CHAPTER IV
MRS. HARDING TAKES A BOARDER
Jack started for the newspaper offices and bought a supply of papers.
"I don't see why I can't sell papers as well as other boys," he said to himself. "I'm going to try, at any rate."
He thought it prudent, however, not to buy too large stock at first. He might sell them all, but then again he might get "stuck" on a part, and this might take away all his profits.
Jack, however, was destined to find that in the newspaper business, as well as in others, there was no lack of competition. He took his place just below the Astor House, and began to cry his papers. This aroused the ire of a rival newsboy a few feet away.
"Get away from here!" he exclaimed, scowling at Jack.
"What for?" said Jack.
"This is my stand."
"Keep it, then. This is mine," retorted Jack, composedly.
"I don't allow no other newsboys in this block," said the other.
"Don't you? You ain't the city government, are you?"
"I don't want any of your impudence. Clear out!"
"Clear out yourself!"
"I'll give you a lickin'!"
"Perhaps you will when you're able."
Jack spoke manfully; but the fact was that the other boy probably was able, being three years older, and as many inches taller.
Jack kept on crying his papers, and his opponent, incensed at the contemptuous disregard of his threats, advanced toward him, and, taking Jack unawares, pushed him off the sidewalk with such violence that he nearly fell flat. Jack felt that the time for action had arrived. He dropped his papers temporarily on the sidewalk, and, lowering his head, butted against his young enemy with such force as to double him up, and seat him, gasping for breath, on the sidewalk. Tom Rafferty, for this was his name, looked up in astonishment at the unexpected form of the attack.
"Well done, my lad!" said a hearty voice.
Jack turned toward the speaker, and saw a stout man dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons. He was dark and bronzed with exposure to the weather, and there was something about him which plainly indicated the sailor.
"Well done, my lad!" he repeated. "You know how to pay off your debts."
"I try to," said Jack, modestly. "But where's my papers?"
The papers, which he had dropped, had disappeared. One of the boys who had seen the fracas had seized the opportunity to make off with them, and poor Jack was in the position of a merchant who had lost his stock in trade.
"Who took them papers?" he asked, looking about him.
"I saw a boy run off with them," said a bystander.
"I'm glad of it," said Tom Rafferty, sullenly.
Jack looked as if he was ready to pitch into him again, but the sailor interfered.
"Don't mind the papers, my lad. What were they worth?"
"I gave twenty cents for 'em."
"Then here's thirty."
"I don't think I ought to take it," said Jack. "It's my loss."
"Take it, my boy. It won't ruin me. I've got plenty more behind."
"Thank you, sir; I'll go and buy some more papers."
"Not to-night. I want you to take a cruise with me."
"All right, sir."
"I suppose you'd like to know who I am?" said the sailor, as they moved off together.
"I suppose you're a sailor."
"You can tell that by the cut of my jib. Yes, my lad, I'm captain of the Argo, now in port. It's a good while since I've been in York. For ten years I've been plying between Liverpool and Calcutta. Now I've got absence to come over here."
"Are you an American, sir?"
"Yes; I was raised in Connecticut, but then I began going to sea when I was only thirteen. I only arrived to-day, and I find the city changed since ten years ago, when I used to know it."
"Where are you staying—at what hotel?"
"I haven't gone to any yet; I used to stay with a cousin of mine, but he's moved. Do you know any good boarding place, where they'd make me feel at home, and let me smoke a pipe after dinner?"
An idea struck Jack. They had an extra room at home, or could make one by his sleeping in the sitting room. Why shouldn't they take the stranger to board? The money would certainly be acceptable. He determined to propose it.
"If we lived in a nicer house," he said, "I'd ask you to board at my mother's."
"Would she take me, my lad?"
"I think she would; but we are poor, and live in a small house."
"That makes no odds. I ain't a bit particular, as long as I can feel at home. So heave ahead, my lad, and we'll go and see this mother of yours, and hear what she has to say about it."
