 CHAPTER X A STORE ON SIXTH AVENUE Roswell kept on his way with his heavy bundle, more discontented than ever. The bundle seemed heavier than ever. Dick had no such bundles to carry. He had an easier time, his business position was better, and his wages more than double. And all this in spite of the glaring fact that Roswell was a gentleman's son, and Dick wasn't. Surely fortune was very blind, and unfair in the distribution of her favors. I suppose he'll be crowing over me," thought Roswell bitterly. Judging from what would have been his own feeling had the case been reversed. I hope he'll have to go back to boot-blacking some day. I wish mothered by me a gold watch and chain. There'd be some sense in my wearing it. Roswell evidently thought it very inappropriate that Dick should wear a handsome gold watch more especially as he was quite sure beforehand that his mother would not gratify his own desire to possess one. Still he resolved to ask. There was another thing he meant to ask. Feeling that his services were worth more than the wages he received, and convincing himself that his employers would be unwilling to lose him, he determined to ask in advance of two dollars a week, making six dollars in all. Not that he considered that even this would pay him, but as he could hardly hope that he would be appreciated according to his desserts, he limited his request to that sum. He concluded to defer making his application until Saturday evening when he would receive his week's wages. He consulted his mother upon this subject, and she, having nearly as high an opinion of her promising son as he had himself, consented to the application. If his cousin, James Gilbert, had heard of his intention, he was enough of a businessman to have dissuaded him from the attempt. Though he saw fit to espouse the cause of Roswell against Dick, it was more because he disliked the latter than because he was blind to the fault of the former. Indeed he had a very moderate opinion of his young cousin's capabilities. The days slipped by, and Saturday night came. It was nine o'clock before Roswell was released, the Saturday night trade being the best of the week. The other clerks had been paid, Roswell's turn coming last because he was the youngest. The designation of the firm was Hall and Turner. Mr. Hall, the senior partner, usually went home early in the evening, and Mr. Turner, the junior partner, a man of about thirty-five, attended to the evening business and paid the weekly wages. Here, Crawford, he said, counting out four one-dollar bills, it's your turn now. I want to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Turner," said Roswell, beginning to feel a little nervous. For now that the time had come for making his request, he felt a little uncertain how it would be received. Very well, said his employer, showing a little surprise. Be quick about it, for I want to get through. I want to know if you would not be willing to raise my wages," said Roswell, rather awkwardly. On what ground do you ask for it? said Mr. Turner, looking up. I thought I might be worth more, said Roswell. How long have you been in my employment? Do you remember? About four months, said Roswell. Do you think you have learned enough in that time to make you worth more? Yes, sir, said Roswell, with a little hesitation. How much more would satisfy you? Two dollars more, for the present, said Roswell, beginning to feel a little hopeful. That is six dollars a week. Yes, sir. And how soon would you expect another advance? asked Mr. Turner quietly. In about six months. You are quite moderate in your demands, certainly. There was something in Mr. Turner's tone which struck Roswell as unfavorable, and he hastily said in his own justification, There's a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week. Certainly Roswell must have spoken inadvertently, or he would hardly have referred to Dick as his friend. But his main idea at present was to produce an impression upon the mind of Mr. Turner. Is your friend in a dry goods store? asked Mr. Turner. No, sir. Then I don't see that his wages have any bearing upon your case. There may be some special circumstances that affect his compensation. How long has he been in the service of his present employer? Only a week or two. Is this his first place? Yes, sir. It may be that he is some relative of his employer. That isn't very likely, said Roswell, his lip curling. He used to be a boot-black about the streets. Indeed, said Mr. Turner keenly. I think you said he was a friend of yours. No, sir, said Roswell proudly. I haven't the honour. You certainly said there is a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week. I didn't mean to speak of him as my friend, said Roswell. I am a gentleman's son. If you are, his friendship might do you no harm. If he receives the wages you state, he must be a smart fellow. If he didn't earn as much, probably he would not receive it. I don't believe he'll keep his place long," muttered Roswell, his wish being father to the thought. If he doesn't, you may be able to succeed him, said Mr. Turner. I shall be compelled to refuse your request. Indeed, so far from increasing your compensation, I have been considering during the last week whether it would not be my best interest to get another boy in your place. Sir," exclaimed Roswell in dismay, I will give you my reasons. You appear to think yourself of two great consequence to discharge properly the duties of your position. I don't understand you, sir, stammered Roswell. I believe you claim to be a gentleman's son. Yes, sir, said Roswell. My father used to keep a store on Broadway. And I am led to suppose you think it incompatible with your dignity to carry bundles to different parts of the city. I would rather stand behind the counter and sell goods," said Roswell. Of course, you will be a salesman in time if you stick to business faithfully. But it so happens that we didn't hire you as a salesman but as a boy, whose chief business it should be to carry bundles. But we don't want to impose a disagreeable duty upon you. Therefore, if you think upon reflection that you would prefer not to continue in your situation, we will hire somebody else. That won't be necessary, sir," said Roswell, considerably crestfallen. You are content, then, to remain? Yes, sir. And upon four dollars a week? Yes, sir. I suppose I may hope to have my wages increased some time? When we find your services worth more, you shall receive more," said Mr. Turner. That is fair, isn't it? Yes, sir. Then here is your money. I didn't mean to talk so long, but it's as well to come to an understanding. Roswell left the store considerably crestfallen. He found that, instead of regarding him worth an advance of wages, Mr. Turner had had it in his mind to discharge him, and that hurt his pride. It was certainly very singular that people shouldn't be more impressed with the fact that he was a gentleman's son. He could not have received less deference if he had been an ex-boot-black, like Dick himself. He certainly was no more contented than before, nor was his self-appreciation materially diminished. If the world did not recognize his claims, there was one comfort. His mother appreciated him, and he appreciated himself. As to his cousin, he did not feel quite so certain. Why are you so late, Roswell? asked his mother, looking up from her work as he entered. It seems to me they kept you later than usual at the store, even for Saturday evening. I'm sick of the store, said Roswell impatiently. What's the matter? I asked old Turner to-night if he wouldn't raise my wages, said Roswell. Well, what did he say? He said he wouldn't do it. Did he give any reason? He said I didn't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunks, anyway, and I wish I was in another place. So do I, but it isn't so easy to get a new position. You had better stay in this till another offers. I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It isn't fit work for our gentleman's son. Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very different with us all, said Mrs. Crawford with a sigh. She chose to forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the family. I wouldn't care if I were a salesman, continued Roswell, but I don't like being an errand boy. I'd just as lives go to the post office for letters, or to the bank with money. But as for carrying big bundles of calla-co under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue the other day with a ten-pound bundle, when the boot-black came up, dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exalted over me for carrying such a big bundle. There was a little exaggeration about this. For Dick was very far from exalting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volunteered to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then. He's an impudent fellow, then," said Mrs. Crawford indignantly. Then Mr. Hall won't raise your wages. It wasn't Mr. Hall, I asked. It was Mr. Turner," said Roswell. Didn't he hold out any hope of raising your wages hereafter? He said he would raise them when I deserve it. He don't amount much. He's no gentleman," said Roswell scornfully. Who's no gentleman? inquired James Gilbert, who chanced just then to enter the room. Mr. Turner. Who's Mr. Turner? My employer, Hall and Turner, you know. What's a miss with him? I asked him to raise my wages to-night, and he wouldn't. Hm! How much did you ask for? Two more dollars a week. You're a fool! What! said Roswell, astonished. What! exclaimed Mrs. Crawford angrily. I say the lads a fool, to ask for so large an advance so soon. Of course his employers refused it. I would in their place. You're very hard upon the poor boy," said Mrs. Crawford. I thought you were his friend. So I am. But he's acted foolishly for all that. He should have known better. I ought to be worth six dollars if your boot-black is worth ten," responded Roswell. He isn't worth ten. Why do you pay him that, then? Mr. Rockwell, who pays him, not I. Why he does it, I can't say. It isn't because he earns it. No boy of his age, or yours either, can earn ten dollars a week. At any rate, he gets ten, and I get only four. I certainly earn more than that, said Roswell. I'm not so certain about that, said his cousin. But if it will afford you any comfort, I'll venture to make the prediction that he won't remain in Rockwell and Cooper's employment a week longer. Has anything happened? asked Roswell, eagerly. Not yet, said James Gilbert significantly. Then something is going to happen. You need not trouble yourself to ask questions. Wait patiently, and when anything happens, I'll let you know. Here James Gilbert left the room, and went up to his own chamber. His words had the excited hope in both Roswell and his mother. The former felt that it would be a satisfaction to him to learn that Dick had lost his situation, even if he failed to get it himself. End of CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI. A FAME AND FORTUN This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. FAME AND FORTUN, or THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER, by Horatio Alger, Jr. CHAPTER XI. A NEW ALLIANCE. The name of Mickey McGuire is already familiar to the readers of Ragged Dick. He had acquired a prominent position among the downtown boot blacks by his strength, which he used oftentimes to oppose a palm boy's weaker than himself. He was a young ruffian indeed, with few redeeming qualities. When Dick was in the same business, he tried on two or three occasions to make him acknowledge his superiority. But it was not in Dick's nature to be subservient to anyone whom he did not respect. Moreover, Dick had two good stout arms of his own, and knew how to use them in self-defense. The consequence was that Mickey McGuire signally failed in the attempts which he made, on different occasions, to humble our hero. It was obliged to slink off in discomforture with his satellite, Limpy Jim. The last glimpse we had of Mickey was in Dick's cast-off clothes, of which by some means, probably not honest, he had become possessed. He did not wear them long, however. The famous Washington coat in Napoleon pants were only mortal, and, being already of venerable antiquity, became at length too fragmentary