Rough and Ready

CHAPTER VI.

MARTIN'S AWAKENING

James Martin lay in a drunken stupor for about an hour after Rough and Ready and his sister left the room. Then he roused a little, and muttered "Rose."

But there was no answer.

"Rose," he repeated, not stirring from his recumbent position, "have you got anything to eat in the house?"

But the little girl whom he addressed was already in her new home on Franklin Street.

"Why don't you answer?" demanded he, angrily. "I'll give you a licking."

As this threat also elicited no response, he turned over and rose slowly.

"The gal isn't here," he said, after looking about him. "She's gone out with her scamp of a brother. He's an obstinate young rascal. I'll give him a flogging some time."

Martin had often had the disposition to inflict punishment upon our hero, but there was a sturdy courage and firmness about Rough and Ready that promised a determined opposition. So he had escaped where a weaker and more timid boy would have suffered bad treatment.

Though Martin missed Rose he had no idea yet that she had left him for good, as the saying is. He supposed that she had gone out to stand by her brother when he was selling papers. He had often been drunk before, and probably expected to be often again. He felt no particular shame at disposing of the little girl's clothes for rum. He had somehow formed the idea that it was the newsboy's duty to support the family, and felt that he had no business to spend so much money on his sister's dress. He could not understand, therefore, why Rough and Ready should be so angry.

"Dressing up Rose like a princess!" he muttered. "We're too poor to spend money on good clothes I have to go about in rags, and why shouldn't she?"

Martin wore a suit which had done long and hard service. He wore a jacket of green cloth, frayed and dirty, while his other garments, originally black, were stained and patched. He wore no collar or necktie. On his head was a tall hat, which had already reached that outward condition when it is usually considered fit only to supply the place of a broken pane.

Such was the stepfather of the newsboy and his sister, and when to the description I add inflamed eyes, a red face, and swollen nose, I think my young readers will hardly wonder that the children had long lost all respect and attachment for him, if indeed they had ever felt any. When I think of the comfortable home he might have had, for he was a skilful workman and capable of earning good wages, I feel out of patience with him for preferring to lead a life so degraded and useless, doing harm both to himself and to others. But, in a great city like New York, there are many men who lead lives no better than James Martin, who, for the brief pleasure of the intoxicating cup, throw away their own happiness and welfare, and spoil the happiness of others. Think of this picture, boy-reader, and resolve thus early that such a description shall never apply to you!

Feeling hungry, Martin looked into the cupboard, and discovered part of a loaf of bread. He was disappointed to find no cold meat, as he had hoped.

"This is pretty poor living," he muttered. "That boy must pay me more money. He don't work hard enough. How can he expect three people to live on fifty cents a day?"

It did not seem to occur to Martin that he ought to have contributed something himself to the support of the family. So, while he was eating the bread, he continued to rail against our hero, and resolved to exact from him in future sixty cents daily.

"He can pay it,—a smart boy like him," he muttered. "He's lazy, that's what's the matter. He's got to turn over a new leaf."

Having eaten up the bread, and feeling still hungry, he explored the contents of his pocket-book. It contained twenty-five cents, being half of the money he had received from the old-clothes dealer for the little girl's dress.

"That'll buy me a drink and a plate of meat," he thought; "only there won't be any left. Money don't go far in these days."

But persons who get money as this was got, are not very apt to be disturbed much by economical thoughts. "Easy come, easy go," is an old adage and a true one. So Martin, reflecting that the newsboy was out earning money, of which he would receive the benefit, saw nothing to prevent his using the balance of the money to gratify the cravings of appetite.

He accordingly went to a neighboring saloon, where he soon invested his money, and then, thrusting his hands in his empty pockets, strolled listlessly about the streets. Passing through the City Hall Square, he saw Rough and Ready, at a little distance, selling his papers.

"Rose isn't with him," said Martin to himself. "Maybe she's gone home."

