CHAPTER XIII
BULLDOG QUESTIONS DICK
Business was better for the two boys the next day, as the rain had ceased and there was a lively demand for papers. As soon as the first rush was over Jimmy, who was as usual at his place at Broadway and Barclay Street, turned to an advertisement in one of the papers and began to pick out the letters. He was engaged in this occupation when a man stopped in front of him, but at first Jimmy did not see him.
"Aren't you selling any papers to-day?" asked the man.
"Sure," replied Jimmy, alive in an instant to business. "Sun, Woild, Herald, Times, Joinal– why – why – " he exclaimed as he looked up and saw Mr. Crosscrab, the young man from Vermont, standing in front of him.
"I see you remember me," said Mr. Crosscrab, smiling.
"Dat's what I do. Did youse git t' Brooklyn all right?"
"Yes, and when I got there I found my aunt very sick. That is why I haven't been back to New York. This is the first chance I have had to come over, and I took the opportunity of looking for you."
"Well, I'm right on de job. Have a paper?"
"I'll take a Sun," and the countryman handed Jimmy a nickel.
"Dat's all right," replied the newsboy in a spirit of generosity. "Have one on me."
"Are you giving papers away?"
"To me friends, yep."
"Well, I don't expect to get my news that way, though I'm glad you consider me a friend. I insist on paying for this."
"But didn't youse give me a quarter?"
"That was for information furnished. I consider I got twenty-five cents' worth from you. Now I want to buy a paper. If you won't sell it, I'll get one from some other boy."
"Well, if youse puts it dat way I'll take de coin," said Jimmy, though he honestly wanted Mr. Crosscrab to take a paper for nothing.
"How have you been since I last saw you?" asked the young man.
"Fine. I've got a partner in me business now."
"Is that so? Who is he?"
"Dick Box."
"Dick Box? What a strange name."
"Well, I found him in a queer place – in a box – so I give him dat name. He don't know any udder."
"That's odd. Well, I am going up to Central Park. Which is the best way to get there?"
Jimmy gave the necessary directions.
"I'd like to have you come along," proposed Mr. Crosscrab, who had taken quite a liking to Jimmy.
"Can't leave me business. Me partner'd git mad if I made him do all de work."
"No, probably it wouldn't be right. Well, perhaps I will see him some day and take you both along. I need a guide to show me around New York. I suppose you would come if I made it worth your while?"
"I'll have t' speak t' me partner," replied Jimmy with a laugh.
"Where do you live?"
"Newsboys' Lodgin' House. We've got a regular room, an' we're dead swell. Come an' see us."
"Perhaps I will some time," and with a pleasant smile Mr. Crosscrab bade Jimmy good-by.
"Dick Box," mused the country young man as he walked away. "That is certainly an odd name. I used to know a boy named Dick, but his last name wasn't Box nor anything like it."
During this time Dick was selling papers in the financial district. He found that it was an advantage to follow his method of calling the attention of the bankers and brokers to news in which they were interested rather than to more sensational items.
He sold nearly as many papers as did Jimmy, who had years of experience to his credit. Dick soon became well known as a newsboy in the moneyed section of the city, and many rich men bought their papers regularly from him. His frank and courteous manners, and the quiet, business-like way in which he went about gained him a number of friends.
It also gained him enemies among the other newsboys, who did not like to see their territory invaded by a newcomer, especially one who did so well.
But as the financial district was patroled by several policemen and detectives to prevent robberies, none of the jealous newsboys dared attack Dick and engage him in a fight, which a number of them wanted to do to pay him back for taking some of their trade away.
Dick was doing nothing wrong, and he knew it. The streets were free, and if he could sell papers by his own methods, he knew he was within his rights.
Still there was much feeling against him, and among those who considered him their especial enemy was Bulldog Smouder. He had often sold newspapers in Wall Street, and he noted a falling off in his sales since Dick's advent. Bulldog's method was like that of his companions. He would yell out at the top of his voice, and call some piece of news which might or might not be true. And whatever it was, he mumbled his words so that no one could understand him. Whenever he saw a man put his hand in his pocket he would assume that the man wanted a paper, and he would rush up and thrust one in his face.