even for Mickey's not very fastidious taste. One morning, accordingly, having levied an unwilling contribution from a weaker but more industrious boot-black, Mickey went to Baxter Street and invested in a blue coat with brass buttons, which, by some strange chain of circumstances, had found its way thither from some country town, where it may at one time have figured out trainings, and on town meeting days. A pair of overalls completed Mickey's costume. He dispensed with a vest, his money not having been sufficient to buy that also. Certainly Mickey presented a noticeable figure as he stood in the City Hall Park, clad in the above-mentioned garments. He was rather proud of the brass buttons, and may even have fancied, in his uncultivated taste, that his new costume became him. While he was swaggering about, he aspired part of a cigar, which someone had thrown aside. Mickey, who was fond of smoking, picked it up, and looked about him for a light, not being provided with a match. A young man was slowly crossing the park with a cigar in his mouth, but he was evidently plunged and thought, and hardly conscious of the scene about him. Mickey observed this, and a cunning scheme suggested itself. He walked up to the young man, and said cavalierly, Give us a light, Mr. Wilier! The young man mechanically took a cigar from his mouth, and passed it to the questioner, without observing who he was. Had he done so, it is doubtful whether the request would have been complied with. Rapidly calculating that he would not notice the substitution, Mickey, after letting the stub, handed it to the young man, retaining the good cigar himself, and placing it straight away in his mouth. This trick would probably have passed off undetected, if it had not been observed by some of Mickey's fellow professionals. A jeering laugh from these called the young man's attention to the substitution, and with a look of indignation he said, You young rascal, you shall pay for this! But Mickey evaded his grasp, and scutted rapidly through the park, pursued by the victim of misplaced confidence. Run, Mickey! I'll bet you on! cried Pat Nevins, encouragingly. Go at long legs! said another, who backed the opposite party. Give him a good lickin' when you catch him! Maybe you'd have to wait too long for that! said Pat. Leave your cigar with us, Mr. said another boy. James Gilbert, for he was the young man in question, began to find that he was becoming rather ridiculous, and felt that he would rather let Mickey go free, than furnish a spectacle to the crowd of boot-blacks, who were surveying the chaste with eager interest. He accordingly stopped short, and, throwing down the stub, prepared to leave the park. Don't give it up, Mr. You'll catch him! said his first backer. Mickey can't run far. Ragged Dick gave him a stretcher once. Ragged Dick! said Gilbert, turning abruptly at the sound of this name. Maybe you know him? Does he black boots? He used to, but he don't now. What does he do? Oh, he's a swell now, and wears good clothes. How is that? He's in a store, and gets good pay. What's the name of that boy that ran away with my cigar? Mickey McGuire? Was he a friend of Ragged Dick, as you call him? Not much. They had two or three fights. Which beat? Dick. He can fight bully. Gilbert felt disappointed. He was in hopes our hero had met with a defeat. Somehow he seemed born for success. Then, I suppose McGuire hates him. How bet he does? Hmm! thought Gilbert. I might turn his enmity to some account. Let me consider a little. At length, a plan suggested itself, and his countenance cleared up, and assumed an expression of satisfaction. On reaching home, he held the conversation with Roswell and his mother, which has been recorded at the close of the last chapter. Meantime, Mickey went home to a miserable lodging on Worth Street, in the precincts of the Five Points, and very near where the Five Points House of Industry now stands. This admirable institution has had a salutary influence, and contributed greatly to the improvement of the neighborhood. Then, however, it was about as vile and filthy as could be. Mickey exalted not a little at the success of his cunning, and smoked the cigar—an expensive one, by the way—with not a little satisfaction. He recounted the story to a group of admiring friends, who had not been fortunate enough to witness it. It's you that's got the cheek, Mickey," said Teddy Donovan. You did it neat, said another. Maybe I'll try that some day. You'd better not. The cop might get hold of you. Was it a good cigar, Mickey? Wasn't it just? I wish I'd got another. Stand straight, Teddy. I would if I had the stamps. I'm saving up my money to go to the Old Bowery to-night. The boys were standing in a little group, and in the interest of their discussion did not observe the approach of James Gilbert, who was now visiting the park with a special object in view. With an expression of satisfaction he recognized the boy who had served him a trick the day before. Indeed, it was not easy to mistake Mickey. The blue coat with brass buttons and the faded overalls would have betrayed him, even if his superior height had not distinguished him from his comrades. Had Mickey been aware of Gilbert's approach he would have thought it prudent to change his base, but his back being turned he was taken by surprise. His attention was drawn by a tap on the shoulder, and looking round he recognized his enemy as he regarded him. He started to turn, but was withheld by a strong grasp. Leave me alone, will you? He said, ducking his head as if he expected a blow. I believe you are fond of smoking," said Gilbert, continuing to hold him tight. Mickey maintained silence, and sometimes exchanged a poor cigar for a good one, continued his captor. It was a mistake, said Mickey. What did you run for, then? What are you going to do about it, mister? asked one boy, curiously. So it was a mistake, was it? said Gilbert. Yes, sir, said Mickey glibly. Take care you don't make the mistake again, then. Now you may black my boots. Not only the boys who were standing by, but Mickey himself was considerably surprised at this unexpected turn. They confidently expected that Mickey would get a licking, and instead of that he found himself a customer. Their respect for Gilbert was considerably diminished for failing to exact punishment, and their interest in the affair being over, they withdrew. Mickey laid down his box and commenced operations. How long have you been a boot-black? asked Gilbert. Five years, going on six, said Mickey. Can you earn much? No, said Mickey. Business ain't very good now. Can you manage to dress well? said Gilbert, with an amuse to look at Mickey's habiliments. Yes, said Mickey, with a glance at the brass buttons. But I had to borrow the money to buy my clothes. There used to be a boy around here. That was called Dick. Did you know him? There be a good many, Dicks. Which do you mean? This boy was nearly your size. I believe they called him Ragged Dick. I knowed him, said Mickey, shortly with a scowl. Was he a friend of yours? No, he wasn't. I gave him a licking once. The fact happened to be the other way. But Mickey was not very scrupulous as to the strict tooth of his statements. You don't like him, then. Where is he now? In the store, and swells round with good clothes. Have you seen him lately? No, and I don't want to. He wears a gold watch now. I suppose he wouldn't have anything to say to you. Maybe not, said Mickey. It would be a good joke if he should lose his place and have to go back to boot-lacking again. I wish he would, said Mickey fervently. It'd cure him of putting on airs. If, for example, his employer should be convinced that he was a thief, he would discharge him. Do you know him, mister? asked Mickey, looking up suddenly. Yes. Is he a friend of yours? I like him about as well as you do, said Gilbert. Done, said Mickey, releasing the second foot. Suppose you brush the other boot again. I'll pay you double. I want to talk to you a little. All right, said Mickey, and he resumed operations. The conversation that followed we do not propose to Chronicle. The results will appear hereafter. Enough that Gilbert and Mickey departed mutually satisfied. The latter richer by five times his usual fee. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12. A Fame and Fortune. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Fame and Fortune, or the Progress of Richard Hunter by Horatio Alger Jr. Chapter 12. Dick falls into a trap. One evening, when Dick and Fosdick returned from their respective stores, a surprise awaited them. The postman left some letters for you, said the servant, as she opened the door to admit them. Maybe they're from the tax collectors, said Dick. That's the misfortune of being men of property. What was your tax last year, Fosdick? I don't remember such trifles, said Fosdick. I don't think they was taxes, said the girl seriously. They looked as if they were from a young lady. Very likely they are from Fosdick's wife, said Dick. She is rusticatin' in the country, for the benefit of her health. Maybe they're from yours, Mr. Hunter, said the girl, laughing. No, said Dick gravely. I'm a disconsolate widower, which accounts for my low spirits most of the time, and my poor appetite. Where are the letters? I left them on the bureau in your room, said the servant. They come this afternoon at three o'clock. Both Fosdick and Dick felt not a little curious as to who could have written them letters and hastened upstairs. Entering their chamber they saw two very neat little notes in perfumed French envelopes and with the initial G in colors on the back. On opening them they read the following in a neat, feminine, fine handwriting. As both were alike it will be sufficient to give Dick's. Miss Ida Grayson presents her compliments to Mr. Richard Hunter and solicits the pleasure of his company on Thursday evening next at a little birthday party. Number blank West 24th Street. We're getting fashionable, said Dick. I didn't used to attend many parties when we lived in Mott Street and blacked boots for a livin'. I'm afraid I shan't know how to behave. I shall feel a little bashful, said Fosdick. But I suppose we've got to begin some time. Of course, said Dick. The important position we hold in society makes it necessary. How will I be able to hold levies when I'm mayor if I don't go into society now? Very true, said Fosdick. I don't expect to occupy any such position, but we ought to go in acknowledgment of Mr. Grayson's kindness. Mr. Grayson was the teacher of the Sunday school class, of which both Dick and Fosdick were members. His recommendation had procured Fosdick his pleasant praise, and he had manifested his kindness in various ways. Those who have read ragged Dick were remembered that he had a very sprightly and engaging daughter of ten years of age, who seemed to have taken in a special fancy to Dick. Being wealthy, his kindness had been of great service to both boys, inspiring them with self-respect, and encouraging them to persevere in their efforts to raise themselves to a higher position. The dinner-bell rang just as the boys had finished their discussion, and they went down and took places at the table. Soon Miss Payton came sailing in, shaking her ringlets coquettishly. She was proud of these ringlets, and was never tired of trying their fascinations upon gentlemen. But somehow they had not succeeded in winning a husband. Good evening, Mr. Hunter," said she. You look as if you had had good news. Do I?" said Dick. Perhaps you can tell what it is. I know how it came," said Miss Payton significantly. Then I hope you won't keep me in suspense any longer than you can help. Perhaps you'd rather I wouldn't mention before company? Never mind," said Dick. Don't have any regard to my feelings. They are tough and can stand a good deal. How do you like the letter G?" asked Miss Payton slyly. Very much," said Dick, as long as it behaves itself. What is your favorite letter? Don't think I'm going to tell you, Mr. Hunter. That was a pretty little note, and in a young lady's hand, too. Yes," said Dick. Perhaps you'd like to see it. You wouldn't show it to me on any account, I know. You may see it if you like," said Dick. May I? Really? I should like to very much. But would