However, this was a point in which he felt very little interest. There was no particular object in addressing the newsboy on the subject, so he wandered on in a listless way wherever caprice led.

Strolling down Broadway, he turned into Dey Street, though he had no definite object in so doing. All at once he felt a touch upon his shoulder.

"Well, Martin, how goes it?" said a stout, active-looking man, of much more respectable appearance than Martin himself.

"Hard luck!" said Martin.

"Well, you don't look very prosperous, that's a fact. Where are you at work now?"

"Nowhere."

"Can't you find work?"

"No," said Martin.

The fact was that he had not tried, preferring to live on the earnings of his stepson.

"That's strange," said the new-comer. "Carpenters are in demand. There's a good deal of building going on in Brooklyn just now. I'll give you employment myself, if you'll come over to-morrow morning. I'm putting up three houses on Fourth Avenue, and want to hurry them through as soon as possible, as they are already let, and the parties want to move in. Come, what do you say?"

"I didn't think of going to work just yet," said Martin, reluctantly. "The fact is, I don't feel quite strong."

"Perhaps there's a reason for that," said the other, significantly.

"I don't feel well, and that's all about it."

"Perhaps you drink a little too often."

"I don't drink enough to hurt me. It's all that keeps me up."

"Well, that's your affair, not mine. Only, if you make up your mind to go to work, come over to-morrow morning to Brooklyn, and I'll have something for you to do."

To this Martin assented, and the builder, for such was his business, passed on. Martin had very little thought of accepting the proposal; but, as we shall see, circumstances soon brought it to his mind, and changed his determination.

It is not necessary to follow Martin in his afternoon wanderings. He took no more drink, for the simple reason that he was out of money, and his credit was not good; so when evening came he was comparatively free from the influence of his earlier potations. About six o'clock he went back to the room in Leonard Street. It was about that time that Rough and Ready usually went home to eat his supper, and, as he was still hungry, he proposed to eat supper with the children.

But when he opened the door of the room, he was surprised to find it empty. He expected to find Rose there, at all events, even if her brother had not yet returned home.

"Rose," he cried out, "where are you?"

There was no answer.

"If you're hiding anywhere, you'd better come out, or I'll give you something you don't like."

"This is strange," he said to himself when again there was no reply.

He went across the landing, and knocked at the door opposite.

A stout woman, with her sleeves rolled up, opened the door.

"Have you seen anything of my two children, Mrs. Flanagan?" asked Martin.

"I saw them this morning."

"I mean since morning."

"No; the boy took the little girl out about the middle of the day, and I haven't seen either one of 'em since."

"They didn't say anything to you about going out, did they?"

"Shure they didn't, and why should they? They go out every day, for that matter."

"Well, it's time for them to be home now."

"They'll be comin' soon, it's likely;" and Mrs. Flanagan closed her door, and went back to washing,—for this was her business.

Martin returned to the lonely room, not altogether satisfied with what he had learned. It was, as he knew, quite unusual for Rose to be gone out all the afternoon, or, at any rate, not to be back at this hour. Besides, as he called to mind, she was not with Rough and Ready when he saw him in the afternoon. Where, then, could she be?

It was from no particular affection for Rose that Martin put to himself these queries. But it was through Rose that he retained his hold upon Rufus and his earnings. Besides, Rose, though only seven years old, had been accustomed to get the supper, and make tea at times when Martin had not money enough to buy any beverage more stimulating. So, on the whole, he felt rather uncomfortable, and resolved to go out and find the newsboy, and learn from him where Rose was. He descended the stairs, therefore, and made his way to the sidewalk in front of the "Times" office, where Rough and Ready was usually to be found. But here he looked for him in vain. The fact was that our hero had sold off his papers, and a large number of them, with greater rapidity than usual, and was at this very moment sitting at Miss Manning's little table with Rose, eating a comfortable, though not very extravagant, supper.

Martin went back to Leonard Street, therefore, still with a vague hope that he might find the children at home. But he was destined to be disappointed. The room was as dark and cheerless and lonely as ever.