Jack took the way home well pleased, and, opening the front door, entered the sitting room, followed by the sailor.
Aunt Rachel looked up nervously, and exclaimed: "A man!"
"Yes, ma'am," said the stranger. "I'm a man, and no mistake. Are you this lad's mother?"
"No, sir!" answered Rachel, emphatically. "I am nobody's mother."
"Oh, an old maid!" said the sailor, whose mode of life had made him unceremonious.
"I am a spinster," said Rachel, with dignity.
"That's the same thing," said the visitor, sitting down opposite Aunt Rachel, who eyed him suspiciously.
"My aunt, Rachel Harding, Capt. Bowling," introduced Jack. "Aunt Rachel, Capt. Bowling is the commander of a vessel now in port."
Aunt Rachel made a stiff courtesy, and Capt. Bowling eyed her curiously.
"Are you fond of knitting, ma'am?" he asked.
"I am not fond of anything," said Rachel, mournfully. "We should not set our affections upon earthly things."
"You wouldn't say that if you had a beau, ma'am," said Capt. Bowling, facetiously.
"A beau!" repeated Rachel, horror-stricken.
"Yes, ma'am. I suppose you've had a beau some time or other."
"I don't think it proper to talk on such a subject to a stranger," said Aunt Rachel, primly.
"Law, ma'am, you needn't be so particular."
Just at this moment, Mrs. Harding entered the room, and was introduced to Capt. Bowling by Jack. The captain proceeded to business at once.
"Your son, here, ma'am, told me you might maybe swing a hammock for me somewhere in your house. I liked his looks, and here I am."
"Do you think you would be satisfied with our plain fare, and humble dwelling, Capt. Bowling?"
"I ain't hard to suit, ma'am; so, if you can take me, I'll stay."
His manner was frank, although rough; and Mrs. Harding cheerfully consented to do so. It was agreed that Bowling should pay five dollars a week for the three or four weeks he expected to stay.
"I'll be back in an hour," said the new boarder. "I've got a little business to attend to before supper."
When he had gone out, Aunt Rachel began to cough ominously. Evidently some remonstrance was coming.
"Martha," she said, solemnly, "I'm afraid you've done wrong in taking that sailor man."
"Why, Rachel?"
"He's a strange man."
"I don't see anything strange about him," said Jack.
"He spoke to me about having a beau," said Aunt Rachel, in a shocked tone.
Jack burst into a fit of hearty laughter. "Perhaps he's going to make you an offer, Aunt Rachel," he said. "He wants to see if there's anybody in the way."
Rachel did not appear so very indignant.
"It was improper for a stranger to speak to me on that subject," she said, mildly.
"You must make allowances for the bluntness of a sailor," said Mrs. Harding.
For some reason Rachel did not seem as low-spirited as usual that evening. Capt. Bowling entertained them with narratives of his personal adventures, and it was later than usual when the lamps were put out, and they were all in bed.
CHAPTER V
THE CAPTAIN'S DEPARTURE
"Jack," said the captain, at breakfast, the next morning, "how would you like to go round with me to see my vessel?"
"I'll go," said Jack, promptly.
"Very likely he'll fall over into the water and be drowned," suggested Aunt Rachel, cheerfully.
"I'll take care of that, ma'am," said Capt. Bowling. "Won't you come yourself?"
"I go to see a vessel!" repeated Rachel.
"Yes; why not?"
"I am afraid it wouldn't be proper to go with a stranger," said Rachel, with a high sense of propriety.
"I'll promise not to run away with you," said the captain, bluntly. "If I should attempt it, Jack, here, would interfere."
"No, I wouldn't," said Jack. "It wouldn't be proper for me to interfere with Aunt Rachel's plans."
"You seem to speak as if your aunt proposed to run away," said Mr. Harding, jocosely.
"You shouldn't speak of such things, nephew; I am shocked," said Rachel.