the young lady like it? I don't think she'd mind. She's written one to my friend Fosdick just like it. Dick passed the invitation across the table. It's very pretty indeed," said Miss Payton, and is Miss Ida Grayson very handsome. I'm no judge of beauty," said Dick. So she lives in West 24th Street. Is her father rich? I don't know how rich," said Dick, but my impression is that his taxes last year were more than mine. I now know what your favorite letters are," said Miss Payton. They are I, G. I, G are very well. As long as you don't put P before them, said Dick. Here another cup of tea, Mrs. Browning. I should think you'd need some tea after such a brilliant effort, Hunter," said Mr. Clifton, from across the table. Yes, said Dick. I find my brain gets exhausted every now and then by my intellectual efforts. Ain't you troubled that way? Can't say I am. Don't you want to go out and try a game of billiards this evening? No, thank you. I've got to study. I expect to see you a college professor some of these days. I haven't made up my mind yet," said Dick. I'm open to an offer, as the oyster remarked when he was placed on the table. If I can serve my fellow men best by being a college professor and getting a big salary, I'm willing to sacrifice my private feelings for the public good. Do you agree with your friend, Mr. Fosdick, said Miss Payton? Won't you favor us with your views? I have none worth mentioning, said Fosdick. I leave my friend to do the talking while I attend to the eating. Mr. Hunter's remarks are very entertaining, said Miss Payton. Thank you, said Dick, but my friend prefers a different kind of entertainment. The boys rose from the table and went up to their room to look over the evening's lessons. They were quite pleased with their new teacher, whom they found not only competent for his task, but interested in promoting their progress. He was able to help them readily out of their difficulties and encouraged them to persevere. So they came to look forward to their evening lessons, not as tasks, but as pleasant exercises. It's strange, said Dick, one evening after the teacher had left them. I used to enjoy going to the Old Bowery so much. I went two or three times a week sometimes. Now I would a good deal rather stay home and study. Then you didn't have a home, and the lighted theater must have been much pleasanter than the cold and cheerless streets. Yes, that was it. I used to get so tired sometimes of having no home to go to and nobody to speak to that I cared about. You'd hardly like to go back to the old life, Dick. No, it would come pretty hard to me now. I didn't seem to mind it so much then. Because you had never known anything better. No, it was a lucky day when I met you, Fosdick. I'd never had the patience to learn. Reading or trying to read always gave me the headache. You always leave off the last letter in such words as reading, Dick. You should be more careful now that you associate with educated persons. I know it, Fosdick, but I'm so used to dropping. I mean dropping the G that it comes natural. I will try to remember it. But about this party, shall we have to get new clothes? No, we each have a nice suit and we shan't be expected to dress in the height of fashion. I wish it were over. I dread it. So do I, a little. But I think we shall enjoy it. Ida is a nice girl. That's so. If I had a sister, I'd like her to be like Ida. Perhaps she'd like a brother like you. I noticed she seems to fancy your company. I hope you're not jealous, Fosdick. You can be a brother to Miss Peyton, you know. Fosdick laughed. There's no chance for me there, either," he said. She evidently prefers you. I'll adopt her for my aunt, if it'll be gratifying to her feelings," said Dick. But I ain't partial to ringlets as a general thing. It is well perhaps that Miss Peyton did not hear these remarks, as she cherished the idea that both Fosdick and Dick were particularly pleased with her. A day or two afterwards Dick was walking leisurely through Chatham Street about half past one o'clock. He was allowed an hour, about noon, to go out and get some lunch, and he was now on his way from the restaurant which he usually frequented. As it was yet early he paused before a window to look at something which attracted his attention. While standing here he became conscious of a commotion in his immediate neighbourhood. Then he felt a hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat and instantly withdrawn. Looking up he saw Mickey Maguire dodging round the corner. He put his hand into his pocket mechanically and drew out a pocket-book. Just then a stout red-faced man came up puffing and evidently in no little excitement. Seize that boy! he gasped, pointing to Dick. He's got my pocket-book! Contrary to the usual rule in such cases, a policeman did happen to be about, and following directions stepped up and laid his hand on Dick's shoulder. You must come with me, my fine fellow! he said. Hand over that pocket-book, if you please. What's all this about? said Dick. Here's the pocket-book, if it is yours. I'm sure I don't want it. You're a cool hand, said the Guardian of the Public Peace. If you don't want it, what made you steal it from this gentleman's pocket? I didn't take it, said Dick, shortly. Is this the boy that stole your pocket-book? demanded the policeman of the red-faced man, who had now recovered his breath. It's the very young rascal. Does he pretend to deny it? Of course he does. They always do. When it was found on him, too, I never knew such bare-faced impudence. Stop a minute, said Dick, while I explain. I was standing, looking in that window, when I felt something thrust into my pocket. I took it out and found it to be that pocket-book. Just then that gentleman came up and charged me with the theft. That's a likely story, said the officer. If anyone put that pocket-book into your pocket, it shows you were a confederate of his. You'll have to come with me. And poor Dick, for the first time in his life, was marched to the station-house, followed by his accuser and a gang of boys. Among these last, but managing to keep at a respectful distance, was Mickey McGuire. CHAPTER XIII. DICK IN THE STATION-HOUSE. Poor Dick! If Trinity Church Spire had suddenly fallen to the ground, it could scarcely have surprised and startled him more than his own arrest for theft. During the hard apprenticeship which he had served as a street-boy, he had not been without his share of faults and errors. But he had never, even under the severest pressure, taken what did not belong to him. Of religious and moral instruction, he had then received none. But something told him that it was mean to steal, and he was true to this instinctive feeling. Yet, if he had been arrested a year before, it would have brought him less shame and humiliation than now. Now he was beginning to enjoy the feeling of respectability, which he had compassed by his own earnest efforts. He felt he was regarded with favour by those whose good opinion was worth having, and his heart swelled within him as he thought that they might be led to believe him guilty. He had never felt so downhearted as when he walked in company with the policeman to the station-house, to be locked up for examination the next morning. You wasn't sharp enough this time, young fellow," said the policeman. Do you think I stole the pocket-book? asked Dick, looking up in the officer's face. Oh no! Of course not! You wouldn't do anything of that kind, said the policeman ironically. No, I wouldn't," said Dick emphatically. I've been poor enough and hungry enough sometimes, but I never stole. It's mean. What's your name? said the officer. I think I have seen you before. I used to black boots. Then my name was Ragged Dick. I know you. Your name is Jones. Ragged Dick? Yes. Yes, I remember. You used to be pretty well out at the elbows, if I remember rightly. My clothes used to be pretty well ventilated," said Dick, smiling faintly. That made me so healthy, I expect. But did you ever know me to steal? No, said the officer. I can't say I have. I lived about the streets for more than eight years, said Dick, and this is the first time I was ever arrested. What do you do now? I'm in a store on Pearl Street. What wages do you get? Ten dollars a week. Do you expect me to believe that story? It's true. I don't believe there's a boy of your age in the city that gets such wages. You can't earn that amount. I jumped into the water and saved the life of Mr. Rockwell's little boy. That's why he pays me so much. Where did you get that watch and chain? Are they gold? Yes. Mrs. Rockwell gave them to me. It seems to me you're in luck. I wasn't very lucky to fall in with you, said Dick. Don't you see what a fool I should have been to pick pockets now when I'm so well off? That's true, said the officer, who began to be shaken in his previous conviction of Dick's guilt. If I'd been going into that business, I would have tried it when I was poor and ragged. I should not have waited till now. If you didn't take the pocket-book, then how came it in your pocket? I was looking in at a shop window when I felt it thrust into my pocket. I suppose it was the thief who did it, to get out of the scrape himself. That might be. At any rate, I've known of such cases. If so, you are unlucky, and I am sorry for you. I can't let you go, because appearances are against you. But if there is anything I can do to help you, I will. Thank you, Mr. Jones, said Dick, gratefully. I did not want you to think me guilty. Where is the man that lost the pocket-book? Just behind us. I should like to speak to him a moment. The red-faced man, who was a little behind, came up, and Dick asked quietly, What makes you think I took your pocket-book, sir? Wasn't it found in your pocket, you young rascal? said the other, irritably. Yes, said Dick. And isn't that enough? Not if somebody else put it there, said Dick. That's a likely story. A true story? Can you identify this as the boy who robbed you, in whom you saw running? No, said the red-faced man, rather unwillingly. My eyesight is not very good. But I have no doubt this is the young rascal. Well, that must be decided. You must appear tomorrow morning to prefer your complaint. Mind you don't let the rascal escape, said the other. I shall carry him to the station house, where he will be safe. That's right. I'll make an example of him. He won't pick my pocket again in a hurry. I hope the judge won't be so sure that I am guilty, said Dick. If he is, it'll go hard with me. Why don't you call your employer to testify to your good character? That's a good idea. Can I write a note to him, and to another friend? Yes, but perhaps the mail wouldn't carry them in time. I'll send a message. Can I do so? When we get to the station house, I will see that you have a chance to send. Here we are. Escorted by the officer, and followed by his accuser, Dick entered. There was a railing at the upper end of the room, and behind it a desk at which sat a captain of the squad. The officer made his report, which, though fair and impartial, still was sufficient to cause our hero's commitment for trial. What's your name? questioned the captain. Dick thought it best to be straightforward, and though he winced at the idea of his name appearing in the daily papers, answered in a manly tone, Richard Hunter. Of what nation? American. Where were you born? In this city. What is your age? Sixteen years. These answers were recorded, and, as Dick expressed a desire to communicate with his friends before trial, permission was given him to write to them, and the trial was appointed for the next morning at the tombs. The red-faced man certified that his wallet contains nine dollars and sixty-two cents, which was found to be correct. He agreed to be present the next morning to prefer his charge, and it was such manifest pleasure that he was not retained, as it sometimes happens, to ensure his appearance. I will find a messenger to carry your notes, said the friendly officer. Thank you, said Dick. I will take care that you are paid for your trouble. I require no pay, except what I have to pay the messenger. Dick was escorted to a cell for safekeeping. He quickly dashed off a letter to Mr. Murdock, fearing that Mr. Rockwell might not be in the store. It was as