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Rough and Ready OR Life Among the New York Newsboys

<h2>CHAPTER XXIII. NEW FRIENDS.</h2> Rufus slept so soundly, that his slumber was only ended by the sound of the warning bell, at seven in the morning. "Where am I?" he thought in bewilderment, as, opening his eyes, his first glance took in the appointments of the bedchamber. Recollections quickly came to his aid, and, springing out of bed, he began to dress. His feelings were rather mixed. He wished that he could glide softly downstairs, and out of the house, without stopping to breakfast. But this would not do, since Mr. Turner had expressly requested him to stay. But he dreaded meeting the rest of the family at the breakfast-table. He was afraid that he wouldn't know how to act in such unwonted circumstances, for, though bold enough, and ready enough in the company of boys and out in the street, he felt bashful in his present position. He dressed himself slowly, and, finding a clothes-brush, brushed his clothes carefully. He arranged his hair neatly at the glass, which, though the news boy was not vain enough to suspect it, reflected the face and figure of a very attractive and handsome boy. When his preparations were all completed, he sat down in some perplexity. Should he go downstairs? He decided not to do so, for he did not know his way to the room where the family ate breakfast. "I will wait till I hear the bell," he thought. He had to wait ten or fifteen minutes, feeling somewhat nervous the while. At length the bell rang, and Rufus knew that it was time to go downstairs. He looked upon it as rather a trying ordeal, considering that he knew only the head of the family. Just as he was preparing to leave the room, the door was thrown open, and a boy of ten entered impetuously. "Breakfast's ready," he said; "Pa-pa sent me up to show you the way." "Thank you," said Rufus. "What's your name?" "Rufus." "There's a boy in my class at school named Rufus, but he don't look much like you. Where's the bat you knocked the robber down with?" "Here," said the newsboy, smiling. "I guess you gave him a crack, didn't you? I wouldn't like to get hit with it. Do you play base-ball?" "Not much." "What do you want a bat for, then?" "To knock robbers down," said Rufus, smiling. "I belong to a base-ball club at school. We call it the "Sea-Birds." We go up to the Park once a week and play." By this time they had reached the breakfast-room. Mr. Turner, who was already down, advanced to meet our hero, and took him by the hand. "Did you sleep well, Rufus?" he said. "Yes, sir. I only waked up when the bell rang." "It was late when we retired. Louisa, my dear, this is the young lad who bravely came to my rescue when I was assaulted by two robbers." Mrs. Turner, who was a pleasant-looking lady, took his hand cordially. "I am very glad my husband brought you home," she said. "I shudder to think what would have happened, if you had not come up. I shouldn't have minded the money; but he might have been killed. I don't see how you could have had the courage to attack them." "I had a stout club," said Rufus; "if it hadn't been for that, I couldn't have done any good." "Nor would the club have done any good, if it hadn't been in the hands of a brave boy," said Mr. Turner. "But the breakfast is getting cold. Let us sit down." Rufus took his seat in a chair indicated to him. He was glad to find that he was seated next to the boy, who had shown him the way downstairs, for with a boy he felt more at home than with an older person. "What is your name?" he asked. "Walter," was the reply. "I'm named after my Uncle Walter. He's travelling in Europe. Are you in a store?" "No." "Do you go to school?" "No, I sell papers. I'm a newsboy." "Do you make much money?" "About eight dollars a week." "That's a good deal. I only get fifty cents a week for spending money." "Which is twice as much as you ought to have," said his father. "I'm afraid you spend most of it for candy." "I didn't know newsboys made so much money," said Walter. "Rufus has a sister to support," said Mr. Turner. "You wouldn't think eight dollars much, if you had to pay all your expenses out of it, and support a sister besides." "What is your sister's name?" asked Mrs. Turner. "Rose." "A very pretty name. How old is she?" "Seven years old." "That's just as old as my sister Carrie," said Walter; "here she comes. She's so lazy she always gets up late in the morning." "No, I don't either," said the young lady referred to; "I'm not so lazy as you are, Master Walter." "Well, then, why didn't you come down earlier?" "Because I had to have my hair braided," said Carrie. "Didn't I have to brush my hair?" said Walter. "Your hair doesn't look as if you had spent much time on it," said his father. "Pa-pa," said Walter, as he helped himself to a second piece of toast, "I wish you'd let me stop going to school, and sell papers." "Do you think that would be a good plan?" asked his father, smiling. "Yes, I could earn money, you know." "Not much, I think. I suppose, if I agree to that arrangement, you will promise to pay all your expenses out of your earnings." "Yes, I guess I could," said Walter, hesitating, "I can learn the business of Rufus." "I don't think you'd like it very well," said our hero, amused. "Don't you like it?" "I don't think I should like to sell papers all my life." "What are you going to do when you are a man?" "I can't tell yet." "By the way, Rufus, I should be glad to have you call at my counting-room, No. —— Wall Street, this morning." "Thank you, sir," said Rufus; "but I should prefer to call to-morrow. This morning, I am going over to Brooklyn to see if I can recover my sister." "To-morrow will answer just as well. Don't fail to