see, it
might be considered rather soon for you to recover from your fit. Besides, I
don’t know what stories this boy may have thought fit to tell about us."
"He didn’t have
time to say anything."
"Perhaps you are
right."
"We want to
dispose of the ring as soon as possible, and leave the city."
"That is true.
Well, if you say so, we will go back."
"It seems to me
now is the best time. The boy will tell his story to the officer and we may be
inquired for."
"Then, my dear, I
will follow your advice."
Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery
turned, and directed their steps again toward Broadway. The distance was short,
and fifteen minutes had scarcely elapsed since they left the store before they
again entered it. They made their way to the lower end of the store and
accosted the same clerk with whom they had before spoken.
"Is your wife
better?" he asked.
"Much better,
thank you. A turn in the air always relieves her, and she is quite herself
again. I have returned because it is necessary for me to leave the city by the
evening train, and my time is, therefore, short. Will you be kind enough to
show the ring to your employer, and ask him if he will purchase?"
The clerk returned, and
said that the firm would pay two hundred and fifty dollars, but must be assured
of his right to dispose of it.
"Did you mention
my name?" asked the adventurer.
"I mentioned that
you were a clergyman. I could not remember the name."
"The Rev. Mr.
Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, Connecticut. I have been preaching there for--is it
six or seven years, my dear?"
"Seven," said
his wife.
"I should think
that would be sufficient. You may mention that to Mr. Ball or Mr. Black, if you
please. I presume after that he will not be afraid to purchase."
Mr. Montgomery said
this with an air of conscious respectability and high standing, which might
readily impose upon strangers. But, by bad luck, what he had said was heard by
a person able to confute him.
"Did you say you
were from Hayfield Centre?" asked a gentleman, standing a few feet
distant.
"Yes," said
Mr. Montgomery.
"I think you said
your name was Barnes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that you have
been preaching there for the last seven years?"
"Yes, sir,"
answered Mr. Montgomery, but there was rather less confidence in his tone. In
fact he was beginning to feel uneasy.
"It is very
strange," said the other. "I have a sister living in Hayfield Centre,
and frequently visit the place myself, and so of course know something of it.
Yet I have never heard of any clergyman named Barnes preaching there."
Mr. Montgomery saw that
things looked critical.
"You are strangely
mistaken, sir," he said. "However, I will not press the sale. If you
will return the ring (to the clerk) I will dispose of it elsewhere."
But the clerk’s
suspicions had been aroused by what had been said.
"I will first
speak to Mr. Ball," he said.
"There is no
occasion to speak to him. I shall not sell the ring to-day. To-morrow, I will
come with witnesses whose testimony will outweigh that of this gentleman, who I
suspect never was in Hayfield Centre in his life. I will trouble you for the ring."
"I hope you don’t
intend to give it to him," said the gentleman. "The presumption is
that, as he is masquerading, he has not come by it honestly."
"I shall not deign
to notice your insinuations," said Mr. Montgomery, who concealed beneath a
consequential tone his real uneasiness. "The ring, if you please."
"Don’t give it to
him."
As the clerk seemed
disinclined to surrender the ring, Mr. Montgomery said:
"Young man, you
will find it to be a serious matter to withhold my property."
"Perhaps I had better
give it to him," said the clerk, imposed upon by the adventurer’s manner.
"Require him to
prove property. If it is really his, he can readily do this."
"My dear,"
said the Rev. Mr. Barnes, "we will leave the store."
"What, and leave
the ring?"
"For the present.
I will invoke the aid of the police to save me from being robbed in this
extraordinary manner."
He walked to the street
door, accompanied by his wife. He was deeply disappointed at the failure of the
sale, and would gladly have wreaked vengeance upon the stranger who had
prevented it. But he saw that his safety required an immediate retreat. In
addition to his own disappointment, he had to bear his wife’s censure.
"If you had the
spirit of a man, Mr. Montgomery," she commenced, "you wouldn’t have
given up that ring so easily. He had no business to keep it."
"I would have
called in a policeman if I dared, but you know I am not on the best of terms
with these gentlemen."
"Are we to lose
the ring, then?"
"I am afraid so,
unless I can make them believe in the store that I am really what I pretend to
be."
"Can’t you do
it?"
"Not very easily,
unless stay, I have an idea. Do you see that young man?"
He directed his wife’s
attention to a young man, evidently fresh from the country, who was
approaching, staring open-eyed at the unwonted sights of the city. He was
dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, while his pantaloons, of a check
pattern, terminated rather higher up than was in accordance with the fashion.
"Yes, I see him,"
said Mrs. Montgomery. "What of him?"
"I am going to
recover the ring through his help."
"I don’t see
how."
"You will
see."
"How do you
do?" said the adventurer, cordially, advancing to the young man, and
seizing his hand.
"Pretty
smart," said the countryman, looking surprised.
"Are your parents
quite well?"
"They’re so’s to
be around."
"When did you come
to the city?"
"This mornin’."
"Do you stay any
length of time?"
"I’m goin’ back
this afternoon."
"You didn’t expect
to meet me now, did you?" asked Mr. Montgomery.
"I s’pose I’d
orter know you," said the perplexed youth, "but I can’t think what
your name is."