follows. Mr. Murdock, what will you think when I tell you that I have been unlucky enough to be arrested on suspicion of picking a man's pocket? The real thief slipped the wallet into my pocket as I was looking into a shop window, and it was found on me. I couldn't prove my innocence, so here I am at the station house. They will think strange at the store because I am absent. Will you tell Mr. Rockwell privately what has detained me? But don't tell Mr. Gilbert. He don't like me any too well, and would believe me guilty at once, or pretend he did. I am sure you won't believe I would do such a thing, or Mr. Rockwell either. Will you come and see me tonight? I am to be tried tomorrow morning. I ain't very proud of the hotel where I am stopping, but they didn't give me much choice in the matter. Richard Hunter, station house Franklin Street. The other letter was to Vosdick. Here it is. Dear Vosdick, I didn't much think when I left you this morning that I should be writing to you from the station house before night. I'll tell you how it happened. Here follows a detailed account, which is omitted, as the reader is already acquainted with all the circumstances. Of course there will wonder at the boarding house where I am. If Miss Payton or Mr. Clifton inquires after me tonight, you can say that I am detained by business of importance. That's true enough. I wish it wasn't. As soon as dinner is over, I wish you'd come and see me. I don't know if you can, not being acquainted with the rules of this hotel. I shan't stop here again very soon if I can help it. There's a woman in the next cell who was arrested for fighting. She is swearing frightfully. It almost makes me sick to be in such a place. It's pretty hard to have this happen to me just when I was getting along so well. But I hope it'll come out right. Your true friend, Dick. P.S. I've given my watch and chain to the officer to keep for me. Gold watches ain't fashionable here, and I didn't want them to think me putting on airs. Station House, Franklin Street. After Dick had written these letters, he was left to himself. His reflections, as may readily be supposed, were not the most pleasant. What would they think at the boarding house if they should find what kind of business it was that had detained him? Even if he was acquitted, some might suppose that he was really guilty. But there was a worse contingency. He might be unable to prove his innocence, and might be found guilty. In that case, he would be sent to the island. Dick shuttered at the thought. Just when he began to feel himself respectable, it was certainly bad to meet with such hard luck. What, too, would Mr. Grayson and Ida think? He had been so constant at the Sunday school that his absence would be sure to be noticed, and he knew that his former mode of life would make his guilt more readily believed in the present instance. If Ida should think me a pickpocket, thought poor Dick, and the thought made him miserable enough. The fact was that Ida, by her vivacity in lively manners and her evident partiality for his society, had quite won upon Dick, who considered her by all odds the nicest girl he had ever seen. I don't mean to say that Dick was in love, at least not yet. Both he and Ida were too young for that. But he was certainly quite an admirer of the young lady. Again, if you were convicted, he would have to give up the party to which he had been invited, and he could never hope to get another invitation. All these reflections helped to increase Dick's unhappiness. I doubt if he had ever felt so unhappy in all his life. But it never once occurred to him that his arrest was brought about by the machinations of his enemies. He hadn't chanced to see Mickey Maguire, and had no suspicion that it was he who dropped the wallet into his pocket. Still lest it he suspect that Gilbert's hostility had led him so far as to conspire with such a boy as Mickey against him. It was lucky that he did not know this, or he would have felt still more unhappy. But it is now time to turn to Mickey Maguire and Mr. Gilbert, whose joint scheme had met with so much success. CHAPTER XIV Mickey Maguire's Disappointment Mickey Maguire waited until Dick was actually on the way to the station house, and then started for Pearl Street to acquaint Gilbert with the success of his machinations. His breast swelled with triumph at the advantage he had gained over his enemy. Maybe he'll keep his cheering reflections to himself another time. Thought Mickey, he won't have much to say about my going to the island when he's been there himself. They won't stand none of his heirs there, I'm thinkin'. There was another pleasant aspect to the affair. Mickey had not only triumphed over his enemy, but he was going to be paid for it. This was the stipulation between Gilbert and himself. The bookkeeper had not promised any definite sum, but Mickey, in speculating upon the proper compensation for his service, fixed upon five dollars as about what he ought to receive. Like many others who count their chickens before they are hatched, he had already begun to consider what he would buy with it when he had got it. Now only the day previous Mickey had noticed hanging in a window in Chatham Street a silver watch and chain attached, which was labelled Genuine Silver, only five dollars. Since Mickey had been the possessor of a blue coat with brass buttons, his thoughts had dwelt more than ever before on his personal appearance, and the watch had struck his fancy. He did not reflect much on the probable quality of a silver watch which could be sold for five dollars, and a chain thrown into the bargain. It was a watch at any weight, and would make a show. Besides, Dick wore a watch, and Mickey felt that he did not wish to be outdone. As soon as he received his award, he meant to go and buy it. It was therefore in a very cheerful frame of mind that Mickey walked up in front of Rockwell and Cooper's store, and took his stand, occasionally glancing at the window. Ten minutes passed away, and still he remained unnoticed. He grew impatient, and determined to enter, making his business an excuse. Entering, he saw through the open door of the office, the bookkeeper, bending over the desk, writing, "'Shine your boots?' he asked. Gilbert was about to answer angrily in the negative. When looking up, he recognized his young confederate. His manner changed, and he said, "'Yes, I believe I'll have a shine. But you must be quick about it.' Mickey swung his box from his shoulder, and, sinking upon his knees, seized his brush, and went to work scientifically. "'Any news?' asked Gilbert, in a low voice. "'Yes, mister. I've done it,' said Mickey. "'Have you managed to trap him?' "'Yes. I left him on his way to the station house.' "'How did you manage it?' I grabbed an old fellow's wallet, and dropped it into Dick's pocket. He pulled it out, and while he was looking at it, up came the cop and nabbed him. "'How about the man from whom the wallet was taken?' He come up puffin', and swore Dick was the chap that stole it. "'So he was carried off to the station house?' "'Yes. He's there safe enough.' "'Then we shall have to carry on business without him,' said Gilbert Cooley. "'I hope he will enjoy himself at his new quarters.' "'Maybe they'll send him up to the island,' said Mickey, beginning his professional operations upon the second boot.' "'Very likely,' said Gilbert, I suppose you've been there before this.' "'What if I have?' said Mickey, in a rather surly tone, for he did not relish the illusion.' "'No offence,' said Gilbert. "'I only meant that if you have ever been there, you can judge whether your friend Dick will enjoy it.' "'Not a great deal,' said Mickey, but you needn't call him my friend. I hate him.' "'Near enemy then. But get through as soon as possible.' Mickey struck his brush upon the floor, to indicate that the job was finished, and rising waited for his fee. Gilbert took from his pocket ten cents and handed him. "'That's for the shine,' he said, and here's something for the other matter.' So, saying, he placed in the hand of the boot-black a banknote. Mickey glanced at it, and his countenance changed ominously when he perceived the denomination. It was a one-dollar bill. "'It's one dollar,' he said. "'Isn't that enough?' "'No, it isn't,' he answered sullenly. "'I might have been nabbed myself. I can't afford to work on no such terms.' Mickey was right. It was certainly a very small sum to receive for taking such a risk, apart from all moral considerations, and his dissatisfaction can hardly be wondered at. But Gilbert was not of a generous nature. In fact, he was disposed to be mean, and in the present instance he had even expected to get the credit of being generous. A dollar, he thought, must seem an immense sum to rugged boot-black. But Mickey thought differently, and Gilbert felt irritated at his ingratitude. "'It's all you'll get,' he said roughly. "'Then you'd better get somebody else to do your dirty work next time, mister,' said Mickey angrily. "'Clear out, you young black-ard,' exclaimed Gilbert, his temper by this time fully aroused. "'Clear out, if you don't want to be kicked out.' "'Maybe you'll wish you'd given me more,' said Mickey, sullenly picking up his box and leaving the office.' "'What's the matter?' asked Mr. Murdock, who happened to come up just as Mickey went into the street, and heard the last words of the altercation.' "'Oh,' said Gilbert carelessly, he wasn't satisfied with his pay. I gave him ten cents, but the young rascal wanted more.' As he said this, he turned back to his desk. "'I wonder whether Gilbert's going anywhere,' thought the head clerk. "'I never knew him so extravagant before. He must be going out this evening.' Just then it occurred to him that Dick had been absent longer than usual, and as he needed his services, he asked. "'Has Richard returned, Mr. Gilbert?' "'I haven't seen him.' "'Did he go out at the usual time?' "'Yes.' "'What can have detained him?' said Mr. Murdock thoughtfully. "'He's probably fallen in with some of his old friends, and forgotten all about his duties.' "'That is not his way,' said Mr. Murdock quietly, as he walked away. He understood very well Mr. Gilbert's hostility to Dick, and that the latter was not likely to receive a favourable judgement at his hands. Five minutes later a boy entered the store, and looking about him a moment, in uncertainty said, "'I want to see Mr. Murdock.' "'I am Mr. Murdock,' he answered. "'Then this note is for you.' The clerk felt instinctively that the note was from Dick, and not wishing Gilbert to hear the conversation, motioned the boy to follow him to the back part of the store. Then he opened and read the note quickly. "'Did Richard Hunter give this to you?' he asked. "'No,' said Tim Ryan, for that was his name. "'It was the cop that arrested him.' "'I suppose a cop is a policeman.' "'Yes, sir.' "'Were you present when he was arrested?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Do you know anything about it?' "'Yes, I see it all.' "'You saw the wallet taken.' "'Yes, sir.' "'Did Richard take it?' "'You mean Dick?' said Tim, interrogatively, for Richard was to him a strange name. "'No, he didn't then. He wouldn't steal. I never knowed him to.' "'Then you know Dick?' "'Yes, sir. I've known him ever since I was so high.' "'Indicating a point about three feet above the floor.' "'Then who did take it, if not he?' "'Mickey McGuire.' "'Who is he?' "'He blacks boots.' "'Then how did it happen that he was not arrested?' "'Mickey was smart enough to drop the wallet into Dick's pocket, "'as he was standing before a shop window. "'Then he got out of the way, and Dick was nabbed by the cop.' "'Is this Mickey of whom you speak, a friend of yours?' "'No. He likes to bully small boys.' "'Then why didn't you tell the officer he had arrested the wrong boy?' "'I wanted to,' said Tim. "'For Dick's always been kind to me. "'But I was afraid Mickey would give me a beating when he got free. "'Then there was another reason.' "'What was that?' "'It's mean to tell of a fellow.' "'Isn't it meaner to let an innocent boy get punished "'than you might save him by telling?' "'Maybe it is,' said Tim, perplexed. "'My lad,' continued Mr. Murdock, "'you say Dick has been kind to you. "'You now have an opportunity to repay all he has ever done "'by clearing him from this false charge, which you can easily do.' "'I'll do it,' said Tim stoutly. "'I don't care if Mickey does lick me for it.' "'By the way,' said Mr. Murdock, with a sudden thought, "'what is the appearance of this Mickey McGuire?' "'He's rather stout and has freckles.' "'Does he wear a blue coat with large brass buttons?' "'Yes,' said Tim in surprise. "'Do you know him?' "'I have seen him this morning,' said Mr. Murdock. "'Wait a minute, and I will give you a line to Dick, "'or rather it will not be necessary. "'If you can get a chance, let him know that I am going to call "'on him this afternoon. "'Will you be at the station house, or near it, at six o'clock?