come, however, I wish to have a talk with you about your prospects." "I will not fail to come," answered the newsboy. Rufus did not find it so embarrassing as he anticipated at the breakfast table. His young neighbor, Walter, plied him with questions, many of which amused him, and occasionally his sister Carrie, on the opposite side of the table, joined in. Mrs. Turner asked him questions about his little sister, and sympathized with him when he described the plot by which she had been taken from him. "Do you know Latin?" inquired Walter. "No," said Rufus. "I don't see what's the use of studying it, for my part. I never expect to talk Latin." "I don't think you ever will," said his father; "judging from your school report, your success has not been very brilliant in that study, so far." "I know one Latin sentence, anyway," said Walter, complacently. "What is it?" "Sum stultus." "I regret to hear it," said his father, in a tone of amusement. "Why?" asked Walter, surprised. "Do you understand the meaning of the words you have just used?" "Yes, sir." "Well, what is it?" "They mean, 'I am good.'" "Indeed,—I had an idea that their meaning was quite different. Suppose you look out stultus in your dictionary." "I am sure I am right," said Walter, confidently. "I will prove it to you." He got his dictionary, and looked for the word. He looked a little abashed when he found it. "Well," said his father, "what does it mean?" "I am a fool," returned Walter. At this there was a laugh at Walter's expense. Breakfast was now over, and they rose from the table. "I hope you will come and see us again," said Mrs. Turner. "Thank you," said our hero. "Come again, Rufus," said Walter; "I'm making a boat, and perhaps you can help me. I'd show it to you, only I've got to get ready to go to school. I'm going to sail it in the bath-tub." "I shall expect to see you at my office, to-morrow," said Mr. Turner, as Rufus took his leave. "Don't forget the number, —— Wall Street." The door closed behind him, and Rufus descended the steps. On the whole, he was glad now that he had remained to breakfast. It had not proved so trying an ordeal as he anticipated, and he felt that he had acquitted himself pretty well under the circumstances. It occurred to him that it would be very pleasant to live in the same way if he could afford it; not that he cared so much for himself, but he would like it if Rose could have the same advantages, and live in as pleasant a home as Carrie Turner. This recalled to his mind that Rose was still in the power of his stepfather, and if he wished to secure her it would be well to lose no time. He jumped on a horse-car, and rode down-town. As he got out, Ben Gibson, who had just finished a job, caught sight of him. "Why wasn't you at the Lodge last night?" he asked. "A gentleman invited me to stop at his house up-town." "Oh, yes, of course," said Ben, incredulously. "It's true. But I want you to go over to Brooklyn with me, and show me just where Mr. Martin lives. You shan't lose anything by it. I'll tell you about my adventure last night, as we are walking along." "All right," said Ben; "my health's getting delicate, and a trip to Brooklyn will be good for it." Ben shouldered his box, and the two boys bent their steps towards Fulton Ferry. <h2>CHAPTER XXIV. MR. MARTIN HAS AN IDEA.</h2> We must now return to Rose, whom we left confined in the cellar. Now, a cellar is not a very pleasant place, and Rose had a dismal time of it. She was considerably frightened also, when, as she sat on the lower step of the cellar stairs she saw a large rat running rapidly past. It is not to be wondered at that Rose was alarmed. I know many persons much older who would have done precisely what she did under the circumstances, namely, scream with all their might. The little girl's scream brought Mrs. Waters to the door at the head of the stairs. "What are you howling at?" she demanded, roughly. "I just saw a big rat," said Rose. "Do let me come up; I'm afraid he'll bite me." "Most likely he will," said Mrs. Waters. "But I can't let you come up. You've acted too bad. Next time you'll find it best to behave. And, mind you don't yell again! If you do, I'll come down and give you something to yell for." Saying this, she slammed the door, and returned to her work, leaving Rose in a very unhappy state of mind. She sat in momentary expectation of the reappearance of the rat, thinking it very likely it would bite her, as Mrs. Waters had told her. She began to cry quietly, not daring to scream, lest Mrs. Waters should carry out her threat and give her a whipping. At the end of an hour—it seemed more like a day to Rose—Mrs. Waters came to the door, and said, "You can come up now, if you can make up your mind to behave yourself." Rose needed no second invitation. She ran upstairs hastily, under the impression that the rat might pursue her, and breathed a sigh of relief when she was fairly out of danger. Fanny was sitting at the table, eating a piece of apple-pie. "Did the rats bite you?" she asked, laughing maliciously. "No," answered Rose. "I wish they had. It would have been such fun to hear you holler." "You're a mean girl," said Rose, indignantly. "Hoity-toity! What's all this?" demanded Mrs. Waters. "Have you begun to call Fanny names already?" "She said she wished the rats had bitten me," said Rose. "Well, so do I. It would have been a good lesson to you. Now, miss, I've got one word to say. If you abuse and quarrel with Fanny, I'll just put you down cellar again, and this time I'll keep you there all night. Do you hear?" "Yes," said Rose, shuddering. She privately made up her mind that she should die if this threat were carried out, and the very thought of it made her turn pale. "Don't you want some