"Then you won't go, ma'am?" asked the captain.
"If I thought it was consistent with propriety," said Rachel, hesitating. "What do you think, Martha?"
"I think there is no objection," said Mrs. Harding, secretly amazed at Rachel's entertaining the idea.
The result was that Miss Rachel put on her things, and accompanied the captain. She was prevailed on to take the captain's arm at length, greatly to Jack's amusement. He was still more amused when a boy picked up her handkerchief which she had accidentally dropped, and, restoring it to the captain, said, "Here's your wife's handkerchief, gov'nor."
"Ho! ho!" laughed the captain. "He takes you for my wife, ma'am."
"Ho! ho!" echoed Jack, equally amused.
Aunt Rachel turned red with confusion. "I am afraid I ought not to have come," she murmured. "I feel ready to drop."
"You'd better not drop just yet," said the captain—they were just crossing the street—"wait till it isn't so muddy."
On the whole, Aunt Rachel decided not to drop.
The Argo was a medium-sized vessel, and Jack in particular was pleased with his visit. Though not outwardly so demonstrative, Aunt Rachel also seemed to enjoy the expedition. The captain, though blunt, was attentive, and it was something new to her to have such an escort. It was observed that Miss Harding was much less gloomy than usual during the remainder of the day. It might be that the captain's cheerfulness was contagious. For a stranger, Aunt Rachel certainly conversed with him with a freedom remarkable for her.
"I never saw Rachel so cheerful," remarked Mrs. Harding to her husband that evening after they had retired. "She hasn't once spoken of life being a vale of tears to-day."
"It's the captain," said her husband. "He has such spirits that it seems to enliven all of us."
"I wish we could have him for a permanent boarder."
"Yes; the five dollars a week which he pays are a great help, especially now that I am out of work."
"What is the prospect of getting work soon?"
"I am hoping for it from day to day, but it may be weeks yet."
"Jack earned fifty cents to-day by selling papers."
"His daily earnings are an important help. With what the captain pays us, it is enough to pay all our living expenses. But there's one thing that troubles me."
"The rent?"
"Yes, it is due in three weeks, and as yet I haven't a dollar laid by to meet it. It makes me feel anxious."
"Don't lose your trust in Providence, Timothy. He may yet carry us over this difficulty."
"So I hope, but I can't help feeling in what straits we shall be, if some help does not come."
Two weeks later, Capt. Bowling sailed for Liverpool.
"I hope we shall see you again sometime, captain," said Mrs. Harding.
"Whenever I come back to New York, I shall come here if you'll keep me," said the bluff sailor.
"Aunt Rachel will miss you, captain," said Jack, slyly.
Capt. Bowling turned to the confused spinster.
"I hope she will," said he, heartily. "Perhaps when I see her again, she'll have a husband."
"Oh, Capt. Bowling, how can you say such things?" gasped Rachel, who, as the time for the captain's departure approached, had been subsiding into her old melancholy. "There's other things to think of in this vale of tears."
"Are there? Well, if they're gloomy, I don't want to think of 'em. Jack, my lad, I wish you were going to sail with me."
"So do I," said Jack.
"He's my only boy, captain," said Mrs. Harding. "I couldn't part with him."
"I don't blame you, ma'am, not a particle; though there's the making of a sailor in Jack."
"If he went away, he'd never come back," said Rachel, lugubriously.
"I don't know about that, ma'am. I've been a sailor, man and boy, forty years, and here I am, well and hearty to-day."
"The captain is about your age, isn't he, Aunt Rachel?" said Jack, maliciously.
"I'm only thirty-nine," said Rachel, sharply.
"Then I must have been under a mistake all my life," said the cooper to himself. "Rachel's forty-seven, if she's a day."
This remark he prudently kept to himself, or a fit of hysterics would probably have been the result.
"I wouldn't have taken you for a day over thirty-five, ma'am," said the captain, gallantly.
