Rough and Ready

"I'll have her back, Miss Manning, you may depend upon it," said Rufus, energetically. "If she's anywhere in the city I'll find her."

"The city is a large place, Rufus," said the seamstress, a little despondently.

"That's true, but I shan't have to look all over it. Mr. Martin isn't very likely to be found in Fifth Avenue, unless he's better off than he used to be. He's somewhere in the lower part of the city, on the east side, and that's where I'll look. 'Twouldn't be much use lookin' over the arrivals at the Astor House, or St. Nicholas."

"That's true," said Miss Manning, smiling faintly.

There was reason in what the newsboy said; but, as we know, he was mistaken in one point,—Mr. Martin was not in the lower part of the city, on the east side, but in Brooklyn, but it was only the accident of his having found work there, which had caused him to remove across the river.

"Where shall you look first?" asked Miss Manning.

"I shall go to Leonard Street, where we used to live."

"Do you think your stepfather lives there now?"

"No; but perhaps I can find out there where he does live."

Rufus went round to the Lodging House at the usual time. On getting up in the morning, instead of going to the paper offices as usual, he went round to Leonard Street. His anxiety to gain, if possible, some tidings about Rose would not permit him to delay unnecessarily.

Just in front of his old home he saw a slatternly looking woman, one of the inmates of the tenement house. She recognized the newsboy at once.

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "I haven't seen you for a long time."

"No, I'm living in another place now. Have you seen anything of Mr. Martin, lately?"

"Aint you living with him now?"

"No, I've left him. I suppose he isn't in the old room."

"No, he went away some weeks ago. The agent was awful mad because he lost his rent."

"Then he hasn't been back since?"

"I haven't seen him. Maybe some of the rest in the house may know where he is. Are you going to live with him again?"

"No," said the newsboy; "I'd rather take care of myself."

"And how's that little sister of yours?"

"He's carried her off. That's why I'm tryin' to find him. If it wasn't for that I wouldn't trouble myself."

"You don't say so? Well, that's a pity. He isn't fit to take care of her. I hope you'll find her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I guess I'll go upstairs and ask some of the rest."

Rough and Ready ascended the stairs, and called upon some of his old acquaintances, with inquiries of a similar character. But he got no information likely to be of service to him. Martin had not been seen near his old lodgings since the day when he had disappeared, leaving his rent unpaid.

"Where shall I go next?" thought the newsboy, irresolutely.

This was a question more easily asked than answered. He realized that to seek for Rose in the great city, among many thousands of houses, was something like seeking a needle in a haystack.

"I'll go and get my papers," he decided, "and while I am selling them, perhaps I may think of where to go next. It'll be a hard job; but I'm bound to find Rose if she's in the city."

That she was in the city he did not entertain a doubt. Otherwise, he might have felt less sanguine of ultimate success.

He obtained his usual supply of papers, and going to his wonted stand began to ply his trade.

"You're late this morning, aint you?" asked Ben Gibson, a boot-black, who generally stood at the corner of Nassau Street and Printing-House Square. "Overslept yourself, didn't you?"

"No," said the newsboy; "but I had an errand to do before I began."

"Get paid for it?"

"Not unless I pay myself. It was an errand of my own."

"I can't afford to work for myself," said Ben. "A chap asked me, yesterday, why I didn't black my own shoes. I axed him who was to pay me for doin' it. Blackin' costs money, and I can't afford to work for nothin'."

Ben's shoes certainly looked as if no blacking had ever been permitted to soil their virgin purity. Indeed, it is rather a remarkable circumstance that though the boot-blacks generally have at least three-fourths of their time unoccupied, and sometimes remain idle for hours at a time, it never occurs to them (so far, at least, as the writer's observation extends) to use a little of their time and blacking in improving the condition of their own shoes or boots, when they happen to have any. Whether this is owing to a spirit of economy, or to the same cause which hinders a physician from swallowing his own pills, it is not easy to say. The newsboys, on the contrary, occasionally indulge in the luxury of clean shoes.

"Your shoes don't look as if they'd been blacked lately," said Rough and Ready.

"No more they haven't. They can't stand such rough treatment. It would be too much for their delicate constitutions."