"What! Not know
Mr. Barnes, the minister of Hayfield Centre? Don’t you remember hearing me
preach for your minister?"
"Seems to me I
do," answered the young man, persuading himself that he ought to remember.
"Of course you do.
Now, my young friend, I am very glad to have met you."
"So am I,"
said the other, awkwardly.
"You can do me a
favor, if you will."
"Of course, I
will," said Jonathan, "if it’s anything I can do."
"Yes, you will
have no trouble about it. You see, I went into a jeweler’s near by to sell a
valuable ring, and they wanted to make sure I was really a minister, and not
intending to cheat them. If you will go in with me, and say that you have often
heard me preach, and that I am the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, I won’t
mind paying you five dollars for your trouble."
"All right; I’ll
do it," said the rustic, considering that it would be an unusually easy
way of earning few dollars.
"You’ll remember
the name, won’t you?"
"Yes--Parson
Barnes, of Hayfield Centre."
"That is right.
The store is near by. Walk along with us, and we will be there in five
minutes."
"I BELIEVE your
name is Peck?" said Mr. Montgomery, hazarding a guess.
"No, it’s Young,
Ephraim Young."
"Of course it is.
I remember now, but I am apt to forget names. You said your parents were quite
well?"
"Yes, they’re pretty
smart."
"I am glad to hear
it; I have the pleasantest recollections of your excellent father. Let me see,
didn’t you call there with me once, Mrs. Barnes?"
"Not that I
remember."
"You must go with
me the next time. I want you to know the parents of our young friend. They are
excellent people. Do you go back this afternoon, Mr. Young?"
"Yes, I guess so.
You don’t know of any sitooation I could get in a store round here, do
you?"
"Not at present,
but I have some influential friends to whom I will mention your name. Suppose,
now, I could obtain a situation for you, how shall I direct the letter letting
you know?"
"Just put on the
letter ‘Ephraim Young.’ Everybody in Plainfield knows me."
"So he lives in
Plainfield," said Mr. Montgomery to himself. "It’s as well to know
that." Then aloud: "I won’t forget, Mr. Young. What sort of business
would you prefer?"
"Any kind that’ll
pay," said the gratified youth, firmly convinced of his companion’s
ability to fulfill his promise. "I’ve got tired of stayin’ round home, and
I’d like to try York a little while. Folks say it’s easy to make money
here."
"You are right. If
I were a business man, I would come to New York at once. For a smart young man
like you it offers a much better opening than a country village."
"That’s what I’ve
told dad often," said the rustic, "but he’s afraid I wouldn’t get
nothing to do and he says it’s dreadful expensive livin’ here."
"So it is
expensive, but then you will be better paid than in the country. However, here
we are. You won’t forget what I told you?"
"No--I’ll
remember," said the young man.
The reappearance of Mr.
Barnes and wife so soon excited some surprise in the store, for it had got
around, as such things will, that he was an impostor, and it was supposed that
he would not venture to show his face there again. The appearance of his rustic
companion likewise attracted attention. Certainly, Mr. Montgomery (it makes
little difference what we call him) did not exhibit the slightest appearance of
apprehension, but his manner was quite cool and self-possessed. He made his way
to that part of the counter attended by the clerk with whom he had before
spoken. He observed with pleasure and relief that the man who had questioned
his identity with any of the ministers of Hayfield Centre was no longer in the
store. This would make the recovery of the ring considerably easier.
"Well, sir,"
he said, addressing the clerk, "I suppose you did not expect to see me
again so soon?"
"No, sir."
"Nor did I expect
to be able to return for the ring before to-morrow, not supposing that I could
bring witnesses to prove that I was what I represented. But fortunately I met
just now a young friend, who can testify to my identity, as he has heard me
preach frequently in Plainfield, where he resides. Mr. Young, will you be kind
enough to tell this gentleman who I am?"
"Parson Barnes, of
Hayfield Centre," said the youth, confidently.
"You have heard me
preach, have you not, in Plainfield?"
"Yes," said
the young man, fully believing that he was telling the truth.
"And I have called
on your parents?"
"Yes."
"I think,"
said the adventurer, "that will be sufficient to convince you that I am
what I appear."
It was hard to doubt,
in the face of such evidence. Ephraim Young was so unmistakably from the rural
districts that it would have been absurd to suspect him of being an artful city
rogue. Besides, Mr. Barnes himself was got up so naturally that all the clerk’s
doubts vanished at once. He concluded that the customer who had questioned his
genuineness must be very much mistaken.
I ought to apologize to
you, sir," he said, "for doubting your word. But in a city like this
you know one has to be very careful."
"Of course,"
said the adventurer, blandly, "I do not blame you in the least. You only
did your duty, though it might have cost me some trouble and
inconvenience."
"I am sorry,
sir."
"No apologies, I
beg. It has all turned out right, and your mistake was a natural one. If you
will kindly return me the ring, I will defer selling it, I think, till another
day."
The clerk brought the
ring, which he handed back to Mr. Montgomery. The latter received it with so
much the more satisfaction, as he had made up his mind at one time that it was
gone irrevocably, and put it away in his waistcoat pocket.