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Then we can arrange about your appearing as a witness at the trial. "'Here is a half-dollar for your trouble in bringing the note.' "'I don't want it, sir,' said Tim. "'I don't want to take anything for doing a good turn to Dick.' "'But you have been prevented from earning money. "'You had better take it.' "'But Tim, who was a warm-hearted Irish boy, steadfastly refused, "'and left the store in quest of Henderson's hat and cap-store, "'having also a note to deliver to Fosdick.' "'So that was Mickey McGuire, who was here a little while since,' said Mr. Murdock to himself. "'It seems singular that immediately after getting Richard into trouble, "'he should have come here where he was employed. "'Can it be that Gilbert had a previous acquaintance with him?' "'The more Mr. Murdock reflected, the more perplexed he became. "'It did cross his mind that the two might be in league against Dick. "'But then, on the other hand, they evidently parted on bad terms, "'and this seemed to make such a combination improbable. "'So he gave up puzzling himself about it, reflecting that time "'would clear up what seemed mysterious about the affair. "'Gilbert, on his part, could not help wondering on what errand "'Tim Ryan came to Mr. Murdock. "'He suspected he might be a messenger from Dick, "'but thought it best not to inquire, "'and Mr. Murdock did not volunteer any information. "'When the store closed, the head clerk bent his steps "'toward the station house.' End of Chapter 14 The station house, to which Dick had been conveyed, is situated in that part of Franklin Street, which lies between Center and Baxter Streets. The last is one of the most wretched streets in the city, lined with miserable buildings, and the only one in the city where there are no buildings, and the only one in the city where there are no buildings, and the only one in the city where there are no buildings, The last is one of the most wretched streets in the city, lined with miserable tenement houses, policy shops, and second-hand clothing stores. Whoever passes through it in the evening will do well to look to the safety of his pocketbook and watch, if he is imprudent enough to carry either in a district where the Ten Commandments are unknown or unregarded. The station house is an exception to the prevailing squalidness, being kept with great neatness. Mr. Murdock ascended the steps and found himself in a large room, one side of which was fenced off by a railing. Behind this was a desk, at which sat the officer in charge. To him, Mr. Murdock directed himself. Have you a boy named Richard Hunter in the house? Yes, said the sergeant, referring to his minutes. He was brought in this afternoon, charged with picking a gentleman's pocket. There is some mistake about this. He is as honest as I am. I have nothing to do with that. He will have a fair trial tomorrow morning. All I have to do is to keep him in safe custody till then. Of course. Where is he? In a cell below. Can I see him? If you wish. The officer summoned an attendant and briefly ordered him to conduct Mr. Murdock to Dick's cell. This way, sir, said the attendant. Mr. Murdock followed him through a large rear room, which is intended for the accommodation of the officers. Then, descending some steps into the courtyard, he descended thence into the apartments in the basement. Here are the cells for the temporary detention of offenders who are not at once sent to the tombs for trial. The passages are whitewashed and the cells look very neat. They are on either side with a grading so that one passing along can look into them readily. They are probably about seven feet long by four or five in width. A neural-raised bedstead, covered with a pallet, occupies one side on which the prisoner can either lie or sit as he pleases. How are you, boss? asked a negro woman who had been arrested for drunkenness, swaying forward as Mr. Murdock passed and nearly losing her balance as she did so. Can't you give me a few cents to buy some supper? Turning from this revolting spectacle, Mr. Murdock followed his guide to the second cell beyond, where our hero was confined. Is it you, Mr. Murdock? exclaimed our hero, joyfully jumping to his feet. I am glad to see you. And I am glad to see you, but I wish it were somewhere else, said Mr. Murdock. So do I, said Dick. I ain't partial to this hotel, though the accommodations is gratuitous and the company is very select. I see you will have your joke, Dick, even in such a place. I don't feel so jolly as I might, said Dick. I never was in the station house before, but I shall be lucky if I don't get set to a worse place. Have you any idea who took the wallet which was found in your pocket? No, said Dick. Do you know a boy called Mickey McGuire, preceded Mr. Murdock? Yes, said Dick, looking up in surprise. Mickey used to be a great friend of mine. He'd be delighted if he only knew I was enjoying the hospitality of the government. He does know it, said Mr. Murdock quietly. How do you know, asked Dick quickly. Because it was he that stole the wallet and put it in your pocket. How did you find out, asked Dick eagerly? Do you know a boy named Tim Ryan? Yes, he's a good boy. It was he that brought me your note. He saw the whole proceeding. Why didn't he tell and stop my being arrested then? I asked him that, but he said he was afraid Mickey would beat him when he found out. But he is a friend of yours, and he stands ready to testify what he knows at your trial tomorrow morning. That's lucky, said Dick, breathing a sigh of relief. So it was Mickey served me the trick. He always loved me like a brother Mickey did, but I didn't expect he'd steal from my benefit. I'm very much obliged to him, but I'd rather dispense with such little favors another time. You will be surprised to learn that Mickey came round to our store this afternoon. What for? questioned Dick in amazement. I don't know whether he came by accident or design, but Mr. Gilbert employed him to black his boots. Mr. Gilbert? Yes, they seemed to be conversing earnestly, but I was too far off to hear what was said. Finally Gilbert appeared to get angry and drove the boy out. That's strange, said Dick thoughtfully. Mr. Gilbert loves me about as much as Mickey does. Yes, there seems to be some mystery about it. We may find out sometime what it is, but here is your friend Fosdick. How are you, Fosdick, hailed Dick from his cell? I'm holding a little levy down here. Did you receive my card of invitation? I've been uneasy all afternoon, Dick, said Fosdick. Ever since I heard you were here, I've been longing to come and see you. Then you ain't ashamed of me, even if I am in the station house? Of course I know you don't deserve to be here. Tell me all about it. I only got a chance to speak a minute with Tim Ryan, for there were customers waiting. I'll tell you all I know myself, said Dick. I'm sorry to keep you standing, but the door is locked, and I've accidentally lost the key. So I can't invite you into my parlor, as the spider invited to fly. Don't stand on ceremony, Dick. I'd just as leave, stay outside. So would I, said Dick, rather ruefully. The story was told over again, with such new light as Mr. Murdock had been able to throw upon it. It's just like Mickey, said Fosdick. He's a bad fellow. It was a rather mean trick, said Dick, but he hasn't had a very good bringing up, or maybe he'd be a better boy. That he should have spoken thus at the moment when he was suffering from Mickey's malice showed a generosity of feeling which was characteristic of Dick. No one was more frank, open, or free from malice than he, though always ready to stand up for his rights when he considered them assailed. It is this quality in Dick, joined to his manly spirit, which makes him a favorite with me, as he is also with you, let me hope, young reader. He'll come out right, Dick, said Fosdick cheerfully. Tim Ryan's testimony will clear you. I feel a good deal better about it now than I did this afternoon, when I didn't know how things were likely to go with you. I hope so, said Dick, but I'm afraid you won't get any supper if you stay any longer with me. How about your supper, Dick? asked Fosdick with sudden thought. Do they give you any in this establishment? No, said Dick, this hotel's on the European system with improvements. You get your lodging for nothing, and nothing to eat along with it. I don't like the system much. I don't think I could stand it more than a week without its hurt in my constitution. I'll go out and get you something, Dick, said Fosdick. If the rules of the establishment allow it, shall I? Well, said Dick, I might eat a little, though the place isn't very stimulating to the appetite. What shall I bring you? I ain't particular, said Dick. Just then the attendant came along, and Fosdick inquired if he would be allowed to bring his friend something to eat. Certainly, was the reply. We provide nothing ourselves, as the prisoners only stay with us a few hours. I'll be right back, said Fosdick. Not far from the station house, Fosdick found a baker's shop where he bought some bread and cakes, with which he started to return. As he was nearing the station house, he caught sight of Mickey Maguire hovering about the door. Mickey smiled significantly as he saw Fosdick and his burden. Where you carrying that? he asked. Why do you ask, said Fosdick, who could not feel very friendly to the author of Dick's misfortune. Never mind why, said Mickey. I know well enough, it's for your friend Dick. How does he like his new logins? How do you like them? You've been there often enough. Don't be imprudent, or I'll aim ye, said Mickey Scowling. As Fosdick was considerably smaller than himself, Mickey might have ventured upon an assault, but deemed it imprudent in the immediate vicinity of the station house. Give my compliments to Dick, he said. I hope he'll sleep well. To this, Fosdick returned no answer, but entering the building, descended to Dick's temporary quarters. He passed the bread and cake through the grading, and Dick, cheered by the hope of an acquittal on the morrow, and a speedy recovery of his freedom, partook with a good appetite. Can't you give me a mouthful, boss? muttered the negro woman before mentioned, as she caught sight of Fosdick's load. He passed a cake through the grading, which she seized eagerly and devoured with appetite. I think I must be going, said Mr. Murdoch, consulting his watch, or my wife and children won't know what has become of me. Good night, Mr. Murdoch, said Dick. Thank you for your kindness. Good night, Richard. Keep up your courage. I'll try to. Fosdick stopped longer. At last he went away, and our hero, left to himself, laid down upon his pallet and tried to get to sleep. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16. Of Fame and Fortune This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Barry Eads. Fame and Fortune, or the Progress of Richard Hunter, by Horatio Alger. Chapter 16. Roswell Crawford Retires from Business Can you send this home for me? Asked a lady in Hall and Turner's store about three o'clock in the afternoon of the day on which Dick, as we have related, was arrested. Certainly, madam. Where shall it be sent? asked the clerk. North 47 West 40th Street, was the reply. Very well. It shall be sent up immediately. Here, Roswell. Roswell Crawford came forward not very willingly. He had no great liking for the task which he saw would be required of him. 40th Street was at least a mile and a half distant, and he had already just returned from a walk in a different direction. Besides, the bundle was a large one, containing three dress patterns. He did not think it very suitable for a gentleman's son to be seen carrying such a large bundle through the streets. Why don't you send Edward? He said, complainingly. He doesn't do half as much as I. I shall send whom I please, said the clerk sharply. You wouldn't do anything if you could help it. I won't carry bundles much longer, said Roswell. You put all the heaviest bundles off upon me. Roswell's back, being turned, he did not observe Mr. Turner, who had come up as he was speaking. What are you complaining about? asked the gentleman. Roswell turned and colored a little when he saw his employer. What is the matter? repeated Mr. Turner. Mr. Evans always gives me the largest bundles to carry, said Roswell. He is always complaining of having carried bundles, said the clerk. He says it isn't suitable work for a gentleman's son. I have noticed it, said Mr. Turner. On the whole, I think, Mr. Crawford, he said with mock deference. I think you have mistaken your vocation in entering a dry goods store. I advise you to seek some more gentlemanly employment. At the end of the week, you are at liberty to leave my employment for one better suited to you. I'm ready to go now, said Roswell sulkily. Very well. If you desire it, I will not insist upon your remaining. If you will come back to the desk, you shall receive what is due you. It was somewhat humiliating to Roswell to feel that his services were so readily dispensed with. Still, he had never liked the place, and heartily disliked carrying bundles. By going at once, he would get rid of the large bundle to be carried to West 40th Street. Congratulating himself, therefore, on the whole, on escaping from what he regarded as a degrading servitude, he walked up to the desk in a dignified manner and received the wages due him. I hope you will find some more congenial employment, said Mr. Turner, who paid him the amount of his wages. I have no doubt I shall, said Roswell loftily. My father was a gentleman, and our family has considerable influence. Well, I wish you success. Goodbye. Goodbye, said Roswell, and walked out of the shop with head erect. He did not quite like going home at once, as explanation would be rather awkward under the circumstances. He accordingly crossed over to Fifth Avenue, considering that the most suitable promenade for a gentleman's son. He could not help regarding with some envy the happy possessors of the elegant buildings which he passed. Why had partial fate denied him that fortune, which would have enabled him to live in this favored locality? Plenty of snobs have gotten money, he thought. How much better I could use it than they? I wish I were rich. You wouldn't catch me slaving my life out in a dry good store, or any other. This was undoubtedly true. Work of any kind had no charms for Roswell. To walk up the avenue swinging a dandy cane, dressed in the height of the fashion, or what was better yet, sitting back luxuriously in an elegant carriage drawn by a dashing span, such was what he regarded himself most fit for. But unfortunately, he was not very likely to realize his wishes. The desire to enjoy wealth doesn't bring it, and the tastes of a gentleman are not a very good stock to begin life with. So Roswell sauntered along in rather a discontented frame of mind until he reached Madison Park, where he sat down on a bench and listlessly watched some boys who were playing there. Hello, Roswell, said one of his acquaintances, coming up by chance. How do you happen to be here? Why shouldn't I be here? I thought you were in a store somewhere on Sixth Avenue. Well, I was, but I have left it. When did you leave it? Today. Got sacked, eh? Sacked in the New York vernacular means discharged from a place. The idea of having it supposed that he had been sacked was not pleasing to Roswell's pride. He accordingly answered, I was never sacked in my life. Besides, it's a low word, and I never use it. Well, you know what I mean. Did they turn you off? No, they didn't. They would have been glad to have me stay. Why didn't you then? I didn't like the business. Dry goods, wasn't it? Yes, a retail dry goods store. And if I ever go into that line again, it'll be in a wholesale store. There's a chance there for a man to rise. You don't call yourself a man yet, do you? I call myself a gentleman, said Roswell shortly. What are you going to do now? I am in no hurry about a new place. I shall look round a little. Well, success to you. I must be getting back to the shop. What are you doing? I'm learning a trade. Oh, said Roswell, turning up his nose slightly, which was quite easy for him to do, as nature had given that organ an upward turn. He thought all trades low and resolved hereafter to hold as little communication as possible with the boy who had so far demeaned himself as to be learning one. That was worse than being in a dry goods store and carrying around bundles. Toward six o'clock, Roswell rose from his seat and sauntered towards Clinton Place, which was nearly a mile distant. He entered the house a little before dinner. Are you not rather earlier than usual, Roswell? asked his mother. I've left the store. He said abruptly. Left the store? echoed his mother in some dismay. Why? Because they don't know how to treat me. It's no fit place for a gentleman's son. I am sorry, Roswell, said Mrs. Crawford, who, like her son, was poor and proud and found the four dollars he earned weekly of advantage. I'm afraid you have been foolish. Listen, mother, and I'll tell you all about it. He said, Roswell gave his explanation, which, it need hardly be said, was very favorable to himself, and Mrs. Crawford was finally brought to believe that Hall and Turner were low people, with whom it was not suitable for one of her son's gentlemanly taste to be placed. His vindication was scarcely over when the bell rang and his cousin Gilbert was admitted. Mr. Gilbert entered briskly with a smiling face. He felt unusually complacent, having succeeded in his designs against our hero. Well, James, said Mrs. Crawford, you look in better spirits than I feel. What happened amiss? Roswell has given up his place. Been discharged, you mean? No, said Roswell. I left the place of my own accord. What for? I don't like the firm nor the business. I wish I were in Mr. Rockwell's. Well, said Gilbert. Perhaps I can get you in there. Has the boot black left? He's found another place, said Gilbert, smiling at what he regarded as a good joke. You don't mean to say he has left a place where he was earning ten dollars a week, said Mrs. Crawford in surprise. Where is this new place that you speak of? In the station house. Is he in the station house? Asked Roswell eagerly. That is what I hear. What's he been doing? He's been charged with picking a pocket. Well, I do hope Mr. Rockwell will now see his folly in engaging a boy from the streets. Said Mrs. Crawford, charitably concluding that there was no doubt of our hero's guilt. What'll be done with him, cousin James? Asked Roswell. He'll be sent to the island, I suppose. He may get clear. I think not. Circumstances are very much against him, I hear. And will you try to get me in, cousin James? I'll do what I can. Perhaps it may be well for you to drop in tomorrow, about ten o'clock. All right, I'll do it. Both Mrs. Crawford's and Roswell's spirits revived wonderfully, and Mr. Gilbert, too, seemed unusually lively. And all because poor Dick had got into difficulties and seemed in danger of losing both his place and his good name. It's lucky I left Hall and Turner's just as I did, thought Roswell complacently. Maybe they'd like to engage the boot-black when he gets out of prison, but I guess he'll have to go back to blacking boots. That's what he's most fit for. Chapter 17 Dick's Aquital After his interview with Mr. Murdock and Henry Fosdick, Dick felt considerably relieved. He not only saw that his friends were convinced of his innocence, but, through Tim Ryan's testimony, he saw that there was a reasonable chance of getting clear. He had begun to set a high value on respectability, and he felt that now he had a character to sustain. The night wore away at last. The pallet on which he lay was rather hard, but Dick had so often slept in places less comfortable that he cared little for that. When he woke up, he did not at first remember where he was, but he very soon recalled the circumstances and that his trial was close at hand. I hope Mr. Murdock won't oversleep himself, thought our hero. If he does, it'll be a gone case with me. At an early hour the attendant of the police station went the rounds, and Dick was informed that he was wanted. Brief space was given for the arrangement of the toilet. In fact, those who availed themselves of the free lodgings provided at the station house rarely pay very great attention to their dress or personal appearance. Dick, however, had a comb in his pocket and carefully combed his hair. He also brushed off his coat as well as he could. He also critically inspected his shoes, not forgetting his old professional habits. I wish I had a brush and some blacken, he said to himself. My shoes would look all the better for a good shine. But time was up, and under the escort of a policeman, Dick was conveyed to the tombs. Probably all my readers have heard of this building. It is a large stone building with massive columns, broad on the ground, but low. It is not only used for a prison, but there are two rooms on the first floor used for the holding of courts. Into the larger one of these Dick was carried. He looked around him anxiously and to his great joy perceived that not only Mr. Murdock was on hand, but Honest Tim Ryan, whose testimony was so important to his defense. Dick was taken forward to the place provided for those awaiting trial and was obliged to await his turn. One or two cases about which there was no doubt, including the colored woman arrested for drunkenness, were summarily disposed of and the next case was called. The policeman who had arrested Dick presented himself with our hero. Dick was so neatly dressed and looked so modest and self-possessed that the judge surveyed him with some surprise. What is this lad charged with, he demanded. With taking a wallet from a gentleman's pocket, said the policeman, did you arrest him? I did. Did you take him in the act? No, I did not see him take it. What have you to say, prisoner? Are you guilty or not guilty? Said the judge, turning to Dick. Not guilty, said Dick quietly. State why you made the arrest, said the judge. I saw him with the wallet in his hand. Is the gentleman who had his pocket picked present? He is. Summon him. The red-faced man came forward and gave his testimony. He stated that he was standing on the sidewalk when he felt a hand thrust into his pocket and forcibly withdrawn. He immediately felt for his wallet and found it gone. Turning, he saw a boy running and immediately gave chase. Was the boy you saw running, the prisoner? I suppose it was. You suppose, don't you know? Of course it was. Or he would not have been found with the wallet in his hand. But you cannot identify him from personal observation. The red-faced man admitted with some reluctance that his eyesight was very poor and he did not catch sight of the boy till he was too far off to be identified. This is not so clear as it might be, said the judge. Still, appearances are against the prisoner and as the wallet was found in his possession he must be found guilty unless that fact can be satisfactorily explained. I have a witness who can explain it, said Dick. Where is he? Tim Ryan, who understood that his evidence was now wanted, came forward. After being sworn, the judge asked, What is your name? Tim Ryan, sir. Where do you live? In Mulberry Street. Tell what you know of this case. I was standing in Channing Street when I saw the old gentleman with the red face. Here the prosecutor scowled at him, not relishing the description which was given of him. Standing at the corner of Pearl Street, a boy came up and put his hand into his pocket and then ran away as fast as his legs could carry him with the wallet in his hand. Who was this boy? Do you know him? Yes, sir. Tell his name. It was Mickey