This was not improbable, since the shoes in question appeared to be on their last legs, if such an expression may be allowed.

"I like to have my shoes look neat," said Rufus.

"Don't you want a shine?" asked Ben, with a professional air.

"Can't afford it. Maybe I will, though, if you'll trade."

"As how?"

"Shine my shoes, and I'll give you a 'Sun.'"

"That aint but two cents," said Ben, dubiously.

"I know that; but you oughtn't to charge me more than the wholesale price."

"Anything in the 'Sun' this mornin'?"

"Full account of a great murder out in Buffalo," said the newsboy, in his professional tone.

"Well, I don't know but I'll do it," said Ben. "Only if a gent comes along what wants a shine, you must let me off long enough to do the job. I'll finish yours afterwards."

"All right."

Ben got out his brush, and, getting on his knees, began operations.

"'Herald,' 'Times,' 'Tribune,' 'World!'" the newsboy continued to cry.

"Seems to me, young man, you're rather particular about your appearance for a newsboy," said a gentleman, who came up just as Ben was giving the finishing touch to the first shoe.

"Oh," said Ben, speaking for his customer, "he only sells papers for amoosement. He's a young chap of fortune, and is first cousin to the King of Mulberry Street."

"Indeed! I think I must purchase a paper then. You may give me the 'Herald.'"

"Here it is, sir."

"Do you also black boots for amusement?" addressing Ben.

"Well," said Ben, "it may be a very amoosin' occupation for some, but I find it rather wearin' to the knees of my pantaloons. It sort of unfits me for genteel society."

"Then why don't you select some other business?"

"'Cause I can't make up my mind whether I'd rather be a lawyer or a banker. While I'm decidin' I may as well black boots."

"You're an original, I see."

"Thank you for the compliment;" and Ben rose from his knees, having made the newsboy's second shoe shine like a mirror. "Now, mister, if you'd like to have your boots shined up by a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I'm ready for the job."

"Well, perhaps I may as well. So you're in reduced circumstances, my lad?"

"Yes, sir; my aristocratic relatives have disowned me since I took to blackin' boots, just like they did Ferdinand Montressor, in the great play at the Old Bowery, when he lost his fortun' and went to tending bar for a livin'."

"I suppose Ferdinand came out right in the end, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir; owing to the death of fifteen of his nearest relations, who got blown up in a steamboat explosion, he became the owner of Montressor Castle, and a big pile of money besides, and lived happy forever after."

"Well, my lad, perhaps you'll be lucky too."

"Maybe you're meanin' to give me a quarter for blackin' your boots," said Ben, shrewdly.

"No, I wasn't intending to do it; but, as you're a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I don't know but I will."

"Thank you, sir," said Ben, pocketing the money with satisfaction. "Any time you want your boots blacked, just call on me, and I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever saw."

"All right, good-morning! When you get into your castle, I'll come and see you."

"Thank you, sir. I hope you'll live long enough to do it."

"That's wishing me a long life, I take it," said the gentleman, smiling.

"You're in luck, Ben," said the newsboy.

"That's so. He's what I call a gentleman."

"Lucky for you he isn't in reduced circumstances like me. Here's your 'Sun.' When I get rich I'll pay you better."

Ben began to spell out the news in the 'Sun,' with some difficulty, for his education was limited, and Rufus continued to cry his papers.

At the end of half an hour, happening to have his face turned towards the corner of Nassau Street, he made a sudden start as he saw the familiar figure of Martin, his stepfather, just turning into the Square.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A PARLEY WITH THE ENEMY

It has already been stated that James Martin's motive in recovering Rose was not a feeling of affection for her, for this he had never had, but rather a desire to thwart Rufus in his plans. The newsboy's refusal to work for his support had incensed his stepfather, and Martin was a man who was willing to take considerable trouble to gratify his spite.

It was quite in accordance with this disposition of his, that, after recovering Rose in the manner we have seen, he was not content, until he had seen her brother, and exulted over him. On the day succeeding, therefore, instead of going to work, he came over to New York, for the express purpose of witnessing our hero's grief and chagrin at the loss of his sister. He knew very well where to find him.