On one occasion a gentleman who frequently bought a paper of Dick approached him, putting his hand in his pocket to extract a coin. The motion was observed by Bulldog, who rushed forward with such eagerness that he ran into the man.
"Here! What are you trying to do!" exclaimed the customer.
"Wuxtry! Don't youse want a wuxtry? All de latest news!" exclaimed the big newsboy.
"Certainly I want a paper, but I prefer to buy it of this lad," and he purchased one from Dick.
"I'll fix youse fer dis!" threatened Bulldog when the man had gone. Perhaps he might have undertaken to chastise Dick then and there had it not been for the presence of a big policeman on the next corner.
"What have I done?" asked Dick.
"Youse is takin' all me customers away."
"I didn't do anything to induce that man to buy of me."
"Yes, youse did."
"What did I do?"
"Well, I don't know what it was, but youse has got t' git outer here. Dis is me stampin' ground, an' I want youse t' git."
"Suppose I don't?" asked Dick, who was not afraid, even if Bulldog was the larger.
"Well, you'll see. Who are youse, anyhow? Comin' t' N'York an' buttin' in here where youse ain't wanted. Why don't youse go back home?"
"I would if I knew where my home was," spoke Dick quietly, for he made no secret of his queer plight.
"Say, kid, honest, don't youse remember anyt'ing about yerself?" asked Bulldog with a sudden assumption of friendliness, for he happened to remember the conversation he and Mike Conroy had had concerning Dick, and he thought this a good chance to further the plot which the two had made.
"I can remember very little about what happened before I met Jimmy Small."
"Don't youse know what kind of a place youse lived in?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"An' can't youse remember yer own name?"
"Only the first part of it."
"Well, dat's a queer go! Would youse like t' git back home, kid?"
"Indeed I would. Why, do you know anything about me? My mind seems in a daze whenever I try to think about it. If you know anything, please tell me."
"Naw, I don't know nuttin'. Say, youse didn't run away, did youse? Youse ain't comin' no game like dat, is yer?"
"No, certainly not," replied Dick, his face flushing at the insinuation.
"Well, dat's queer," murmured Bulldog as he turned away. Then he started suddenly as he saw coming toward him a man whom he knew. It was a detective from police headquarters, and Bulldog had frequently given the man information about petty thieves.
"Say," said Bulldog in a low tone to the detective as the latter reached him, "I want t' ask youse a few questions. Come in here," and he motioned to a hallway. The detective, who was inclined to be friendly with the newsboy, thinking he might have some future use for him, complied, and soon the two were in conversation.
CHAPTER XIV
JIMMY'S FURTHER PROGRESS
Meanwhile Dick, all unconscious of the plot being woven about him, continued to sell his papers. When he was out he went to the delivery wagon and got more, and he remained in the financial district until three o'clock, when, as that marks the close of the day's business, there was not much chance to sell any more papers.
Then he went up to report to Jimmy and help him dispose of his stock by circulating around City Hall Park and the streets leading to the ferries.
"Well, dis ain't so bad," remarked Jimmy as they went to supper that evening, calculating on the way how much they had taken in.
"No, indeed," said his partner. "If this keeps on we can soon start a regular stand."
"Crimps! Dat would be fine! But I guess we'll have t' have more money saved up. All de good places is taken, and we'd have t' buy somebody out."
"Oh, yes, we'll have to have more money," agreed Dick. "But if all goes well we can put another dollar in the bank this week."
"Dat's de stuff. Crimps! but I'm hungry! Guess I'll have a – " Jimmy stopped suddenly as he put his hand in his pocket.
"What's the matter? Lost your money?" asked Dick anxiously.
"Nope. I was jest goin' – jest goin' t' smoke a cigarette, but I forgot – "
"I'm glad you remembered in time. Do you find it hard to give them up?"
"It's kinder hard – jest now."
"Then come on, let's hurry up and have supper and you'll not think of smoking."
"All right," Jimmy agreed, but it was quite a struggle for the lad. The cigarette habit had taken more of a hold on him than he supposed, and he felt that he must smoke. But he determined to keep his word, and as he was a boy of some strength of character, in spite of his surroundings, he did not readily give in to the temptation.
After supper the reading lesson was resumed, and Dick also began to instruct his pupil in the mysteries of writing. It was not easy work, but Dick was not discouraged.