"What does it all mean?" thought Martin. "Has the young rascal given me the slip?"

He had been in the room only five minutes, when there was a knock at the door.

It proved to be the landlord's agent, who collected the rent.

"Your month's rent is due, Mr. Martin," he said.

"I haven't got any money."

"That answer won't do," said the man, shortly.

"You'll have to come again to-morrow, at any rate. My boy's got the money for the rent, and he isn't in now."

"You must be ready to-morrow, or move out."

"I guess it'll be move then, if the boy doesn't come back," muttered Martin. "One good thing, he can't escape me. I can catch him to-morrow morning when he's selling papers. Rent or no rent, I'll get one more night's rest in this room."

Although it was yet early he lay down, and did not rise till the morning light entered the room. Then, feeling the cravings of appetite, he got up, and went out in search of the newsboy.

"He won't find it quite so easy to get rid of me as he thinks for," muttered Martin, with a scowl.

CHAPTER VII.

THE NEWSBOY AND HIS STEPFATHER

Rough and Ready passed the night at the Lodging House, as he had previously determined. The bed which he obtained there was considerably better than the one he had usually rested upon in the room in Leonard Street. He slept soundly, and only awoke when the summons came to all the boys to get up. As our hero lifted up his head, and saw the rows of beds, with boys sitting up and rubbing their eyes, the thought of his freedom from the sway of his stepfather recurred to his mind, and he jumped up in very good spirits. He breakfasted at the Lodge, paying only six cents for the meal, and then hastened to the offices of the morning papers to secure a supply of merchandise.

He began to estimate his probable weekly expenses. He had agreed to pay Miss Manning four dollars a week for Rose's board and his own supper. His expenses at the Lodging House would be seventy-two cents a week. His dinner would perhaps amount to a dollar more. This would be five dollars and seventy-two cents, which he must earn at any rate. But, besides this, both Rose and himself would need clothes. Probably these would cost annually fifty dollars apiece, averaging, for the two, two dollars per week. Thus his entire expenses footed up seven dollars and seventy-two cents, or about one dollar and twenty-nine cents per working day.

"That is considerable," thought the newsboy. "I wonder if I can do it."

Some boys might have been frightened at this estimate. But Rough and Ready had good courage. He felt that his sister and he could not live comfortably for less, and he resolved that if he could not make it all by selling papers, he would get a chance to do errands, or manage in some other way to eke out the necessary amount. But he resolved to make his newspaper trade pay as much of it as possible. He went to work, therefore, with a good deal of energy, and the pile of morning papers, with which he started, melted away fast. At last he had but one left. Looking out for a purchaser for that, he saw advancing towards him an old woman, dressed in quaint, old-fashioned costume.

"Won't you let me look at that paper of yourn?" asked the old lady.

"Certainly, ma'am," said Rough and Ready; "it's made to be looked at."

"Wait a minute. I dunno as I've got my specs," said she, diving her hand into a pocket of great depth, and bringing up first a snuff-box, and next a red cotton handkerchief.

"There, I know'd I'd mislaid 'em," she said, in a tone of disappointment. "Can you read, boy?"

"More or less," said Rough and Ready. "What is it you wanted?"

"Why, you see I live to Danbury when I'm at home, and I heerd tell that Roxanna Jane Pinkham was married, and I want to know ef it's true. Maybe you'll find it in the marriages."

"All right, ma'am," said Rough and Ready, glancing over the paper till he came to the list of marriages.

"Is this it, ma'am?" asked the newsboy, reading, "In Danbury, Miss Roxanna Jane Pinkham to Pompey Smith, a very respectable colored man from New York."

"Massy sakes!" ejaculated the old lady. "Has Roxanna married a nigger? Well, she must have been put to't for a husband. Thank you, boy. I'd buy your paper, but I only wanted to know for certain if Roxanna was married. That does beat me,—her marryin' a colored person!"