Rough and Ready surveyed the approach of his stepfather with mingled anger and anxiety. He it was that held in his power the one whom the newsboy loved best. Rufus guessed his motive in seeking him now, and, knowing that he intended to speak to him, awaited his address in silence.

"Well, Rufus," said Mr. Martin, with a malicious grin, "how are you this morning?"

"I am well," said the newsboy, shortly.

"I am glad to hear it," said Martin; "I'd ought to feel glad of it, you've been such a dootiful son."

"I am not your son," said Rough and Ready, in a tone which indicated that he was very glad that no such relationship existed between them.

"That's lucky for me," said Martin; "I wouldn't own such a young cub. When I have a son, I hope he'll be more dootiful, and treat me with more gratitude."

"What should I be grateful for?" demanded the newsboy, quickly.

"Didn't I take care of you, and give you victuals and clothes for years?"

"Not that I know of," said Rufus, coolly. "I've had to support myself, and help support you, ever since we came to New York."

"So you complain of having to work, do you? 'Cause I was a poor man, and couldn't support you in idleness, you think you're ill used."

"I never complained of having to work. I am willing to work hard for myself—and Rose."

"How is Rose now? I hope she is well," said Martin, with a smile of triumph.

"That's what I'd like to have you tell me," said Rufus, looking steadily at Martin. "Where have you carried my sister?"

"What should I know of your sister?" said Martin. "The last I knew, you kidnapped her from my care and protection."

"Your care and protection!" repeated Rough and Ready, disdainfully. "What care did you ever take of her? You did nothing for her support, but came home drunk about every day. You couldn't take care of yourself, much less any one else."

"Do you want a licking?" asked Martin, angrily, approaching a little nearer.

Rough and Ready didn't budge an inch, for he was not in the least afraid of his stepfather.

"I wouldn't advise you to try it, Mr. Martin," he said, composedly. "I am able to take care of myself."

"Are you? I am happy to hear it," sneered Martin, repressing his anger, as he thought that, after all, he had it in his power to punish Rufus more effectually and safely through his sister than by any attempt at present violence. "I'm happy to hear it, for I've relieved you of any other care. I will take care of Rose now."

"Where is she?" asked Rufus, anxiously.

"She's safe," said Martin.

"Is that all you are going to tell me?"

"It's all you need to know. Only, if you're very anxious to contribute to your sister's support, you can hand me the money, and it shall go for her board."

As he looked at Martin with his air of insolent triumph, the newsboy felt that he hated him. It was not a Christian feeling, but it was a very natural one. This was the man who had made his mother's life a wretched one, and hastened her death; who in this and other ways had brought grief and trouble upon Rose and himself, and who now seemed determined to continue his persecutions, out of a spirit of miserable spite and hatred. He would hardly have been able to control his temper, but he knew that Martin would probably wreak vengeance upon his sister for anything he might do to provoke him, and he resolved, poor as the chance was, to try and see if he could not conciliate him, and induce him, if possible, to give up Rose again to his own care.

"Mr. Martin," he said, "Rose will only be a trouble and expense to you. Why won't you bring her back? You don't care for her; but she is my sister, and I will willingly work for her support." "Rose must stay with me," said Martin. "If you're so anxious to pay her expenses, you can pay me."

"I want her to live with me."

"Sorry I couldn't accommodate you," said Martin, "but your influence was bad on her. I can't allow you to be together. She's been growing a great deal wus since she was with me. I carried her yesterday to a nice, respectable boarding-place, and the fust thing she did was to get to fighting with another little gal in the house."

"Where was that?"

"Maybe you'd like to have me tell you."

"Rose is a very sweet, peaceable little girl, and if she got into trouble, the other girl was to blame."

"The other girl's a little angel, so her mother says, and she ought to know. Rose has got a sullen, bad temper; but I'll break her of it, see if I don't."

"If you ill-treat my sister, it'll be the worse for you," said Rough and Ready, hotly.

"Hoity-toity, I guess I can punish my child, if I see fit, without asking your leave."

"She isn't your child."

"I've got her in my charge, and I mean to keep her."