"I had intended to
buy some silver spoons," he said, "but it will be necessary to wait
until I have disposed of the ring. However, I may as well look at some, eh,
Mrs. Barnes?"
"If you
like," assented the lady.
So the pair examined
some spoons, and fixed upon a dozen, which they said they would return and buy
on the next day, and then, with a polite good-by, went out of the store,
leaving behind, on the whole, a favorable impression.
Ephraim Young
accompanied them out, and walked along beside them in the street. He, too, was
in good spirits, for had not his companion promised him five dollars for his
services, which he had faithfully rendered? Five dollars to the young man from
the rural districts was a very considerable sum of money--quite a nugget, in
fact--and he already enjoyed in advance the pleasure which he anticipated of
telling his friends at home how easily he had earned such a sum in
"York." He walked along beside the adventurer, expecting that he would
say something about paying him, but no allusion was made by the adventurer to
his promise. Indeed, five dollars was considerably more than he had in his
possession. When they reached Amity street, for they were now proceeding up
Broadway, he sought to shake off the young man, whose company he no longer
desired.
"This is our
way," he said. "I suppose you are going further. I am very glad to
have met you, Mr. Young. I hope you will give our regards to your excellent
parents;" and he held out his hand in token of farewell.
"Ain’t you goin’
to pay me that money?" said Ephraim, bluntly, becoming alarmed at the
prospect of losing the nugget he had counted on with so much confidence.
"Bless me, I came
near forgetting it! I hope you will excuse me," and to Ephraim’s delight
he drew out his pocketbook. But the prospect of payment was not so bright as
the young man supposed.
"I don’t think I
have a five-dollar bill," said Mr. Montgomery, after an examination of the
pocketbook. "Mrs. Montgomery, do you happen to have a five with you?"
"No, I haven’t,"
said the lady, promptly. "I spent all my money shopping this
morning."
"That is
unfortunate. Our young friend has rendered us such a service I don’t like to
make him wait for his money."
Ephraim Young looked
rather blank at this suggestion.
"Let me see, I
have a hundred-dollar bill here," said Mr. Montgomery. "I will go
into the next store, and see if I can’t get it changed. Mr. Young, will you be
kind enough to remain with my wife?"
"Certain,"
said Ephraim, brightening up.
Mr. Montgomery went
into a shop near by, but made no request to have a hundred-dollar bill changed.
He was rather afraid that they might comply with his request, which would have
subjected him to some embarrassment. He merely inquired if he could use a pen
for a moment; request which was readily granted. In less than five minutes he
emerged into the street again. Ephraim Young looked toward him eagerly.
"I am sorry to
say, my young friend," he remarked, "that I was unable to get my bill
changed. I might get it changed at a bank, but the banks are all closed at this
hour."
The countryman looked
disturbed.
"I am
afraid," continued Mr. Montgomery, "I must wait and send you the
money in a letter from Hayfield Centre."
"I’d rather have
it now," said Ephraim.
"I am sorry to
disappoint you," said the adventurer smoothly; "but after all you
will only have a day or two to wait. To make up to you for the delay I have
decided to send you ten dollars instead of five. Finding I could not change my
bill, I wrote a note for the amount, which I will hand you."
Ephraim received the
paper, which the other handed him, and read as follows:
NEW YORK, Sept 15,
18--. Three days from date I promise to pay Mr. Ephraim Young ten dollars.
JOTHAM BARNES, of Hayfield Centre.
"How will that
do?" asked the adventurer. "By waiting three days you double your
money."
"You’ll be sure to
send it," said Ephraim, doubtfully.
"My young friend,
I hope you do not doubt me," said the Rev. Mr. Barnes, impressively.
"I guess it’s all
right," said Ephraim, "only I thought I might like to spend the money
in the city."
"Much better save
it up," said the other. "By and by it may come in useful."
Ephraim carefully
folded up the note, and deposited it in an immense wallet, the gift of his
father. He would have preferred the money which it represented: but three days
would soon pass, and the ten dollars would be forwarded to him. He took leave
of his new acquaintances, Mr. Montgomery shaking his hand with affectionate
warmth, and requesting him to give his best respects to his parents. When
Ephraim was out of sight he returned to his wife, with a humorous twinkle in
his eye, and said:
"Wasn’t that
cleverly done, old lady?"
"Good
enough!" remarked the lady. "Now you’ve got the ring back again, what
are you going to do with it?"
"That, my dear, is
a subject which requires the maturest consideration. I shall endeavor to
convert it as soon as possible into the largest possible sum in greenbacks. Otherwise
I am afraid our board bill, and the note I have just given to my rural friend,
will remain unpaid."
HAVING shaken off his
country acquaintance, of whom he had no further need, Mr. Montgomery started to
return to his lodgings. On the whole, he was in good spirits, though he had not
effected the sale of the ring. But it was still in his possession, and it had a
tangible value.
I am sorry you did not
sell the ring," said Mrs. Montgomery.
"So am I,"
said her husband. "We may have to sell it in some other city."
"We can’t leave
the city without money."
"That’s
true," returned her husband, rather taken aback by what was undeniably
true.
