Rough and Ready

"I didn't know but you were twenty-one, as you claim to be your own master," sneered Martin.

"I don't see why I shouldn't be my own master," said Rough and Ready, "as long as I have to support myself."

"Aint I your father?"

"No, you aint," said the newsboy, bitterly. "You married my mother, and killed her with your ill-treatment. I don't want to have anything more to do with you."

"Oh, you're mighty smart. What have you done with your sister?"

"She's safe," said the newsboy, shortly.

"What business had you to take her away from her home?" demanded Martin, angrily.

"I've got the care of her."

"She's my child, and you must bring her back again."

"Your child!" said Rufus, contemptuously. "You did not give a cent towards supporting her. What little you earned you spent for rum. I had to pay all the expenses, and when I bought my sister some new clothes, you were mean enough to carry them off and sell them. If it hadn't been for that, I would have left her a little while longer. But that was more than I could stand, and I've carried her where you won't find her."

"Tell me, instantly, where you have carried her," said James Martin, stung by the newsboy's reproaches, and doggedly resolved to get the little girl back, at all hazards.

"I don't mean to tell you," said Rough and Ready.

"Why not?"

"Because she is in a good place, where she will be taken care of, and I don't mean that you shall get hold of her again."

"You'd better take care what you say," said Martin, his red nose growing redder still, in his angry excitement.

"I'm not afraid of your threats," said the newsboy, quietly.

"I've a great mind to give you a flogging on the spot."

"I wouldn't advise you to try it, unless you want me to call a copp."

James Martin had no great love for the police, with whom he had before now got into difficulty. Besides, he knew that Rufus, though not as strong as himself, was strong enough to make a very troublesome resistance to any violence, and that the disturbance would inevitably attract the attention of the police. So he forbore to attack him, though he found it hard to resist the impulse. But he shook his fist menacingly at Rufus, and said, "Some day I'll get hold of your sister, you may be sure of that, and when I do, I'll put her where you'll never set eyes on her again. Just remember that!"

He went off muttering, leaving Rufus a little troubled. He knew that his stepfather had an ugly spirit, and he feared that he would keep on the watch for Rose, and some day might get hold of her. The very thought was enough to make him tremble. He determined to warn Miss Manning of the danger which threatened his little sister, and request her to be very careful of her, keeping her continually under her eye.

CHAPTER VIII.

ROSE IN HER NEW HOME

At the close of the afternoon the newsboy, counting up his gains, found that he had made a dollar and a half by selling papers, and twenty-five cents besides, by an errand which he had done for a shopkeeper whose boy was sick. If he could keep up this rate of wages every day, he would be able to get along very well. But, in the first place, it was not often that he made as much as a dollar and a half by selling papers, nor was there a chance to do errands every day. When it was rainy his sales of papers fell off, as there were not so many people about Rufus began to feel like a family man, with the responsibility of supporting a family on his hands.

He was determined that his little sister should not be obliged to go out into the street to earn anything, though there are many girls, no older than she, who are sent out with matches, or papers, or perhaps to beg. But Rufus was too proud to permit that.

"A stout boy like me ought to earn money enough to take care of two persons," he said to himself.

About half-past five he started for Franklin Street, for it will be remembered that he had arranged to take supper with his sister and Miss Manning.

Rose had been listening for his step, and as soon as she heard it on the stairs, she ran out on the landing, and called out, joyfully, "Is that you, Rufie?"

"Yes, Rosie," said the newsboy. "What have you been doing to-day?"

"I've had such a nice time, Rufie," said the little girl, clinging to her brother's arm. "Miss Manning began to teach me my letters to-day."

"How does she get along, Miss Manning?" asked Rough and Ready, who by this time had entered the room.

"Famously," said Miss Manning. "She's very quick. I think she'll be able to read in three months, if she keeps on doing as well as to-day."

"That's good," said the newsboy, with satisfaction. "I've always been afraid that she would grow up ignorant, and I shouldn't like that."

"I'm no great scholar," said Miss Manning, modestly; "but I shall be glad to teach Rose all I can."

"I am afraid it will be a good deal of trouble for you."

"No, it is very little. Rose sits beside me, learning, while I am sewing."