Rachel actually smiled, but mildly disclaimed the compliment.
"If it hadn't been for my trials and troubles," she said, "I might have looked younger; but they are only to be expected. It's the common lot."
"Is it?" said the captain. "I can't say I've been troubled much that way. With a stout heart and a good conscience we ought to be jolly."
"Who of us has a good conscience?" asked Rachel, in a melancholy tone.
"I have, Aunt Rachel," answered Jack.
"You?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "You, that tied a tin kettle to a dog's tail yesterday, and chased the poor cat till she almost died of fright. I lie awake nights thinking of the bad end you're likely to come to unless you change your ways."
Jack shrugged his shoulders, but the captain came to his help.
"Boys will be boys, ma'am," he said. "I was up to no end of tricks myself when I was a boy."
"You weren't so bad as Jack, I know," said Rachel.
"Thank you for standing up for me, ma'am; but I'm afraid I was. I don't think Jack's so very bad, for my part."
"I didn't play the tricks Aunt Rachel mentioned," said Jack. "It was another boy in our block."
"You're all alike," said Rachel. "I don't know what you boys are all coming to."
Presently the captain announced that he must go. Jack accompanied him as far as the pier, but the rest of the family remained behind. Aunt Rachel became gloomier than ever.
"I don't know what you'll do, now you've lost your boarder," she said.
"He will be a loss to us, it is true," said Mrs. Harding; but we are fortunate in having had him with us so long."
"It's only puttin' off our misery a little longer," said Rachel. "We've got to go to the poorhouse, after all."
Rachel was in one of her moods, and there was no use in arguing with her, as it would only have intensified her gloom.
Meanwhile Jack was bidding good-by to the captain.
"I'm sorry you can't go with me, Jack," said the bluff sailor.
"So am I; but I can't leave mother."
"Right, my lad; I wouldn't take you away from her. But there—take that, and don't forget me."
"You are very kind," said Jack, as the captain pressed into his hand a five-dollar gold piece. "May I give it to my mother?"
"Certainly, my lad; you can't do better."
Jack stood on the wharf till the vessel was drawn out into the stream by a steam tug. Then he went home.
CHAPTER VI
THE LANDLORD'S VISIT
It was the night before the New Year. In many a household in the great city it was a night of happy anticipation. In the humble home of the Hardings it was an evening of anxious thought, for to-morrow the quarter's rent was due.
"I haven't got a dollar to meet the rent, Martha," said the cooper, in a depressed tone.
"Won't Mr. Colman wait?"
"I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Martha. There isn't much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else."
"Perhaps you are doing him an injustice."
"I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?"
"How?"
"Underhill was laid up with rheumatic fever for three months. The consequence was that when quarter day came round he was in about the same situation with ourselves—a little worse, even, for his wife was sick also. But, though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no pity; he turned them out without ceremony."
"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Harding, uneasily.
"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but feel anxious about to-morrow, Martha."
At this moment, verifying an old adage, which will perhaps occur to the reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself. Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to his visit.
He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay veiled under his velvety softness of manner.
"Good-evening, Mr. Harding," he said, affably. "I trust you and your excellent wife are in good health."
"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper, gravely.
"And how comfortable you're looking, too, eh! It makes an old bachelor like me feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with such a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and dog cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't have to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I've about made up my mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter hereafter."
All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less bitter.
"It seems to me, Mr. Colman," answered the cooper, soberly, "you have chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent."
"Why singular, my good sir?" inquired the landlord, urbanely.
"You know, of course, that this is a time of general business depression; my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month past I have not been able to find any work."
Colman's face lost something of its graciousness.
"And I fear I shall not be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow."
"Indeed!" said the landlord, coldly. "Perhaps you can make it up within two or three dollars."
"I can't pay a dollar toward it," said the cooper. "It's the first time, in the five years I've lived here, that this thing has happened to me. I've always been prompt before."