"We must sell the
ring, or raise money on it, in New York."
"I don’t know but
you are right. The trouble is, there are not many places where they will buy so
expensive an article. Besides, they will be apt to ask impertinent
questions."
"You might go to a
pawnbroker’s."
"And get fleeced.
If I got a quarter of the value from a pawnbroker, I should be lucky."
"We must do
something with it," said Mrs. Montgomery, decidedly.
"Right, my dear.
We must get the sinews of war somewhere. Richard will never be himself again
till his pocketbook is lined with greenbacks. At present, who steals my purse
steals trash."
"Suppose you try
Tiffany’s?"
"The ring has
already been offered there. They might remember it."
"If they do, say
that he is your son."
"A good
thought," answered the husband. "I will act upon it. But, on the
whole, I’ll doff this disguise, and assume my ordinary garments. This time, my
dear, I shall not need your assistance."
"Well, the sooner
it’s done the better. That’s all I have to say."
"As soon as
possible."
Mr. Montgomery returned
to his lodgings in Amity street, and, taking off his clerical garb, appeared in
the garb in which we first made his acquaintance. The change was very speedily
effected.
"Wish me good
luck, Mrs. M.," he said, as he opened the door. "I am going to make
another attempt."
"Good luck to you,
Tony! Come back soon."
"As soon as my
business is completed. If I get the money, we will leave for Philadelphia this
evening. You may as well be packing up."
"I am afraid the
landlady won’t let us carry away our baggage unless we pay our bill."
"Never mind! Pack
it up, and we’ll run our chance."
Felix Montgomery left
the house with the ring carefully deposited in his vest pocket. To judge from
his air of easy indifference, he might readily have been taken for a
substantial citizen in excellent circumstances; but then appearances are
oftentimes deceitful, and they were especially so in the present instance.
He made his way quickly
to Broadway, and thence to Tiffany’s, at that time not so far uptown as at
present. He entered the store with a nonchalant air, and, advancing to the
counter, accosted the same clerk to whom Paul had shown the ring earlier in the
day.
"I have a valuable
ring which I would like to sell," he said. "Will you tell me its
value?"
The clerk no sooner took
it in his hand than he recognized it.
"I have seen that
ring before," he said, looking at Mr. Montgomery keenly.
"Yes," said
the latter, composedly; "this morning, wasn’t it?"
"Yes."
"My boy brought it
in here. I ought not to have sent him, for he came very near losing it on the
way home. I thought it best to come with it myself."
This was said so
quietly that it was hard to doubt the statement, or would have been if
information had not been brought to the store that the ring had been stolen.
"Yes, boys are
careless," assented the clerk, not caring to arouse Mr. Montgomery’s
suspicions. "You wish to sell the ring, I suppose."
"Yes,"
answered the other; "I don’t like to carry a ring of so great value.
Several times I have come near having it stolen. Will you buy it?"
"I am not
authorized to make the purchase," said the clerk. "I will refer the
matter to Mr. Tiffany."
"Very well,"
said Mr. Montgomery. "I am willing to accept whatever he may pronounce a
fair price."
"No doubt,"
thought the clerk.
He carried the ring to
his employer, and quickly explained the circumstances.
"The man is
doubtless a thief. He must be arrested," said the jeweler.
"If I go for an
officer, he will take alarm."
"Invite him to
come into the back part of the shop, and I will protract the negotiation while
you summon a policeman."
The clerk returned, and
at his invitation Mr. Montgomery walked to the lower end of the store, where he
was introduced to the head of the establishment. Sharp though he was, he
suspected no plot.
"You are the owner
of this ring?" asked Mr. Tiffany.
"Yes, sir,"
said the adventurer. "It has been in our family for a long time."
"But you wish to
sell it now?"
"Yes; I have come
near losing it several times, and prefer to dispose of it. What is its
value?"
"That requires
some consideration. I will examine it closely."
Mr. Montgomery stood
with his back to the entrance, waiting patiently, while the jeweler appeared to
be engaged in a close examination of the ring. He congratulated himself that no
questions had been asked which it might have been difficult for him to answer.
He made up his mind that after due examination Mr. Tiffany would make an offer,
which he determined in advance to accept, whatever it might be, since he would
consider himself fortunate to dispose of it at even two-thirds of its value.
Meanwhile the clerk
quietly slipped out of the store, and at a short distance encountered a policeman,
upon whom he called for assistance. At the same moment Paul and Mr. Preston
came up. Our hero, on being released from arrest, had sought Mr. Preston, and
the latter obligingly agreed to go with him to Tiffany’s, and certify to his
honesty, that, if the ring should be brought there, it might be retained for
him. Paul did not recognize the clerk, but the latter at once remembered him.
"Are you not the
boy that brought a diamond ring into our store this morning?" he asked.
"Into Tiffany’s?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen
anything of it?" asked our hero, eagerly. "I am the one who brought
it in."
"A man just
brought it into the store," said the clerk.
"Is he there
now?"
"He is talking
with Mr. Tiffany. I came out for a policeman. He will be arrested at
once."
"Good!"
ejaculated Paul; "I am in luck. I thought I should never see the ring
again. What sort of a man is he?"