This was unfortunately true, and Rufus chafed inwardly that it was so. To think that his darling little Rose should be in the power of such a coarse brute was enough to fill him with anger and despair. But what could he do? Was there any way in which he could get her back? If he only knew where she was! But of this he was entirely ignorant. Indignant as he was, he must use conciliating means as long as there was any chance that these would avail anything. He thought of the money he had laid aside, and it occurred to him that Mr. Martin might be accessible to a bribe. He knew that his stepfather was very poorly provided with money, unless he had greatly improved in his habits upon his former mode of life. At all events, he could but fail, and he determined to make the attempt.

"Mr. Martin," he said, "if you'll bring my sister back, and agree not to take her away from me again, I'll give you ten dollars."

"Have you got so much money?" asked Martin, doubtfully.

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"I earned it."

"Have you got any more?"

"A little."

The newsboy did not think it expedient to let his stepfather know precisely how much he had, for he knew his demands would rise with the knowledge.

"How much more?" persisted Martin.

"I can't exactly say."

"Have you got fifteen dollars?"

"I will try to raise it, if you will bring back my sister."

Martin hesitated. Fifteen dollars was not to be despised. This sum would enable him to live in idleness for a time. Besides he would be relieved of the expenses of Rose, and this would amount in time to considerable. As he did not pretend to feel any attachment to his stepdaughter, and didn't expect to receive any pleasure or comfort from her society, it certainly seemed to be a desirable arrangement. But, on the other hand, it was pleasant to a man like Martin to feel that he had some one in his power over whom he could exercise control, and upon whom he might expend his anger. Besides, he would keep Rufus in a constant state of trouble and anxiety, and this, too, was something. Still he did not like to give up wholly the chance of gaining the fifteen dollars. After a little hesitation, he said, "Have you got the money with you?"

"No."

"Have you any of it with you?"

"Only a dollar or two."

"That won't do."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I should want part or the whole of it in advance."

"I shouldn't be willing to pay you in advance," said the newsboy, whose confidence in his stepfather's integrity was by no means large.

"Why not?"

"I'll pay you when you bring Rose. That's fair enough."

"Perhaps you wouldn't have the money."

"Then you could carry her back again."

"And have all my trouble for nothing!"

"You won't have all your trouble for nothing. I want Rose back, and I shall be sure to have the money with me."

Mr. Martin reflected a moment. He knew that he could trust the newsboy's word. Much as he disliked him, he knew that if he made a promise he would keep it, if there was a possibility of his doing so. Fifteen dollars was quite a sum to him, for it was a long time since he had had so much, and such were his shiftless habits, that it would probably be a long time before he would have it, especially if he had to pay for the board of Rose. Again, it occurred to him that if he should surrender Rose, and receive the money, he might steal her again, and thus lose nothing But then it was probable that Rufus would guard against this by removing to a different quarter of the city, and not permitting Rose to go out unaccompanied.

So there was a little conflict in his mind, and finally he came to this decision. He would not surrender Rose quite yet. He wanted to torment both her and her brother a little longer. There was time enough to make the arrangement a week hence. Perhaps by that time the newsboy would be ready to increase his offer.

"Well," said Rough and Ready, "what do you say?"

"I'll think about it."

"You'd better decide now."

"No, I don't feel like it. Do you think I'm ready to give up my little daughter's society, after having her with me only a day?" and he smiled in a way that provoked Rufus, as he knew it would.

"Will you bring her to-morrow?" asked the news boy, who felt that he must hold his anger in check.

"Maybe I'll bring her in the course of a week; that is, if she behaves herself. I must break her of some of her faults. She needs trainin'."

"She's a good little girl."

"She's got to be better before I give her back. Hope you won't fret about her;" and Martin walked away, with a half laugh, as he saw the trouble which the newsboy couldn't help showing in his face.

A sudden idea came to Rufus.

"Ben," he said, beckoning to Ben Gibson, who had just got through with a job, "do you see that man?"

"The one you've been talking with?"

"Yes."

"Well, what about him?"

"I'll give you a dollar if you'll follow him, and find out where he lives. Of course he mustn't know that you are following him."

"Maybe he isn't going home."

"Never mind. Follow him if it takes you all day, and you shall have the dollar."

"Maybe I'll get off the track."

"You're too sharp for that. You see, Ben, he's carried off my little sister, and I want to find out where he has put her. Just find out for me where she is, and we'll carry her off from him."