"You should have economized as you found times growing harder," said Colman, harshly. "It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know you can't pay the rent."
"You shan't lose it, Mr. Colman," said the cooper, earnestly. "No one ever yet lost anything by me, and I don't mean anyone shall, if I can help it. Only give me a little time, and I will pay all."
The landlord shook his head.
"You ought to have cut your coat according to your cloth," he responded. "Much as it will go against my feelings I am compelled, by a prudent regard to my own interests, to warn you that, in case your rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble you to find another tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be raised five dollars a quarter."
"I can't pay it, Mr. Colman," said Timothy Harding, gravely. "I may as well say that now; and it's no use agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I can afford now."
"Very well, you know the alternative. Of course, if you can do better elsewhere, you will. That's understood. But it's a disagreeable subject. We won't talk of it any more now. I shall be round to-morrow forenoon. How's your excellent sister—as cheerful as ever?"
"Quite as much so as usual," answered the cooper, dryly.
"There's one favor I should like to ask," he said, after a pause. "Will you allow us to remain here a few days till I can look about a little?"
"I would with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the reply; "but there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out to-morrow. In fact, that is the very thing I came here this evening to speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent."
"We are much obliged to you," said the cooper, with a tinge of bitterness unusual to him. "If we are to be turned into the street, it is pleasant to have a few hours' notice of it."
"Turned out of doors, my good sir! What disagreeable expressions you employ! If you reflect for a moment, you will see that it is merely a matter of business. I have an article to dispose of. There are two bidders, yourself and another person. The latter is willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the preference, as you would do under similar circumstances. Don't you see how it is?"
"I believe I do," replied the cooper. "Of course it's a regular proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light, when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family may be without a shelter."
"My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It is actually sinful for you to distrust Providence as you seem to do. You're a little disappointed, that's all. Just take to-night to sleep on it, and I've no doubt you'll see things in quite a different light. But positively"—here he rose, and began to draw on his gloves—"positively I have stayed longer than I intended. Good-night, my friends. I'll look in upon you in the morning. And, by the way, as it's so near, permit me to wish you a happy New Year."
The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious hearts.
"It looks well in him to wish that," said the cooper, gloomily. "A great deal he is doing to make it so. I don't know how it seems to others; for my part, I never say them words to anyone, unless I really wish 'em well, and am willing to do something to make 'em so. I should feel as if I was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different."
Martha was not one who was readily inclined to think evil of anyone, but in her own gentle heart she could not help feeling a repugnance for the man who had just left them. Jack was not so reticent.
"I hate that man," he said, decidedly.
"You should not hate anyone, my son," said Mrs. Harding.
"I can't help it, mother. Ain't he goin' to turn us out of the house to-morrow?"
"If we cannot pay our rent, he is justified in doing so."
"Then why need he pretend to be so friendly? He don't care anything for us."
"It is right to be polite, Jack."
"I s'pose if you're goin' to kick a man, it should be done politely," said Jack, indignantly.
"If possible," said the cooper, laughing.
"Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?" asked Mrs. Harding.
"Yes, there is one in the next block belonging to Mr. Harrison."
"It is a better one than this."
"Yes; but Harrison only asks the same rent that we have been paying. He is not so exorbitant as Colman."
"Couldn't we get that?"
"I am afraid if he knows that we have failed to pay our rent here, that he will object."
"But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would have brought you to this pass."
"It may be, Martha. At any rate, you have lightened my heart a little. I feel as if there was some hope left, after all."
"We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. Colman said that didn't sound so well, coming from his lips; but it's true for all that."
"What do you refer to?"
"I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I been comforted by reading the verse: 'Never have I seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.' As long as we try to do what is right, Timothy, God will not suffer us to want."
"You are right, Martha. He is our ever-present help in time of trouble. When I think of that, I feel easier."
They retired to rest thoughtfully but not sadly.
The fire upon the hearth flickered and died out at length. The last sands of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered in its successor.