From the description,
Paul judged that it was Felix Montgomery himself, and, remembering what a trick
the adventurer had played upon him at Lovejoy’s Hotel, he felt no little
satisfaction in the thought that the trapper was himself trapped at last.
"I’ll go along
with you," he said. "I want to see that man arrested."
"You had better
stay outside just at first, until we have secured him."
Meanwhile Mr. Tiffany,
after a prolonged examination, said: "The ring is worth two hundred and
fifty dollars."
"That will be
satisfactory," said Mr. Montgomery, promptly.
"Shall I give you
a check for the amount?" asked the jeweler.
"I should prefer
the money, as I am a stranger in the city, and not known at the banks."
"I can make the
check payable to bearer, and then you will have no difficulty in getting it
cashed."
While this conversation
was going on, the clerk entered the store with the policeman, but Mr.
Montgomery’s back was turned, and he was not aware of the fact till the officer
tapped him on the shoulder, saying: "You are my prisoner."
"What does this
mean? There is some mistake," said the adventurer, wheeling round with a
start.
"No mistake at
all. You must come with me."
"What have I done?
You take me for some one else."
"You have stolen a
diamond ring."
"Who says
so?" demanded the adventurer, boldly. "It is true I brought one here
to sell, but it has belonged to me for years."
"You are mistaken,
Mr. Montgomery," said Paul, who had come up unperceived. "You stole
that ring from me this morning, after dosing me with chloroform at Lovejoy’s
Hotel."
"It is a
lie," said the adventurer, boldly. "That boy is my son. He is in
league with his mother to rob me. She sent him here this morning unknown to me.
Finding it out, I took the ring from him, and brought it here myself."
Paul was certainly
surprised at being claimed as a son by the man who had swindled him, and
answered: "I never saw you before this morning. I have no father
living."
"I will guarantee
this boy’s truth and honesty," said Mr. Preston, speaking for the first
time. "I believe you know me, Mr. Tiffany."
"I need no other
assurance," said the jeweler, bowing. "Officer, you may remove your
prisoner."
"The game is
up," said the adventurer, finding no further chance for deception. "I
played for high stakes, and I have lost the game. I have one favor to ask. Will
some one let my wife know where I am?"
"Give me her
address," said Paul, "and I will let her know."
"No. ---- Amity
street. Ask her to come to the station-house to see me."
"I will go at
once."
"Thank you,"
said Mr. Montgomery; "as I am not to have the ring, I don’t know that I am
sorry it has fallen into your hands. One piece of advice I will venture to
offer you, my lad," he added, smiling. "Beware of any jewelers
hailing from Syracuse. They will cheat you, if you give them a chance."
"I will be on my
guard," said Paul. "Can I do anything more for you?"
"Nothing, thank
you. I have a fast friend at my side, who will look after me."
The officer smiled
grimly at the jest, and the two left the store arm in arm.
"Do you still wish
to sell this ring?" asked Mr. Tiffany, addressing Paul.
"Yes, sir."
"I renew my offer
of this morning. I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars."
"I shall be glad
to accept it."
The sale was quickly
effected, and Paul left the store with what seemed to him a fortune in his
pocket
"Be careful not to
lose your money," said Mr Preston.
"I should like to
place a hundred and fifty dollars in your hands," said Paul, turning to
Mr. Preston.
"I will willingly
take care of it for you, and allow you interest upon it."
The transfer was made,
and, carefully depositing the balance of the money in his pocketbook, our hero
took leave of his friend and sought the house in Amity street.
MRS. MONTGOMERY
impatiently awaited the return of her husband. Meanwhile she commenced packing
the single trunk which answered both for her husband and herself. She was
getting tired of New York, and anxious to leave for Philadelphia, being fearful
lest certain little transactions in which she and her husband had taken part
should become known to the police.
She had nearly
completed her packing when Paul rang the doorbell. The summons was answered by
the landlady in person.
"Is Mrs.
Montgomery at home?" asked Paul.
"No such lady
lives here," was the answer.
It occurred to Paul as
very possible that Mr. Montgomery might pass under a variety of names. He
accordingly said, "Perhaps I have got the name wrong. The lady I mean is
tall. I come with a message from her husband, who is a stout man with black hair
and whiskers. He gave me this number."
"Perhaps you mean
Mr. Grimsby. He and his wife live here."
"Probably that is
the name," said Paul.
"I will give Mrs.
Grimsby your message," returned the landlady, whose curiosity was excited
to learn something further about her boarders.
"Thank you,"
said Paul; "but it is necessary for me to see the lady myself."
"Well, you can
follow me, then," said the landlady, rather ungraciously.
She led the way
upstairs, and knocked at the door of Mrs. Grimsby, or as we will still call
her, Mrs. Montgomery, since that name is more familiar to the reader, and she
was as much entitled to the one as the other.
Mrs. Montgomery opened
the door, and regarded our hero suspiciously, for her mode of life had taught
her suspicion of strangers.
"Here’s a boy that
wants to see you," said the landlady.
"I come with a
message from your husband," said Paul.
Mrs. Montgomery
remembered Paul as the boy who was the real owner of the diamond ring, and she
eyed him with increased suspicion.