"That'll be bully fun," said Ben. "I'm your man. Just take care of my box, and I'll see what I can do."

Mr. Martin had turned down Spruce Street. He kept on his way, not suspecting that there was some one on his track.

CHAPTER XIX.

ROSE AGAIN IN TROUBLE

Leaving Ben Gibson on the track of Mr. Martin, we must return to Rose, and inquire how she fared in her new home at Brooklyn. Mrs. Waters had already taken a strong prejudice against her, on account of the misrepresentations of her daughter Fanny. If Fanny was an angel, as her mother represented, then angels must be very disagreeable people to live with. The little girl was rude, selfish, and had a violent temper. Had Mr. Martin stood by Rose, her treatment would have been much better, for policy would have led Mrs. Waters to treat her with distinguished consideration; but as parental fondness was not a weakness of her stepfather, the boarding-house keeper felt under no restraint.

"What shall I do if your little girl behaves badly, Mr. Martin?" said Mrs. Waters, as he was about to leave the house in the morning.

"Punish her, ma'am. You needn't feel no delicacy about it. I'll stand by you. She's a bad, troublesome girl, and a good whipping every day is just what she needs. Do you hear that, miss?"

Rose did not answer, but her lip quivered a little. It seemed hard to the little girl, fresh from the atmosphere of love by which she had been surrounded in her recent home, to be treated with such injustice and unfairness.

"Why don't you answer, miss?" roared James Martin, savagely. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yes," said Rose.

"Mind you remember it, then. If you don't behave yourself, Mrs. Waters has my full permission to punish you, and if she don't punish you enough, I'll give you a little extra when I get home. I shall ask her to report to me about you. Do you hear?"

"Yes."

"Yes! Where's your manners? Say 'Yes, sir.'"

"Yes, sir."

"Mind you remember then. And there's one thing more. Don't you go to run away. If you do, it'll be the worse for your brother."

With this parting threat he went out of the house.

"Now, children," said Mrs. Waters, "go out and play. I'm up to my elbows in work, and I can't have you in the way."

"Where shall we go?" asked Rose.

"Out in the back yard."

"I don't want to go out in the back yard," said Fanny; "there aint anything to do there."

"Well, go out into the street then, if you want to."

"Yes, I'd rather go there."

Rose followed Fanny into the street in rather a listless manner, for she did not expect much enjoyment.

"Now, what shall we do?" asked Fanny.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Rose.

"I know where there's a candy-shop."

"Do you?"

"Yes, just at the corner. Do you like candy?"

"Yes, pretty well."

"You haven't got any money, have you?" said Fanny, insinuatingly.

"No, I haven't," answered Rose.

"I wish you had. I like candy, but mother won't give me any money to buy any. She's real mean."

"Do you call your mother mean?" said Rose, rather shocked.

"Yes, she might give me a penny. Oh, there's a hand-organ. Come, let's go and hear it."

An Italian, with a hand-organ, had taken his station before a house in the next block. There was a half-grown girl with a tambourine in his company, and, best of all, a monkey was perched on the performer's shoulder, with his tail curled up in a ring, and his head covered with a red cap, and his sharp little eyes roving from one to another of the motley group drawn around the organ, keenly watching for the stray pennies which were bestowed as much for the sake of seeing the monkey pick them up, as a compensation for the music, which was of rather an inferior order, even for a hand-organ.

"Let's go and hear the organ," repeated Fanny.

To this proposal Rose made no objection. Children are not critical in music, and the tunes which issued from the wheezy organ had their attraction for her. The monkey was equally attractive, with his queer, brown face, and Rose was very willing to go nearer with her companion.

"Aint he a funny monkey?" said Fanny. "He took off his hat to me. I wish I had a penny to throw to him, though I don't think I'd give it to him. I'd rather spend it for candy," she added, after a little reflection.

Here the organ struck up "Old Dog Tray," that veteran melody, which celebrates, in rather doleful measure, the fidelity and kindness of its canine hero. But the small crowd of listeners were not appreciative, as in response to the strains only a solitary penny was forthcoming, and this was thrown by a butcher's boy, who chanced to be passing. The Italian, concluding probably that he was not likely to realize a fortune in that locality, shouldered his hand-organ, and moved up the street.