"That's a profitable customer," thought the newsboy. "I guess she won't find that marriage in any of the other papers. This one has got it exclusive."

Immediately upon her return, the old lady spread the news of Roxanna Pinkham's strange marriage, and wrote comments upon it to her daughter in Danbury. When the report was indignantly denied by the lady most interested, and she threatened to sue the old lady for circulating a slanderous report, the latter stoutly asserted that she heard it read from a New York paper, and she had no doubt there was something in it, or it wouldn't have got into print.

This trick was hardly justifiable in the newsboy; but he was often troubled by people who wanted to look at his papers, but were not willing to buy them, and he repaid himself by some imaginary news of a startling description.

After disposing of his last paper, he procured a fresh supply, and was engaged in selling these, when, on looking up, he saw advancing towards him James Martin, his stepfather.

Before chronicling the incidents of the interview between them, we must go back to the time of Martin's awaking in the room in Leonard Street.

He remembered, at once, the visit of the landlord's agent the day previous, and felt that the time for action had arrived. He knew that the scanty furniture in the room was liable to seizure for rent, and this he resolved the landlord should not get hold of. Accordingly, dressing hastily, he went round to Baxter Street, and accosted the proprietor of a general second-hand establishment, with whom he had previously had some dealings.

"I've got some furniture to sell," he said. "Do you want to buy?"

"I don't know," said the other. "Trade is very dull. I don't sell a dollar's worth in a day."

"Come, you shall have them cheap," said Martin.

"What have you got?"

"Come and see."

"Where is it?"

"In Leonard Street, just round the corner."

The dealer, always ready for a bargain, was induced to climb up to the attic room, and take a look at the cheap wooden bedstead, with its scanty bedding, and the two chairs, which were about all the furniture the room contained.

"It's not worth much," he said.

"Well, I suppose it's worth something," said Martin.

"What'll you take for it?"

"Three dollars."

"I'll give you one dollar."

"That's too bad. You ought to give me two dollars, at any rate."

At length, after considerable chaffering, the dealer agreed to give a dollar and a quarter, which Martin pocketed with satisfaction.

Just as he had effected the sale, the landlord's agent appeared.

"Have you got your rent ready?" he asked of Martin.

"No, I haven't," said Martin.

"Then you must move out."

"I'm just moving."

"But I shall seize the furniture," said the agent. "I can't allow you to move that."

"Take it, if you want to," said Martin, in a coarse laugh. "I've just sold it to this man here."

"I don't believe it," said the agent, angrily.

"Oh, well, it's nothing to me. Settle it between you," said Martin, carelessly, going downstairs, leaving the dealer and the agent to an animated and angry dispute over the broken-down bedstead.

"That was neatly done," thought Martin, laughing to himself. "I don't care which gets it. I suppose they'll have a fight about it. Now I must have a good breakfast, and then for a talk with that young rebel. He thinks he's cheated me cleverly, but I'm not through with him yet."

Martin strayed into a restaurant at the lower end of Chatham Street, where he made a satisfactory breakfast, with as little regard to expense as if his resources were ample. Indeed, he felt little trouble about the future, being fully determined that in the future, as in the past, Rufus should support him.

"Aint I entitled to his earnings, I'd like to know till he comes of age?" thought Martin.

So he convinced himself readily that law and right were on his side, and it was with no misgivings as to the result that he approached the newsboy whom, from some distance away, he saw actively engaged in plying his business.

"'Herald,' 'Tribune,' 'Times,' 'World'!" cried Rough and Ready, looking about him for possible customers.

"So I've found you at last," said James Martin, grimly addressing the newsboy.

"I haven't been lost that I know of," said Rough and Ready, coolly.

"Where were you last night?"

"At the Newsboys' Lodge."

"What made you leave home?"

"I didn't like staying there."

"You're a mighty independent young man. How old do you pretend to be?"

"Fifteen, as near as I can remember," said the newsboy.