"Did my husband
send you? When did you see him."
"Just now, at
Tiffany’s," answered Paul, significantly.
"What is his
message?" asked Mrs. Montgomery, beginning to feel uneasy.
Paul glanced at the
landlady, who, in the hope of gratifying her curiosity, maintained her stand by
his side.
"The message is
private," he said.
"I suppose that
means that I am in the way," remarked the landlady, sharply. "I don’t
want to pry into anybody’s secrets. Thank Heaven, I haven’t got any secrets of
my own."
"Walk in, young
man," said Mrs. Montgomery.
Paul entered the room,
and she closed the door behind him. Meanwhile the landlady, who had gone part
way downstairs, retraced her steps, softly, and put her ear to the keyhole. Her
curiosity, naturally strong, had been stimulated by Paul’s intimation that
there was a secret.
"Now," said
Mrs. Montgomery, impatiently, "out with it! Why does my husband send a
message by you, instead of coming himself?"
"He can’t come
himself."
"Why can’t
he?"
"I am sorry to say
that I am the bearer of bad news," said Paul, gravely. "Your husband
has been arrested for robbing me of a diamond ring."
"Where is
he?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, not so much excited or overcome as she
would have been had this been the first time her husband had fallen into the
clutches of the law.
"At the street
station-house. He wants you to come and see him."
"Have you got the
ring back?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Montgomery was
sorry to hear it. She hoped her husband might be able to secrete it, in which
case he would pass it over to her to dispose of. Now she was rather awkwardly
situated, being without money, or the means of making any.
"I will go,"
she said.
Paul, who was sitting
next to the door, opened it suddenly, with unexpected effort, for the landlady,
whose ear was fast to the keyhole, staggered into the room involuntarily.
"So you were
listening, ma’am, were you?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, scornfully.
"Yes, I was,"
said the landlady, rather red in the face.
"You were in good
business."
"It’s a better
business than stealing diamond rings," retorted the landlady, recovering
herself. "I’ve long suspected there was something wrong about you and your
husband, ma’am, and now I know it. I don’t want no thieves nor jail birds in my
house, and the sooner you pay your bill and leave, the better I’ll like
it."
"I’ll leave as
soon as you like, but I can’t pay your bill."
"I dare say,"
retorted the landlady. "You’re a nice character to cheat an honest woman
out of four weeks’ board."
"Well, Paul, what
news?" asked Barry.
"I am ready to buy
your stand," said Paul.
"Can you pay me
all the money down?"
"On the
spot."
"Then it is all
settled," said Barry, with satisfaction. "I am glad of it, for now I
shall be able to go on to Philadelphia to-morrow."
Paul drew a roll of
bills from his pocket, and proceeded to count out thirty-five dollars. Barry
noticed with surprise that he had a considerable amount left.
"You are getting
rich, Paul," he said.
"I am not rich
yet," answered Paul, "but I mean to be some time if I can accomplish
it by industry and attention to business."
"You’ll be sure to
succeed," said George Barry. "You’re just the right sort. Good-by,
old fellow. When you come on to Philadelphia come and see me."
"I may establish a
branch stand in Philadelphia before long," said Paul, jocosely.
WHEN Paul was left in
charge of the stand, and realized that it was his own, he felt a degree of
satisfaction which can be imagined. He had been a newsboy, a baggage- smasher,
and in fact had pretty much gone the round of the street trades, but now he felt
that he had advanced one step higher. Some of my readers may not appreciate the
difference, but to Paul it was a great one. He was not a merchant prince, to be
sure, but he had a fixed place of business, and with his experience he felt
confident he could make it pay.
"I am sure I can
make from ten to fifteen dollars a week," he said to himself. "I
averaged over a dollar a day when I worked for George Barry, and then I only
got half-profits. Now I shall have the whole."
This consideration was
a very agreeable one. He would be able to maintain his mother and little Jimmy
in greater comfort than before, and this he cared more for than for any extra
indulgences for himself. In fact, he could relieve his mother entirely from the
necessity of working, and yet live better than at present. When Paul thought of
this, it gave him a thrill of satisfaction, and made him feel almost like a
man.
He set to work
soliciting custom, and soon had sold three neckties at twenty-five cents each.
"All that money is
mine," he thought, proudly. "I haven’t got to hand any of it over to
George Barry. That’s a comfort."
As this thought
occurred to him he recognized an old acquaintance strolling along the sidewalk
in his direction. It was no other than Jim Parker, the friend and crony of Mike
Donovan, who will be remembered as figuring in not a very creditable way in the
earlier chapters of this story. It so happened that he and Paul had not met for
some time, and Jim was quite ignorant of Paul’s rise in life.
As for Jim himself, no
great change had taken place in his appearance or prospects. His suit was
rather more ragged and dirty than when we first made his acquaintance, having
been worn night and day in the streets, by night stretched out in some dirty
alley or out-of-the-way corner, where Jim found cheap lodgings. He strolled
along with his hands in his pockets, not much concerned at the deficiencies in
his costume.
"Hallo!" said
he, stopping opposite Paul’s stand. "What are you up to?"
"You can see for
yourself," answered Paul. "I am selling neckties."