pie, Rose?" asked Fanny, with her mouth full. "Yes," said Rose, "I should like some." "Well, you can't have any," said Fanny, maliciously. "Can she, ma?" "Of course not. She don't deserve any," said the mother. "Pie is too good for wicked girls. Here, you Rose, here's something for you to do, to keep you out of mischief. Sit down to the table here, and shell these beans. Don't you want to help, Fanny?" "No, I don't," said Fanny, decidedly. "She can do 'em alone." A tin-pan half full of bean-pods was placed on the table, and Rose was ordered to be "spry," and not to waste her time. Fanny, having finished her pie, began to tease the cat, which employment she found much more satisfactory than helping Rose. That night Mrs. Waters presented her bill to Mr. Martin for a week's board in advance for himself and Rose. The fact that he had apparently given up working made her a little doubtful whether he would prove good pay. She determined to ask payment in advance, and thus guard against all risk of loss. "Mr. Martin," she said, "here's my bill for your board, and the little girl's. I'm rather short of money, and have got some bills to pay, and I should feel particularly obliged if you could pay me now." Mr. Martin took the bill, and looked at it. "It's seven dollars," said Mrs. Waters. "I can't afford to take any less. Beef's two cents a pound higher, and potatoes is rising every day. You can't say it's unreasonable." "It's all right, Mrs. Waters," said Martin, slipping it into his vest-pocket. "It's all right. I'll attend to it in a day or two." "Can't you pay me to-day?" persisted the landlady. "I've got my rent to pay to-morrow, and it'll take all I can get to pay it." "Can you change a fifty-dollar bill?" asked Martin. "I can get it changed." "I guess I'll get it changed myself," said Martin. "I'm goin' out on business." "I don't believe he's got so much money," thought Mrs. Waters, suspiciously, and it is needless to say that she was quite right in her suspicions. The exact amount of Mr. Martin's cash in hand was a dollar and thirty-seven cents, and his entire wardrobe and the sum of his earthly possessions would not probably have brought over fifteen dollars. Strong as Mrs. Waters' suspicions were, however, she could not very well press the matter then. She resolved to wait till Mr. Martin returned, and then renew the subject. She would be guided in her action by what happened then. Martin, meanwhile, began to consider that possibly he had made a mistake in kidnapping Rose. The necessary outlay for her board and clothes would be a serious drain upon him, especially as for years he had barely earned enough to pay his own personal expenses. On the whole, he thought he might as well restore her to her brother; but he would take care that the newsboy paid for the concession. He thought he might by good management get twenty dollars out of him, or, if he had not so much, part down, and the rest in a week or fortnight. He resolved to see Rough and Ready about it the very next morning. There are some who say that money earned is enjoyed the most. James Martin did not believe this. Earning money was very disagreeable to him, and he considered any other mode of getting it preferable. He was lounging along the street, with his hands in his pockets, meditating as above, when a little girl came up to him, and, holding out her hand, whined out, "Won't you give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother?" Suddenly a brilliant idea came to Mr. Martin. He determined to question the little girl. "How long have you been out beggin'?" he asked. "Ever since morning." "How much money have you made?" The little girl hesitated. "Come, little girl, if you'll tell me true, I'll give you five cents." "I'll show you," she answered, regaining confidence. She drew from her pocket a miscellaneous collection of pennies and silver pieces, which Martin counted, and found to amount to sixty-eight cents. "Do you make as much every day, little gal?" he asked. "Sometimes more," she answered. "Pretty good business, isn't it? How long's your mother been sick?" "Most a year," said the little girl, hesitating. "What's the matter with her?" "I don't know. She can't set up," said the girl, again hesitating, for she was a professional mendicant, and the sick mother was a sham, being represented in reality by a lazy, able-bodied woman, who spent most of the charitable contributions collected by her daughter on drink. "Oh, yes, I understand," said Martin, with a wink. "Good-by, little gal. Give my love to your poor sick mother, and tell her I'd come round and inquire after her health if I had time." As he said this he turned to go away. "You promised me five cents," said the little girl, running after him. "Did I? Well, you'll have to wait till next time, unless you can change a fifty-dollar bill." "I aint got money enough." "Then you must wait till you see me again." Mr. Martin's questions had not been without an object. The idea which had occurred to him was this. Why might he not make Rose, in like manner, a source of income? Perhaps he might in that way more than pay expenses, and then he would still be able to keep her, and so continue to spite Rough and Ready, which would be very agreeable to his feelings. "I'll send her out to-morrow morning," he said to himself. "If she's smart, she can make a dollar a day, and that'll help along considerable. I'll be her poor sick mother. It'll save my workin' so hard, and injurin' my health in my old age." The more Mr. Martin thought of this plan, the better he liked it, and the more he wondered that he had never before thought of making Rose a source of income. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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