"But you have to leave off to hear her."

"Leaving off now and then rests me. Besides, as you pay part of my rent, I do not need to work so steadily as I used to do."

"I've a great mind to ask you to teach me a little, too, Miss Manning," said the newsboy.

"I'll do it with pleasure, as far as I am capable. How much do you know?"

"Precious little," said Rufus. "I can read some, but when I get out of easy reading I can't do much."

"Can you write?"

"A little, but not much."

"I will help you all I can."

"Then I'll bring a writing book to-morrow evening, and a book to read out of."

Rough and Ready, though not as ignorant as many in his situation in life, had long deplored his ignorance, and wished that he knew more. But he had been obliged to work early and late, and his stepfather was not one to give him assistance, or take any interest in his improvement. So he had grown up ignorant, though possessed of excellent abilities, because he saw no way of obtaining the knowledge he desired. Now, however, he thought, with Miss Manning's help, he might enter upon a career of improvement.

"Have you seen father yet, Rufie?" asked Rose, uneasily.

"I saw Mr. Martin this morning," said the newsboy, emphasizing the name, for he would not recognize any relationship between them.

"I mean Mr. Martin," said Rose. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to know where you were."

"Did he?" asked Rose, looking frightened.

"Don't be afraid, Rosie," said her brother, putting his arm round his little sister's neck. "He doesn't know, and I shan't let him find out."

"But if he should find out," said Rose, in terror. "You won't let him carry me off."

"No, I won't. Don't be frightened. Do you like this better than Leonard Street, Rosie?"

"Oh, ever so much."

Rufus looked pleased. He felt that he had made the best arrangement in his power for his sister's comfort and happiness, and that he had been very lucky to find so suitable a person as Miss Manning to place her with.

While he was talking with Rose, the seamstress had been moving about quietly, and by this time the little table was neatly spread in the centre of the room. On it were placed knives, forks, and plates for three. The teakettle had boiled, and, taking out her little teapot, the seamstress put it on the stove for the tea to steep.

"Do you like toast, Rufus?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Manning; but I don't want you to take too much trouble."

"It's very little trouble. I think Rose would like toast too. I've got a little meat too."

She took from the cupboard about half a pound of steak, which she put on the coals to broil.

"I'm afraid you're giving us too good a supper," said the newsboy. "Beefsteak costs considerable. I don't want you to lose money by Rose and me."

"There is no danger of that," said Miss Manning. "It doesn't cost as much as you think for. The steak only cost me twelve cents."

"But there's the tea and the toast," suggested Rough and Ready.

"Toast costs no more than bread, and six cents pays for all the bread we eat at night. Then I only need a spoonful or two of tea, and that, and the sugar and butter altogether, don't cost more than eighteen cents."

"Do you mean that we can live like this for thirty cents a meal?" asked the newsboy, incredulously. "Why, I have about as much as that to pay for my dinner at the eating-house, and the meat isn't as good as this, I am sure."

"Yes, they charge considerable for the cooking and the profits," said Miss Manning. "I do the cooking myself, and save all that."

By this time dinner, as we may call it, was ready, and the three sat down to the table.

It was, to be sure, an humble meal; but it looked very attractive and inviting for all that, with the steak on a plate in the centre, the well-browned toast on one side, and the little plate of butter on the other, while the little teapot steamed with its fragrant beverage. It was so different from the way in which they had lived in Leonard Street, that it seemed very pleasant to the two children.

"Isn't it nice, Rufie?" said Rose.

"Yes," said the newsboy. "It's what I call reg'larly jolly. Besides, it cost so little money, I can't get over that. I'm sure we're much obliged to Miss Manning."

"But," said the seamstress, "you must remember that if it's better for you, it's better and pleasanter for me too. You mustn't think I used to live like this before Rose came to me. I couldn't afford to. Sometimes I had a little tea, but not often, and it was very seldom that I ate any meat. The rent came hard for me to pay, and I had to work so steadily that I didn't feel as if I could afford time to cook anything, even if I had the money to buy it with."

"What did you have for supper, Miss Manning?" inquired Rose.

"Generally I didn't get anything but dry bread, without butter or tea."