Jimmy had one merit, he really wanted to learn; for he was sharp and shrewd, and he saw what an advantage it was to Dick to be able to read and call out intelligently the items of news. In this way Dick could sell as many papers as could Jimmy, and with half the effort, for Jimmy made himself hoarse with his frequent cries of "Wuxtry!" Then, too, Jimmy was aware of how much better off he was since he had formed a partnership with Dick. He actually had money in the bank, a thing he never dreamed of before, and he had a good room, which formerly was such a rare occurrence for him that he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times it had happened since he had had to shift for himself. So Jimmy determined to do his best to learn to read and write.
In a week the newsboy knew the alphabet, and could spell a few simple words. The writing came slower, but he was making progress.
Then another improvement took place. As he learned to spell the words he also learned how to pronounce them correctly. He saw that "the" spelled a different word from "de," as he was accustomed to pronounce it, and he began to practise using "this" and "then" in place of "dis" and "den."
"There!" exclaimed Jimmy triumphantly one night as he looked at a piece of paper. "There's me name!" and he looked at it proudly, for it was written after a severe effort on his part. "Did I speak right den – I mean then?" he asked.
"Very nearly, except that you said 'me name' instead of 'my name', Jimmy."
"Dat's so – I mean that's so. Well, what do youse think of me – I mean my writin'?"
"It's very good; but if you want to speak correctly, don't say 'youse' for you, and put a final 'g' on your words that need it."
"Crimps! but dat's – I mean that's a lot to remember," he answered with a sigh.
"You're not sorry you're learning, though, are you?"
"Betcher life I ain't."
He gave a sudden start.
"I s'pose I shouldn't say that," he added.
"Well, I don't know that it's any particular harm," answered Dick. "It's slang, and when you grow up to be a man I don't suppose you'll like to use slang. The trouble is, as I've read, it's hard to break off the habit. So I suppose it's best to start young."
"Dat's – I mean that's what it is. I'm goin' – there, I dropped another 'g' – I'm going to try," and Jimmy spoke very slowly.
"You're doing very well," complimented his young teacher. "I wish I was making some progress myself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I'd like to find out who I am. Sometimes in the night I get to thinking about it, and I feel quite badly. I think I must have some – some folks somewhere, and maybe they're anxious about me."
"Don't any of it come back to youse – I mean you?" asked Jimmy sympathetically.
"Not the least. I've tried and tried again, but all I can remember is a big house somewhere with lots of ground around it and a man and a lady who were good to me. I seem to remember driving a horse once."
"Maybe you worked as a driver," suggested Jimmy, "and a horse kicked you. That's how your head was hurt, maybe."
"I don't believe so. I don't remember working anywhere. I wish there was some way of finding out about myself."
Jimmy felt a sudden twinge of his conscience. Perhaps it was his fault that Dick had not been able to discover the secret of the mystery that surrounded him. Jimmy had said nothing to the police about the boy, and Sam Schmidt had not read of any reward being offered for information of a missing lad. Jimmy determined to make amends.
"Dick, I've got somethin' to tell you," he said, speaking slowly and more correctly than he ever talked before. "Maybe it's my fault that you don't know who you are."
"Your fault? How do you mean?"
And then Jimmy, feeling very much ashamed of himself, told of how he had kept silent, hoping that a reward would be offered.
"I'm – I'm awful sorry," he concluded. "I feel real mean about it, Dick, for you've been so good to me an' have done so much for me."
For a few seconds Dick said nothing. The disclosure was quite a shock to him. But he did not blame Jimmy, for he realized that the boy did not know any better.
"Do you think the police would know anything about me, Jimmy?" asked Dick at length.
"Maybe they would. Come on, we'll go to headquarters," replied Jimmy, anxious to make up for lost time.
It did not take the two boys long to reach police headquarters in Mulberry Street. Jimmy felt a little diffident about going into that dreaded place, of which he had heard so much, and the brass-buttoned sergeant sitting behind the brass railing looked very stern, but the newsboy mustered up courage to enter. As for Dick, he was filled with a nervous excitement.
The story was soon told, and the sergeant at once took an interest in Dick's queer plight. He questioned the youth carefully, but, as we know, Dick could tell little about himself. The sergeant went over the books from the time Jimmy had found his partner in the box, but there was no report of any missing boys answering the description of Dick, though there were many youngsters missing.