"How long you’ve
been at it?"
"Just begun."
"Who’s your
boss?"
"I haven’t
any."
"You ain’t runnin’
the stand yourself, be you?" asked Jim, in surprise.
"Yes."
"Where’d you
borrow the stamps?"
"Of my mother,"
said Paul. "Can’t I sell you a necktie this morning?"
"Not much,"
said Jim, laughing at the joke. "I’ve got my trunks stuffed full of ’em at
home, but I don’t wear ’em only Sundays. Do you make much money?"
"I expect to do
pretty well."
"What made you
give up sellin’ prize packages?" asked Jim slyly.
"Customers like
you," answered Paul.
Jim laughed.
"You didn’t catch
me that time you lost your basket," he said.
"That was a mean
trick," said Paul, indignantly.
"You don’t want to
hire me to sell for you, do you?"
"That’s where you’re
right. I don’t."
"I’d like to go
into the business."
"You’d better open
a second-hand clothing store," suggested Paul, glancing at his companion’s
ragged attire.
"Maybe I
will," said Jim with a grin, "if you’ll buy of me."
"I don’t like the
style," said Paul. "Who’s your tailor?"
"He lives round in
Chatham street. Say, can’t you lend a fellow a couple of shillin’ to buy some
breakfast?"
"Have you done any
work to-day?"
"No."
"Then you can’t
expect to eat if you don’t work."
"I didn’t have no
money to start with."
"Suppose you had a
quarter, what would you do?"
"I’d buy a
ten-cent plate of meat, and buy some evenin’ papers with the rest."
"If you’ll do
that, I’ll give you what you ask for."
"You’ll give me
two shillin’?" repeated Jim, incredulously, for he remembered how he had
wronged Paul.
"Yes," said
Paul. "Here’s the money;" and he drew a twenty-five-cent piece from
his vest pocket, and handed it to Jim.
"You give me that
after the mean trick I played you?" said Jim.
"Yes; I am sorry
for you and want to help you along."
"You’re a
brick!" exclaimed Jim, emphatically. "If any feller tries to play a
trick on you, you just tell me, and I’ll lam him."
"All right,
Jim!" said Paul, kindly; "I’ll remember it."
"There ain’t
anybody you want licked, is there?" asked Jim, earnestly.
"Not at present,
thank you," said Paul, smiling.
"When you do, I’m
on hand," said Jim. "Now I’ll go and get some grub."
He shuffled along
toward Ann street, where there was a cheap eating-house, in which ten cents
would pay for a plate of meat. He was decidedly hungry, and did justice to the
restaurant, whose style of cookery, though not very choice, suited him so well
that he could readily have eaten three plates of meat instead of one, but for
the prudent thought that compelled him to reserve enough to embark in business
afterwards. Jim was certainly a hard ticket; but Paul’s unexpected kindness had
won him, and produced a more profound impression than a dozen floggings could
have done. I may add that Jim proved luck in his business investment, and by
the close of the afternoon had enough money to provide himself with supper and
lodging, besides a small fund to start with the next day.
Paul sold three more
neckties, and then, though it yet lacked an hour of the time when he generally
proposed to close, he prepared to go home. He wanted to communicate the good
news to his mother and little Jimmy.
Mrs. Hoffman raised her
eyes from her sewing as he entered.
"Well, Paul,"
she said, "have you heard anything of the ring?"
"Yes, mother, it’s
sold."
"Is it? Well, we
must do without it, then," said his mother in a tone of disappointment.
"There won’t be
any trouble about that, mother, as long as we have got the money for it. I
would rather have that than the ring."
"Did you recover
it, then?" asked his mother, eagerly.
"Yes,
mother--listen and I will tell you all about it."
He sat down and told
the story to two very attentive listeners.
"What did you do
with the money, Paul?" asked Jimmy.
"Mr. Preston is
keeping a hundred and fifty dollars for me. He will allow seven per cent.
interest. But I must not forget that the money belongs to you, mother, and not
to me. Perhaps you would prefer to deposit it in a savings bank."
"I am quite
satisfied with your disposal of it, Paul," said Mrs. Hoffman. "I
little thought, when I found the ring, that it would be of such service to
us."
"It has set me up
in business," said Paul, "and I am sure to make money. But I am
getting out of stock. I must go round and buy some more neckties
to-morrow."
"How much do you
pay for your ties, Paul?" asked his mother.
"One shilling; I
sell them for two. That gives me a good profit."
"I wonder whether
I couldn’t make them?" said Mrs. Hoffman. "I find there is no sewing
at present to be got, and, besides," she added, "I think I would
rather work for you than for a stranger."
"There is no need
of your working, mother. I can earn enough to support the family."
"While I have
health I would prefer to work, Paul."
"Then I will bring
round some of the ties to-morrow. I have two or three kinds. There is nothing
very hard about any of them. I think they would be easy to make."
"That will suit me
much better than making shirts."
"Suppose I admit
you to the firm, mother? I can get a large signboard, and have painted on it:
PAUL HOFFMAN AND
MOTHER, DEALERS IN NECKTIES.
How would that
sound?"
"I think I would
leave the business part in your hands, Paul."