McGuire, said Tim reluctantly. And who is Mickey McGuire? He blacks boots. Then if this Mickey McGuire took the wallet, how happened it that it was found in this boy's possession? I can tell that, said Tim. I ran after Mickey to see if he'd get off with the wallet. He hadn't gone but a little way when I saw him slip it into Dick's pocket. I suppose you mean by Dick, the prisoner at the bar. Yes, sir. And what became of this Mickey? He stopped running after he got rid of the pocketbook and a minute after, up came the cop and took Dick. Why didn't you come forward and explain the mistake? I was afraid Mickey'd beat me. Do you know this Mickey McGuire? said the judge turning to the officer. I do. What is his reputation? Bad. He's been at the island three or four times already. Did you see him anywhere about when you made the arrest? I did. Do you know this boy who has just justified? Yes, he is a good boy. The case seems a clear one. The prisoner is discharged from custody. Arrest Mickey McGuire on the same charge as early as possible. The next case was called and Dick was free. Mr. Murdock came forward and took him by the hand, which he shook heartily. I congratulate you on your acquittal, he said. I feel better than I did, said Dick. Tim, you're a good fellow, he said, clasping Tim's hand. I wouldn't have got off if it hadn't been for you. I ought to do that much for you, Dick, when you've been so kind to me. How are you getting along now, Tim? Pretty well. Mother's got so she can work and we're doing well. When she was sick, it was pretty hard. Here's something to help you along, said Dick, and he drew a bill from his pocket. Five dollars, said Tim in surprise. You can buy some new clothes, Tim. I ought not to take so much as that, Dick. It's all right, Tim. There's some more where that comes from. They were in Center Street by this time. Fosdick came up hurriedly. Have you got off, Dick? he asked eagerly. Yes, Fosdick. There's no chance of my being entertained at the expense of the city. I didn't expect the trial was coming off so early. Tell me all about it. What did they say at the house at my being away? Asked Dick. Miss Peyton inquired particularly after you. I said as you directed me that you were detained by important business. What did she say then? Dick was so particular in his inquiries, fearing least any suspicion should have been formed of the real cause which had detained him. There was no reason for it, but it had always been a matter of pride with him in his vagabond days that he had never been arrested on any charge, and it troubled him that he should even have been suspected of theft. You are fishing for compliments, Dick, said Fosdick. How do you make that out? You want to know what Miss Peyton said. I believe you are getting interested in her. When I am, just send me to a lunatic asylum, said Dick. I am afraid you are getting sarcastic, Dick. However, not to keep you in suspense. Miss Peyton said that you were one of the wittiest young men she knew of, and you were quite the life of the house. I suppose I ought to blush, said Dick, but I am afraid of hunger right now, and it's too much of an effort. I'll excuse you this time, said Fosdick. As to the hunger, that's easily remedied. We shall get home to breakfast and be in good time, too. Fosdick was right. They were the first to seat themselves at the table. Mr. Clifton came in directly afterwards. Dick felt a momentary embarrassment. What would he say, thought our hero? If he knew where I passed the night. Good morning, Hunter, said Clifton. You didn't favor us with your presence at dinner last evening. No, said Dick. I was absent on very important business. Dining with your friend the mayor, probably. Well, no, not exactly, said Dick. But I had some business with the city government. It seems to me that you're getting to be quite an important character. Thank you, said Dick. I am glad to find that genius is sometimes appreciated. Here, Miss Peyton entered. Welcome, Mr. Hunter, she said. We missed you last evening. I hope it didn't affect your appetite much, said Dick. But it did. I appealed to Mr. Fosdick whether I ate anything to speak of. I thought Miss Peyton had a better appetite than usual, said Fosdick. That is too bad of you, Mr. Fosdick, said Miss Peyton. I am sure I didn't eat more than my canary bird. Just the way it affected me, said Dick. It always improves my appetite to see you eat, Miss Peyton. Miss Peyton looked as if she hardly knew whether to understand this remark as complementary or otherwise. That evening at the dinner table, Clifton drew a copy of the Express from Miss Pocket and said, Bye, Joe, Hunter. Here's a capital joke on you. I'll read it. A boy named Richard Hunter was charged with picking a pocket on Chanham Street, but it appearing that the theft was committed by another party he was released from custody. Dick's heart beat a little quicker while this was being read, but he maintained his self-possession. Of course, said he, that was the important business that detained me, but I hope you won't mention it for the sake of my family. I'd make the young rascal change his name if I were you, said Clifton, if he's going to get into the police record. I think I shall, said Dick, or maybe I'll change my own. You couldn't mention a highly respectable name that I could take, could you? Clifton is the most respectable name I know of, said the young gentleman owning that name. If you'll make me your heir, perhaps I'll adopt it. I'll divide my debts with you and give you the biggest half, said Clifton. It is unnecessary to pursue the conversation. Dick found to his satisfaction that no one at the table suspected that he was the Richard Hunter referred to in the Express. CHAPTER XVIII. THE CUP AND THE LIP While Dick's night preceding the trial was an anxious one, Gilbert and Roswell Crawford passed a pleasant evening and slept soundly. Do you think Mr. Rockwell would be willing to give me the same wages he has paid to the boot-black? he inquired with interest. Perhaps he won't take you at all. I think he ought to pay some attention to your recommendation, said Mrs. Crawford. You ought to have some influence with him. Of course, said Gilbert. I shall do what I can in the matter, but it's a pity Roswell can't give better references. He's never been with a decent employer yet. He's been very unlucky about his places, said Mrs. Crawford. She might have added that his employers had considered themselves unfortunate in their engagement of her son, but even if she had known it, she would have considered that they were prejudiced against him and that they were in fault entirely. I shall do what I can for him, continued Gilbert, but I am very sure he won't get as much as ten dollars a week. I can earn as much as the boot-black, I should hope, said Roswell. He didn't earn ten dollars a week. He got it. That's a very different thing. Well, if I get it, I don't care if I don't earn it. That's true enough, said Gilbert, who did not in his heart set a very high estimate upon the services of his young cousin who, had the business been his own, would certainly not have engaged him at any price. Roswell thought it best not to say any more, having on some previous occasions been greeted with remarks from his cousin, which could not by any means be regarded as complementary. Do you think I had better come at ten o'clock, cousin James? inquired Roswell, as breakfast was over, and Gilbert prepared to go to the counting room. Well, perhaps you may come a little earlier. Say about half past nine, said the bookkeeper. All right, said Roswell. Being rather sanguine, he made up his mind that he was going to have the place, and felt it difficult to keep his good fortune secret. Now, in the next house, there lived a boy named Edward McLean, who was in a broker's office in Wall Street at a salary of six dollars a week. Now, though Edward had never boasted of his good fortune, it used to disturb Roswell to think that his place and salary were so much superior to his own. He felt that it was much more respectable to be in a broker's office, independent of the salary, than to run around the city with heavy bundles. But if he could enter such an establishment as Rockwell and Coopers at a salary of ten dollars, he felt that he could look down with conscious superiority upon Edward McLean with his six dollars a week. He went over to his neighbors and found Edward just starting for Wall Street. "'How are you, Roswell?' said Edward. "'Pretty well. Are you going down to the office?' "'Yes.' "'You've got a pretty good place, haven't you?' "'Yes, I like it.' "'How much do you get?' "'Six dollars a week.' "'That's very fair,' said Roswell, patronizingly. "'How do you like your place?' asked Edward. "'I believe you're in a dry good store on Sixth Avenue.' "'Oh, no,' said Roswell. "'Yes, I went in temporarily to oblige them,' said Roswell loftily. "'But, of course, I wouldn't engage to remain any length of time in such a place, however large the inducements they might offer.' "'Considering Roswell's tone, it would hardly have been supposed that the large inducements were four dollars a week, and that, even at that compensation, his services were not desired. "'Then it wasn't a good place,' said Edward. "'Well, enough for such as liked it,' said Roswell. "'I have no complaint of Holland Turner. "'I told him that it was not dissatisfaction with them that led me to leave the place, but I preferred a different kind of business.' "'Have you got another place?' "'I have an offer under consideration,' said Roswell consequently. "'One of the most solid firms in the city. "'They offer me ten dollars a week.' "'Ten dollars a week,' repeated Edward, somewhat staggered by the statement. "'That's big pay.' "'Yes,' said Roswell. "'But I think I ought to get as much as that.' "'Well, I thought myself lucky to get six dollars,' said Edward.' "'Yes, that's very fair,' said Roswell kind of suddenly. "'In fact, I've worked at that figure myself. "'But, of course, one expects more as he grows older.' "'I suppose you'll accept your offer,' said Edward.' "'I haven't quite made up my mind,' said Roswell carelessly. "'I think I shall.' "'You'd better. Such places don't grow on every bush.' "'Though Edward did not more than half believe Roswell's statement. He kept his disbelief to himself, feeling that it was a matter of indifference to him whether Roswell received a large or small salary. "'I must be going down to the office,' he said. "'Good morning.' "'Good morning,' said Roswell, and he re-entered the house, feeling that he had impressed Edward with a conviction of his superiority, and the value set upon his services by the businessmen of New York. He went upstairs and picked out a flashing necktie from his drawer, tied it carefully before the glass, and about nine set out for Rockwell and Cooper's warehouse. It is necessary for us to precede him.' Gilbert reached the counting room at the usual time. His thoughts on the way tither were pleasant. "'I shan't be subjected to that young rascal's impertinence,' he considered. "'That's one satisfaction.' His astonishment, nay, dismay, may be imagined therefore when on entering the counting room the first object his eyes rested on was the figure of Dick. "'Good morning, Mr. Gilbert,' said our hero pleasantly. "'How came you here?' he demanded. "'I walked,' said Dick. "'I don't often ride. I think Walken's good for the Constitution.' "'You know what I mean well enough. How did you get out of prison?' "'I haven't been there.' "'You were arrested for picking a man's pocket yesterday afternoon,' said Gilbert. "'Excuse me, Mr. Gilbert. You're slightly mistaken there. "'I was arrested on suspicion of picking a man's pocket.' "'The same thing.' "'Not quite, as it has been proved that I was innocent and the wallet was taken by another boy.' "'Have you been tried?' "'Yes, and acquitted.' Gilbert looked and felt disappointed. He could not conceive how Dick could have escaped when the plot to entrap him had been so artfully contrived. "'Well, young man,' he said, "'I'll give you a piece of advice, and if you're wise, you'll follow it.' "'That's kind in you,' said Dick.' "'I pass over your impertinence this time, "'and will advise you as a friend "'to resign your situation