"But I should think you would have felt hungry for something else."

"I didn't have much appetite. I sat so steadily at my work, without a chance to breathe the fresh air, that I cared very little about eating. My appetite is beginning to come now."

"I think you and Rose had better take a walk every day," said Rufus. "You both need to breathe the fresh air. That is, if you think you can spare the time."

"Oh, yes, I can spare the time, now that I get paid so well for my boarder," said the seamstress, playfully. "An hour or two of my time is worth very little. How much do you think I earn when I sit over my work all day,—about fourteen hours?"

"I don't know," said Rufus. "I think you ought to earn as much as a dollar."

Miss Manning shook her head, with a smile.

"I see you know very little about the wages paid to us poor seamstresses," she said. "If I were paid a dollar for my day's work I should feel as if I were worth a fortune."

"But you earn near that," said the newsboy, "don't you?"

"When I work steadily, I earn about three shillings," said Miss Manning.

I must here remind my New England reader, who is accustomed to consider a shilling about seventeen cents, that in New York eight shillings are reckoned to the dollar, and a shilling, therefore, only represents twelve and a half cents; Miss Manning's day's work thus brought her thirty-seven and a half cents.

"Three shillings!" repeated Rough and Ready, in surprise. "That's very poor pay. I think I do very poorly if I don't make as much as a dollar. Won't they pay you any more?"

"No, they find plenty who are ready to take their work at the price they are willing to pay. If anybody complains, they take away their work and employ somebody else."

"How much do you think I made to day?" asked the newsboy.

"A dollar and a quarter?"

"I made a dollar and seventy-five cents," said Rough and Ready, with satisfaction.

"Rufie's real smart," said Rose, who was proud of her brother, in whom she felt implicit confidence.

"You mustn't believe all she says, Miss Manning," said the newsboy, laughing. "Rose thinks more of me than anybody else does. But what were we talking about? Oh, about going out for a walk every day. If you think you can spare the time to go out with Rose, I think it will do you both good."

"We can come round and see you sell papers sometimes, Rufie," said his little sister.

"No," said the newsboy, hastily, "I don't want you to do that."

"Why not?" said Rose, surprised.

"Because Mr. Martin is on the lookout for Rose, and will very likely be prowling round somewhere near me, ready to pounce on Rose if he happens to see her. So I'd rather you'd keep on the west side with her Miss Manning. If you go on Broadway, let it be somewhere above Chamber Street, where you won't be seen from the Park. In that way Martin won't be likely to meet you."

"It is best to be prudent, no doubt," said Miss Manning. "I will remember your wishes."

The next evening, Rufus began to study, under the guidance and direction of Miss Manning. He generally left the room about nine o'clock, and made his way to the Newsboys' Lodge, where he now passed his nights regularly.

CHAPTER IX.

MR. MARTIN'S PECUNIARY TROUBLES

James Martin, after his unsatisfactory interview with Rough and Ready, found it necessary to make some plans for the future. He had been forced to leave the rooms in Leonard Street; he had no longer the newsboy's earnings to depend upon, and, disagreeable as it was to work for his own living, there really seemed no other way open to him. On the whole, as he had no home and no money, he was not particular about resuming the care of Rose at once.

He was willing that her brother should retain the charge of her at present at his own expense, but none the less was he angry with Rough and Ready for defying his authority.

"I'll get hold of the girl yet, in spite of him," he said to himself. "He'll find out what I am before I get through with him."

In the mean time, he thought of the work which had been offered him in Brooklyn, and resolved, as a matter of necessity, to go over and see if he could not effect an engagement. The new houses he remembered were on Fourth Avenue, in Brooklyn. He did not know exactly where, but presumed he could find out.

He crossed Fulton Ferry, luckily having two cents about him. Fourth Avenue is situated in that part of Brooklyn which is known as Gowanus, and is at least two miles from the ferry. The fare by the horse-cars was six cents, but James Martin had only three left after paying his ferriage. He could not make up his mind to walk, however, and got into the Greenwood cars, resolved to trust his luck. The cars started, and presently the conductor came round.

Martin put his hand into his pocket unconcernedly, and, starting in apparent surprise, felt in the other.