"Didn't you say you had a hat with you in the box?" asked the sergeant.
"Yes, sir," replied Dick. "That is it," and he handed it over.
The officer looked at the band inside. This was a bit of detective work that had not occurred to either Dick or Jimmy.
"Hum!" remarked the sergeant with a shake of his head. "All it says is 'Boston Store.' I thought it might give the name of the place where it was bought."
"Perhaps it was purchased in Boston," suggested Dick, "though I don't remember ever living near there."
"No," replied the officer, "nearly every city has either a 'New York' or a 'Boston' or a 'Philadelphia' store, and they are scattered from here to San Francisco. It's a queer custom. If that hat had the maker's name in it it might be a clue. However, I'll telegraph to Boston and make some inquiries."
"When will you have an answer?" asked Dick eagerly.
"Some time to-morrow, or maybe late to-night. Better call in to-morrow."
"I will," promised Dick, and feeling for the first time since he found himself in this queer plight that there was a ray of hope, he and Jimmy went back to the lodging-house.
Dick did not sleep well that night, for he was thinking that perhaps the next day would find his identity established and the mystery solved.
CHAPTER XV
PITCHING PENNIES
But Dick was doomed to disappointment. Early the next morning he and Jimmy called at police headquarters.
"There's no news for you," said the sergeant. "I wired to Boston, but the police there haven't any calls for any missing boys answering your description. If you were a man now you might answer."
"Why, are there any men missing?" asked Dick, interested to know there were other persons in a similar plight to his own.
"Yes, several. However, don't be discouraged. I'll keep on the lookout, and if I hear anything I'll let you know. Better leave me your address."
Dick gave it to the sergeant and then, rather discouraged, he left with Jimmy to begin the day's work of selling papers.
"I guess nobody wants me back," said Dick a little sadly as, with his bundle under his arm, he started for Wall Street.
"Sure they does," declared Jimmy. "It'll come out all right, you see. Anyhow, I want you. I don't know what I'd a' done if it hadn't been fer youse – I mean for you."
"Oh, I guess you'd have gotten along," replied Dick, smiling to see his partner's efforts to talk more correctly. "However, I'm glad I'm of some use to some one. I hope we have a good day to-day so we can put some more money in the bank."
"Ain't we got quite a lot?"
"Yes, but I want to get enough ahead for a special purpose."
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you later. It's going to be a surprise."
Then, fearing Jimmy would ask more questions, Dick hurried off.
Business was fair the rest of the week, and Saturday night Jimmy and Dick were able to put away three dollars between them.
"Come on," said Dick that night after supper.
"Where you going?"
"To the bank."
"You don't need me to put that money in."
"No, but I'm going to draw some out."
"Draw some out? What fer – I mean what for?"
"You're going to have a new suit of clothes," declared Dick. "You need one, and we can afford it. That is not exactly a new one, but I saw some good second-handed clothes in a store to-day, cheap, and you need a suit."
"I guess I do," admitted Jimmy, looking at his rather ragged one. "But it ain't fair to take the money for that. We may need it."
"If we do we'll earn more. You have a right to look as good as possible, now that we're in business. It will make a better impression on the customers."
"Dat's so – I mean that's so," agreed Jimmy. "Well, I'll leave it to you."
They went to the bank, which kept open Saturday night for the benefit of depositors who got their wages on that day, and Dick drew out enough, with what they had accumulated that week, to buy Jimmy a good second-hand suit. The boy's appearance was much improved by it, and he surveyed himself proudly.
The purchase of the suit made quite a little hole in their savings, but Dick did not regret it. For the first time since he and Jimmy had been partners they went walking the following Sunday in the better part of the city. Heretofore Jimmy, with his ragged garments, had refused to stir away from the vicinity of the lodging-house, but now he felt that even Fifth Avenue was not too stylish for him. Certainly clothes make a great difference to almost any one.
Dick, who had a dim recollection of having been in the habit of going to church on Sunday, wanted to propose it to Jimmy, but he reasoned that the newsboy might object to having too many reforms instituted at once. So Dick decided to wait a while.