before Mr. Rockwell comes.' "'Why should I?' "'It'll save your being discharged.' "'Do you think he'll discharge me?' "'I know he will. "'He won't have anyone in his employ "'who has been arrested for picking pockets.' "'Not even if he didn't do it?' "'Not even if he was lucky enough to get off,' said Gilbert. "'You think I'd better give up my place?' "'That'll be the best course for you to pursue.' "'But how will I get another place?' "'I'll do what I can to help you to another place "'if you leave at once.' "'I think I'll wait and see Mr. Rockwell first.' "'I'll make all the necessary explanations "'to Mr. Rockwell,' said the bookkeeper. "'I think I'd rather see him myself "'if it doesn't make any difference to you.' "'You're acting like a fool. "'You'll only be kicked out of the store. "'If you don't follow my advice, "'I shame interest myself in getting you another place.' "'Do you think I took the wallet, Mr. Gilbert?' asked Dick. "'Of course I do.' "'Then how could you recommend me to another place?' "'Because I think this may prove a lesson to you. "'You've been lucky enough to escape this time, "'but you can't expect it always.' "'I much obliged you for your favorable opinion, "'but I don't think I shall resign at once. "'At this moment Mr. Rockwell entered the warehouse. "'He had been informed of Dick's misfortune by Mr. Murdock, "'who had had occasion to call at his house on his way from the trial. "'How's this, Richard?' he said, advancing with a frank smile. "'I hear you got into strange quarters last night.' "'Yes,' said Dick, "'but I didn't like it well enough to stay long. "'Why didn't you send for me?' "'Thank you, sir. I didn't like to trouble you. "'Mr. Murdock was very kind. "'Have they got the real thief?' "'I don't know, sir. "'All's well that ends well. You can afford to laugh at it now.' "'Mr. Gilbert listened to this colloquy with very little satisfaction. "'It seemed to show such a good understanding between Dick and his employer "'that he perceived that it would be a very difficult thing to supersede him.' "'Mr. Rockwell seems to be infatuated with that boy,' he muttered to himself. "'I think I won't resign just yet,' said Dick in a low voice to the bookkeeper. "'You'll be found out someday,' said Gilbert snappishly. "'Go to the post office, and mind you don't stop to play on the way.' Dick started on his errand, and in passing out into the street, encountered Roswell Crawford, who, attired with extra care, had just come down the street from Broadway. On seeing Dick, he started as if he had seen a ghost. "'Good morning, Roswell,' said Dick pleasantly. "'Good morning,' said Roswell stiffly. "'Your cousin is in the counting room. I am in a hurry, and must leave you.' "'I thought he was on his way to the island by this time.' Thought Roswell perplexed. "'What can it mean?' It occurred to him all at once that Dick might just have been discharged, and this thought cheered him up considerably. He entered the counting room with a jaunty step. "'Good morning, cousin James,' he said. Gilbert turned round and said in a surly tone. "'You may as well take yourself off. There's no chance for you here. "'Hasn't the boot black been discharged? "'No, and isn't going to be. How is that?' asked Roswell, looking very much disappointed. "'I can't stop to tell you now. You'd better go now, and I'll tell you this evening. "'Just my luck,' said Roswell to himself, considerably crestfallen. "'I wish I hadn't said a word to Edward McLean about the place.' End of chapter 18 CHAPTER 19 OF FAME AND FORTUN This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Barry Eads. Fame and Fortune Or the Progress of Richard Hunter by Horatio Alger. CHAPTER 19 ANOTHER ARREST Mickey McGuire, as the reader will remember, was by no means satisfied with the compensation he received from Gilbert for his share in the plot which came so near proving disastrous to our friend Dick. He felt that the bookkeeper had acted meanly to him and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocketbook. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch. But in spite of his disappointment he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon Dick, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony and suppose there was no doubt of Dick's conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial, but he had unpleasant associations connected with the courtroom at the tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity. As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpie Jim, came up. Mornin' Jim, said Mickey, what luck. None at all, said Jim, I haven't had a shine yet and I'm precious hungry. Come and take breakfast with me, said Mickey, in an unusual fit of generosity, for he was generally more willing to be treated than to treat. Have you got stamps enough? Look at this, and Mickey displayed the bill which he had received from Gilbert. Mickey, did you make all that by shines? Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you're hungry. Limpie Jim followed Mickey across Printing House Square to a cheap restaurant on Nassau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory. I've got some news, said Mickey after he had drained his cup of coffee. You haven't forgot ragged Dick, have you? He set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting around as if he lived on Fifth Avenue. Well, he set up for something else now. What's that? A pickpocket. What? Asked Jim Amaze. He stole an old chap's pocketbook yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman hauling him off to the police station. That's where he gets his good clothes from? Suggested Jim. Most likely, I expect he's on his way to the island by this time. Serve him right for putting on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now. Wonder what Tom Wilkins will say. He's a great friend of Dick's. He's a sneak, said Mickey. That's so I wanted to borrow a shillin' of him last week, and he wouldn't lend it to me. This Tom Wilkins was a boot-black, like the two who were expressing so unfavorable an opinion of his character. He had a mother and two sisters partially dependent upon him for support, and faithfully carried home all his earnings. This accounts for his being unwilling to pay the limpy Jim, who had no one to look out for but himself, and never considered it necessary to repay borrowed money. Tom had reason to feel friendly to Dick. For on several occasions, one of which is mentioned in the first volume of this series, Dick had given him help in time of need. He was always ready to defend Dick, when reviled by Mickey and his followers, and had once or twice been attacked in consequence. Limpy Jim was right in supposing that nothing would disturb Tom that his friend had got into trouble. Mickey, who was in a generous mood, bought a couple of cheap cigars, of which he presented one to his satellite. They were lighted and both boys, feeling more comfortable for the hearty meal of which they had partaken, swaggered out into the street. They re-entered the park and began to look out for patrons. There is Tom Wilkins now, said Limpy Jim. Tom was busily engaged in imparting a scientific shine to the boots of an old gentleman of the wooden seats to be found in the neighborhood of City Hall. When he had completed his task and risen from his knees, Limpy Jim advanced towards him and said with a sneer, I've heard fine news about your friend Dick. What's that? asked Tom. He's got nabbed by a cop. I don't believe it, said Tom incredulously. Isn't it so, Mickey? said Jim, appealing to his friend. Yes, it's true. I cede him hauled off for picking him up. I don't believe it, repeated Tom, but he began to feel a little uneasy. I saw him and spoke to him yesterday morning. What if you did? It didn't happen till afternoon. Dick wouldn't steal, said Tom stoutly. He'll find it mighty hard work proven that he didn't, said Mickey. You won't see him for the next three months. Why won't I? Because he'll be at the island. Maybe you'll go there yourself. If I do, it'll be for the first time, retorted Tom, as this happened to be true. It was, of course, regarded as offensive. Shut up, Tom Wilkins, said Mickey, if you don't want a licking. None of your impudence, said Limpy Jim, emboldened by the presence and support of Mickey, who was taller and stronger than Tom. I've only told the truth, said Tom, and you can't deny it. Take that for your impudence, said Mickey, drawing off, and hitting Tom a staggering blow on the side of the head. He didn't assist Mickey when there was a very unlooked-for interruption. Mickey McGuire was seized by the collar and, turning indignantly, found himself in the grip of a policeman. So you are fighting, are you, my fine fellow? demanded the guardian of the public peace. He insulted me, said Mickey doggedly, not attempting resistance, which he knew would be ineffectual. Didn't he, Jim? But Jim had already disappeared. He had a prejudice easily accounted for by the Metropolitan Police and had as little communication with them as possible. I don't know anything about that, said the policeman. All I know is that you're wanted. Just for hitting him, I didn't hurt him any. He didn't hurt me much, said Tom generously, not desiring to see Mickey get into trouble on his account. He says I didn't hurt him, urged Mickey. Can't you let me go? That isn't what I want you for, said the policeman. Mickey was astonished. The real cause of his arrest occurred to him, and he could not understand why he was wanted. What is it, then? he asked in some surprise. What have I been doing? Perhaps you don't remember relieving an old gentleman of his pocket book yesterday in Chatham Street. It wasn't me. Who was it then? Ragged Dick, the fellow that was took at the time. I see him pick the man's pocket. It seems that you remember something about it. But it was Dick that did it. If he says I did it, he lies. I have nothing to do with that. That's another story to the judge. Has he let Dick go? Yes. Mickey received this intelligence with dismay. Somehow it had got out that he was the real thief, and he began to think that his chance of getting off was small. Just then, while in custody of the policeman, he saw advancing towards him the man who had invagled him into the plot. Gilbert, the bookkeeper. His anger against Gilbert overcame his prudence, and he said, well, if I did take the pocket book, it was paid for doing it, and that was the man that hired me. With some surprise, the policeman listened to this story. If you don't believe me, just wait till I speak to him. Mr. Gilbert, called Mickey, Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up and rapidly understanding what had happened determined upon his course. Who speaks to me? he said quietly. You've got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert, said Mickey, and I want you to get me out of it. What does he mean? asked Gilbert coolly, addressing the policeman. You hired me to steal a man's pocket book, and I took up for it, said Mickey. I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the island. The boy must be crazy, said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders. You gave me a dollar to do it, said Mickey, very much incensed at the desertion of his confederate. Do you know the boy? asked the policeman respectfully, for he put no faith in Mickey's statement. He blacked my boots once, said Gilbert. That's all I know about him. What has he arrested for? For picking pockets. There was another boy arrested on suspicion, but it appeared on trial that he was innocent, and that this boy really took the wallet. He looks like a young scamp, said Gilbert coolly. I much obliged to him for introducing my name into the matter. I hope he'll get his desserts. This was too much for Mickey's patients. He assailed Gilbert with such a shower of hosts that the policeman tightened his grip and shook him vigorously. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and walked off with apparent unconcern. Wait till I get free, said Mickey furiously. I'll fix him. In regard to Mickey, I have only to say further at this time that he was at once conveyed to the tombs, summarily tried and convicted, and spent the same night on Blackwell's island, where we leave him for three months. And...