"I begin to feel
like a wholesale merchant already," said Paul. "Who knows but I may
be one some day?"
"Many successful
men have begun as low down," said his mother; "with energy and
industry much may be accomplished."
"Do you think I’ll
ever be a wholesale painter?" asked Jimmy, whose small ears had drank in
the conversation.
"Better try for
it, Jimmy," said Paul. "I don’t know exactly what a wholesale painter
is, unless it’s one who paints houses."
"I shouldn’t like
that," said the little boy.
"Then, Jimmy, you’d
better be a retail painter."
"I guess I
will," said Jimmy, seriously.
Thus far we have accompanied
Paul Hoffman in his career. He is considerably better off than when we met him
peddling prize packages in front of the post office. But we have reason to
believe that greater success awaits him. He will figure in the next two volumes
of this series, more particularly in the second, to be called "Slow and
Sure; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop." Before this appears, however, I
propose to describe the adventures of a friend and protégée of Paul’s--under
the title of
PHIL THE FIDDLER; OR,
THE YOUNG STREET MUSICIAN.
RETAIL PRICE, FIFTEEN
CENTS A COPY
Every boy and girl
knows the Oliver Optic Books, and The Near York Book Company’s Edition is the
lowest priced cloth-bound edition. It is better in many ways than some of the higher
priced editions. The covers are stamped in colors, in different and attractive
designs. Frontispiece; decorated lining papers and title page; size, five by
seven and a quarter inches.
The following books are
ready to deliver:
The Boat Club All
Aboard Little by Little Now or Never Poor and Proud Try Again Fighting Joe
Haste and Waste Hope and Have In School and Out Rich and Humble Work and Win
ASK FOR THE NEW YORK
BOOK COMPANY’S OLIVER OPTIC BOOKS
THE NEW YORK BOOK
COMPANY PUBLISHERS, 147 FOURTH AVENUE NEW YORK, N. Y.
RETAIL PRICE, TEN CENTS
A COPY
Magazine size,
paper-covered novels. Covers printed in attractive colors. List of titles
contains the very best sellers of popular fiction. Printed from new plates;
type clear, and readable.
The following books are
ready to deliver:
Treasure Island . . . .
. By Robert Louis Stevensen King Solomon’s Mines. . . " H. Rider Haggard
Meadow Brook . . . . . . " Mary J. Holmes Old Mam’selle’s Secret. . "
E. Marlitt By Woman’s wit. . . . . . " Mrs. Alexander Tempest and
Sunshine. . . " Mary J. Holmes Other titles in preparation
CHILDREN’S COLOR BOOKS
RETAIL PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY
Books for children that
are not only picture books but play books. Beautifully printed in four colors.
Books that children can cut out, paint or puzzle over. More entertaining than
the most expensive toys.
The following books are
ready to deliver:
The Painting Book--Post
Cards The Scissors Book--Our Army The Scissors Book--Dolls of All Nations The
Puzzle Book--Children’s Pets Others in preparation
ASK FOR THE NEW YORK
BOOK COMPANY’S NOVELS WORTH READING AND CHILDREN’S COLOR BOOKS SOLD BY DEALERS
EVERYWHERE
THE NEW YORK BOOK
COMPANY PUBLISHERS, 147 FOURTH AVENUE NEW YORK, N. Y.
RETAIL PRICE, FIFTEEN
CENTS A COPY
A new edition, five by
seven and a quarter inches, from new plates, with new illustrations. Bound in
cloth, and stamped in colors on the front cover in several designs.
Distinctively
good-looking volumes. The lowest-priced clothbound edition of ALGER BOOKS, and
better in many ways than some of the higher-priced editions.
ALGER’S BOOKS go to the
right spot every time. Their high moral character, clean, manly tone, and the
wholesome lessons they teach make ALGER BOOKS as acceptable to the parents as
to the boys. His characters are living boys who do things.
The following books are
ready to deliver:
SECTION A
1. Strong and Steady 2.
Strive and Succeed 3. Try and Trust 4. Bound to Rise 5. Risen from the Ranks 6.
Herbert Carter’s Legacy 7. Brave and Bold 8. Jack’s Ward 9. Shifting for
Himself 10. Wait and Hope 11. Paul the Peddler 12. Phil the Fiddler
SECTION B
13. Slow and Sure 14.
Julius the Street Boy 15. Tom the Bootblack 16. Struggling Upward 17. Facing
the World 18. The Cash Boy 19. Making His Way 20. Tony the Tramp 21. Joe’s Luck
22. Do and Dare 23. Only an Irish Boy 24. Sink or Swim
SECTION C
25. A Cousin’s
Conspiracy 26. Andy Gordon 27. Bob Burton 28. Harry Vane 29. Hector’s
Inheritance 30. Mark Mason’s Triumph 31. Sam’s Chance 32. The Telegraph Boy 33.
The Young Adventurer 34. The Young Outlaw 35. The Young Salesman 36. Luke
Walton
ASK FOR THE NEW YORK
BOOK COMPANY’S ALGER BOOKS
THE NEW YORK BOOK
COMPANY PUBLISHERS, 147 FOURTH AVENUE NEW YORK, N. Y.