"Some rascal must have picked my pocket," he said. "My pocket-book is gone."

"How much money did you have in it?" asked his next neighbor.

"Forty-five dollars and twenty-five cents," said Martin, with unblushing falsehood. "It's pretty hard on a poor man."

The conductor looked rather incredulous, observing his passenger's red nose, and that his breath was mingled with fumes of whiskey.

"I'm sorry for you if you've lost your pocket-book," he said; "but can't you raise six cents?"

Martin again thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out three cents.

"That's all I've got left," he said. "You'll have to take me for half price."

"Contrary to orders," said the conductor. "Couldn't do it."

"What am I to do then?"

"If you can't pay your fare, you'll have to get off the cars."

"It seems to me you're rather hard," said a passenger.

"I have to obey orders," said the conductor. "I don't make the regulations myself."

"If you will allow me," said a lady opposite, "I will pay your fare, sir."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Martin. "I'll accept your kind offer, though I wouldn't need to be beholden to anybody, if it hadn't been for my loss. It's pretty hard on a poor man," he added, complainingly.

"Will you accept a trifle towards making up your loss?" said an old gentleman, who had more benevolence than penetration.

"Thank you, sir," said James Martin, accepting the two-dollar bill which was tendered him, without feeling the least delicacy in so doing.

"You're very kind. I wouldn't take it if I hadn't been so unfortunate."

"You're quite welcome," said the old gentleman, kindly. "You'd better report your loss to the police."

"So I shall, as soon as I return to-night."

James Martin looked round among the other passengers, hoping that some one else might be induced to follow the example of the charitable old gentle man. But he was disappointed. There was some thing about his appearance, which was not exactly engaging or attractive, and his red nose inspired suspicions that his habits were not quite what they ought to have been. In fact, there was more than one passenger who had serious doubts as to the reality of his loss.

When the cars reached the entrance of Fourth Avenue, Martin descended, and walked up the street.

"Well," he said, chuckling, as he drew out the bill from his pocket, "I'm in luck. I'd like to meet plenty as soft-headed as that old chap that gave it to me. He swallowed down my story, as if it was gospel. I'll try it again some time when I'm hard up."

Martin began to consider whether, having so large a sum on hand, he had not better give up the idea of working till the next day; but the desire to find himself in a position in which he could regain Rose prevailed over his sluggishness, and he decided to keep on.

He had not far to walk. He soon came in sight of a row of wooden houses which were being erected, and, looking about him, he saw the man he had met in the streets of New York only a day or two before.

"Hallo, Martin!" he called out, seeing the new arrival; "have you come over to help us?"

"Do you need any help?" asked Martin.

"Badly. One of my men is sick, and I am shorthanded."

"What do you give?"

"Two dollars a day."

Wages are higher now, but this was before the war.

"Come, what do you say?"

"Well, I might as well," said Martin.

"Then I'll tell you what I would like to have you begin on."

The directions were given, and James Martin set to work. He was in reality an excellent workman, and the only thing which had reduced him to his present low fortune was the intemperate habits which had for years been growing upon him. Mr. Blake, the contractor, himself a master carpenter, understood this, and was willing to engage him, because he knew that his work would be done well as long as he was in a fit condition to work.

Martin kept at work till six o'clock, when all the workmen knocked off work. He alone had no boarding-place to go to.

"Where do you board, Tarbox?" he asked of a fellow-workman.

"In Eighth Street," he answered.

"Is it a good place?"

"Fair."

"Who keeps the house?"

"Mrs. Waters."

"What do you pay?"

"Four dollars a week."

This again was lower than the price which mechanics have to pay now.

"Is there room for another?"

"Yes, the old lady'll be glad to get another. Will you come?"

"Well, I'll try it."

So James Martin walked home with Tarbox, and was introduced to Mrs. Waters,—a widow who looked as if it required hard work and anxious thought to keep her head above water. Of course she was glad to get another boarder, and her necessities were such that she could not afford to be particular, or possibly Mr. Martin's appearance might have been an objection.

"I suppose," she said, "you won't have any objection to go in with Mr. Tarbox."