Several weeks passed, and Jimmy continued to improve in his lessons. He could write short sentences now, and was beginning to be able to read simple stories in an old school book Dick had purchased. The young teacher also began to impart to his pupil a knowledge of arithmetic, and this he found was comparatively easy, as Jimmy had a good head for figures and was quick in making change.
Prosperity seemed to smile on the two newsboy partners. They continued to save a little every week, and in this they were encouraged by Mr. Snowden, manager of the lodging-house. Frank Merton, whose room was not far from where the two boys had theirs, used frequently to come in evenings and help Jimmy with his lessons. As Dick had a good education, he was also of service to Frank, who had had to leave school when very young.
"Why don't you get ready to go to night school when the term opens, Jimmy?" proposed Frank one night.
"Maybe I will."
"That would be a good thing," agreed Dick. "I think I'll go myself."
"You? You don't want to learn any more, do you?" asked Jimmy, whose language had improved very much.
"Indeed I do. Why, I don't know much more than you do. I must have been going to school – in my – before the accident happened, you know," for that was the way Dick referred to the past.
"If we all three could go it would be fine," said Frank. "They have good teachers at the school where I go. The term will open again in September. That's about two months off."
The boys discussed this plan, and Dick, though he did not mention it, had it in mind to propose to Jimmy soon that they take Frank into partnership with them. Dick's trade in papers in the financial district was growing to such an extent that he could scarcely take care of all his customers, with the limited number of papers he could carry. He was thinking of opening a stand in Wall Street if he saw a chance for a good location. But he decided to wait a while.
In the meanwhile the police sergeant had received no word concerning Dick, and the boy was much disappointed. However, he kept up his courage as best he could, hoping something would occur to disclose his identity and put him in communication with his relatives, if he had any. He and Frank kept close watch of the reward and personal columns of the papers, and Jimmy, whose reading had rapidly improved, also did as much as he was able to in this respect.
Dick was beginning to feel proud of his success with Jimmy, and the teacher, young as he was, began to perceive that the newsboy had a sterling character. It is true that once or twice Jimmy had forgotten his promise about smoking, and when out with other boys of his acquaintance had indulged in a cigarette or two. But he was always sorry for these lapses, and after telling Dick of them would make a new resolve. He had not smoked now in over three weeks. He was using less and less slang, too, and his manners were much improved.
These changes and the wearing of neater clothes could not but have their effect. Though his former companions laughed at the changes in Jimmy, he knew they were doing him good. He began to assume a more business-like air.
"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Crosscrab one day as he stopped to buy a paper of Jimmy. "Matters seem to be going pretty well with you. You look prosperous."
"We're doing fine!" declared Jimmy. "It's all due to me – I mean my – partner, though. He's all to de merry – I mean he's a fine lad."
"I must call and see him," said the young man. "I should like to meet such a sensible business boy, as you tell me he is. Perhaps I could help him, as I am thinking of going into business myself here in New York."
"Say, don't bust up – I mean break up our partnership," pleaded Jimmy. "I wouldn't know what to do now without Dick."
"Yes, I guess it would be a pity to separate you. Well, I'll not do it."
But if Dick expected Jimmy was going to improve all at once, and drop all his manners and customs learned of a long association with street urchins, he was disappointed. One day, when Dick came up from Wall Street a little earlier than usual, he went to Barclay Street and Broadway to look for Jimmy. He did not find him there as he expected.
"Seen Jimmy?" he asked of Sam Schmidt, who was standing there selling papers.
"Yah. He und Ted Snook, dey iss gone off."
"Gone off? Where?"
"Hush! Don't say nottings, but Jimmy he ask me t' take his place und sell vot babers he had left."
"What did he do that for?"
"Hush! He und Ted, dey is goin' t' pitch pennies."
"Pitch pennies?"
"Yah! Down by der Battery, vere dere ain't no cobs. Der cobs 'ud arrest 'em if dey ketched 'em, so dey vent down dere. Ted he sait as how he could beat Jimmy, und Jimmy says as how he can vin all Ted's pennies. So dey are at it, und I is sellin' Jimmy's babers."
"Pitching pennies!" exclaimed Dick to himself, with a little sinking of his heart. "I hope Jimmy doesn't do much of that gambling. If he gets in with that crowd he'll begin smoking again. I must go after him." And he started toward the Battery to look for his erring partner.