"No," said Martin, "not at present; but I may be bringing my little girl over here before long. Do you think you can find room for her?"

"She might sleep with my little girl," said Mrs. Waters; "that is, if you don't object. How old is she?"

"She is seven."

"And my Fanny is eight. They'd be company for each other."

"My little girl is in New York, at present," said Mr. Martin, "stopping with—with a relative. I shall leave her there for a while."

"You can bring her any time, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters. "If you will excuse me now, I will go and see about the supper."

In ten minutes the bell rang, and the boarders went down to the basement to eat their supper.

Considering Mrs. Waters' rate of board, which has already been mentioned, it will hardly be expected that her boarding establishment was a very stylish one. Indeed, style would hardly have been appreciated by the class of boarders which patronized her. A table, covered with a partially dirty cloth, stood in the centre of the room. On this were laid out plates and crockery of common sort, and a good supply of plain food, including cold meat. Mrs. Waters found that her boarders were more particular about quantity than quality, and the hearty appetite which they brought with them after a day's work in the open air caused them to make serious inroads even upon the most bountiful meal which she could spread before them.

James Martin surveyed the prospect with satisfaction. He had lived in a slip-shod manner for some months, and the table set by Mrs. Waters, humble as it was, seemed particularly attractive. On the whole, he could not help feeling that it was better than Leonard Street. Indeed, he felt in particularly good spirits. He had two dollars in his pocket, and had worked three quarters of a day, thus earning a dollar and a half, though he would not be paid for his labor till the end of the week. The thought did come to him once, that after all he was well rid of Rose, as she would be an expense to him, and this expense the newsboy had voluntarily assumed. Now he had only himself to take care of. Why should he not give up the thought of reclaiming her?

But then, on the other hand, Rough and Ready's independent course had offended him, and he felt a desire to "come up" with him. He knew that nothing would strike the newsboy a severer blow than to deprive him of his sister, and leave him in uncertainty as to her fate. Revenge he felt would be sweet, and he fully determined that he would have revenge.

"Let him look out for himself!" said James Martin. "I'll plague him yet. He'll be sorry for his cursed impudence, or my name isn't James Martin."

After supper Martin strolled out, and was not long in finding a liquor-shop. Here he supplied himself with a vile draught, that had the effect of making his red nose yet redder when he appeared at the breakfast-table the next morning. However, he didn't drink to excess, and was able to resume work the following day.

We must now leave him, awhile, and turn to little Rose and her brother.

CHAPTER X.

WHAT THE NEWSBOY FOUND

It has been already stated that Rough and Ready had made a careful estimate of his expenses, and found that to meet them, including clothing, he must average seven dollars and seventy-two cents weekly. He might get along on less, but he was ambitious of maintaining himself and his sister in comfort.

This was a considerable sum for a newsboy to earn, and most boys in our hero's position would have felt discouraged. But Rough and Ready had an uncommon degree of energy and persistence, and he resolutely determined that in some way the weekly sum should be obtained. In some honest way, of course, for our hero, though not free from faults, was strictly honest, and had never knowingly appropriated a cent that did not justly belong to him. But he was not averse to any method by which he might earn an honest penny.

During the first fortnight after Rose came under the charge of Miss Manning, the newsboy earned fifteen dollars. His expenses during that time, including the amount paid for his sister, amounted to ten dollars and a half. This left four dollars and a half clear. This sum Rufus put into a savings-bank, knowing that after a time it would be necessary to purchase clothing both for himself and his sister, and for this purpose a reserve fund would be required.

One day, after selling his supply of morning papers, he wandered down to the Battery. This, as some of my readers may need to be informed, is a small park situated at the extreme point of Manhattan Island. It was on a delightful promenade, covered with grass, and shaded by lofty sycamore-trees. Around it formerly lived some of the oldest and most aristocratic families in the city. But its ancient glory, its verdure and beauty, have departed, and it is now unsightly and neglected. None of its old attractions remain, except the fine view which it affords of the bay, the islands, and fortifications, and the opposite shores of New Jersey. The old families have moved far up-town, and the neighborhood is given to sailors' boarding-houses, warehouses, and fourth-rate hotels and bar-rooms.