Tattered Tom

Next him was stretched a man who was deserving still more pity, since his misfortunes sprang rather from a want of judgment than from his own fault. He was a scholar, with a fair knowledge of Latin and Greek, and some ability as a writer. He was an Englishman who had come to the city in the hope of making his acquisitions available, but had met with very poor encouragement. He found that both among teachers and writers the demand exceeded the supply, at least for those of moderate qualifications; and, having no influential friends, had sought for employment almost in vain. His small stock of money dwindled, his suit became shabby, until he found himself, to his deep mortification and disgust, compelled to resort to such lodging-houses as this, where he was obliged to herd with the lowest and most abandoned class.

Next to him lay a mechanic, once in profitable employment. But drink had been his ruin; and now he was a vagabond, spending the little money he earned, at rum-shops, except what was absolutely necessary for food.

There is no need of cataloguing the remainder of Meg Morely’s lodgers. Her low rates generally secured her a room-full, and a dozen, sometimes more, were usually packed away on the floor. On the whole she found it a paying business, though her charges were low. Sixty cents a day was quite a respectable addition to her income, and she had occupied the same place for two years already. Tom’s experience will show that she had other, and not quite so lawful, ways of swelling her receipts, but she was cautious not to put them in practice, unless she considered it prudent, as in the present instance.

It was seven o’clock when Tom awoke. She looked around her in bewilderment, thinking at first she must be in granny’s room. But a glance at the prostrate forms around her brought back the events of the day before, and gave her a realizing sense of her present situation.

“I’ve had a good sleep,” said Tom to herself, stretching, by way of relief from her constrained position. “I guess it’s time to get up.”

She rubbed her eyes, and shook back her hair, and then rising, went into the front room. Her landlady was already up and getting breakfast.

“What time is it?” asked Tom.

“It’s just gone seven,” said Meg, looking sharply at Tom to see if she had discovered the loss of her money. “How did you sleep?”

“Tip-top.”

“Come ag’in.”

“All right!” said Tom. “Maybe I will.”

She climbed up the basement stairs to the street above, and began to think of what the day had in store for her. Her prospects were not brilliant certainly; but Tom on the whole felt in good spirits. She had thrown off the yoke of slavery. She was her own mistress now, and granny’s power was broken. Tom felt that she could get along somehow. She had confidence in herself, and was sure something would turn up for her.

“Now, what’ll I do first?” thought Tom.

With twenty-five cents in her pocket, and a good appetite, breakfast naturally suggested itself.

She dove her hand into her pocket, but the face of the little Arab almost instantly expressed deep dismay.

Her money was gone!

CHAPTER VII.

TOM MAKES A FRIEND

Twenty-five cents is not a large sum, but it was Tom’s entire fortune. It was all she had, not only to buy breakfast with, but also to start in business. She had an excellent appetite, but now there was no hope of satisfying it until she could earn some more money.

Tom hurried back to the lodging, and entered, looking excited.

“Well, what’s wanted?” asked Meg, who knew well enough without asking.

“I’ve lost some money.”

“Suppose you did,” said the woman, defiantly, “you don’t mean to say I took it.”

“No,” said Tom, “but I had it when I laid down.”

“Where was it?”

“In my pocket.”

“Might have tumbled out among the straw,” suggested Meg.

This struck Tom as not improbable, and she went back into the bedroom, and, getting down on her hands and knees, commenced poking about for it. But even if it had been there, any of my readers who has ever lost money in this way knows that it is very difficult to find under such circumstances.

Tom persevered in her search until her next-door neighbor growled out that he wished she would clear out. At length she was obliged to give it up.

“Have you found it?” asked Meg.

“No,” said Tom, soberly.

“How much was it?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

“That aint much.”

“It’s enough to bust me. I don’t believe it’s in the straw.”

“What do you believe?” demanded Meg, whose guilty conscience made her scent an accusation.

“I think some of them took it while I was asleep,” said Tom, indicating the other lodgers by a jerk of her finger.

“Likely they did,” said Meg, glad to have suspicion diverted elsewhere.

“I wish I knew,” said Tom.

“What’ud you do?”

“I’d get it back again,” said Tom, her black eyes snapping with resolution.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re nothin’ but a babby. You couldn’t do nothin’!”

“Couldn’t I?” returned Tom. “I’d let ’em know whether I was a baby.”

“Well, you go along now,” said Meg. “Your money’s gone, and you can’t get it back. Next time give it to me to keep, and it’ll be safe.”

Being penniless, Tom was in considerable uncertainty when she would again be mistress of so large a sum. At present she felt in no particular dread of being robbed. She left the lodgings, realizing that the money was indeed gone beyond hope of recovery.

There is some comfort in beginning the day with a good breakfast. It warms one up, and inspires hope and confidence. As a general rule people are good-natured and cheerful after a hearty breakfast. For ten cents Tom might have got a cup of coffee, or what passed for such, and a plate of tea-biscuit. With the other fifteen she could have bought a few morning papers, and easily earned enough to pay for a square meal in the middle of the day. Now she must go to work without capital, and on an empty stomach, which was rather discouraging. She would have fared better than this at granny’s, though not much, her breakfast there usually consisting of a piece of stale bread, with perhaps a fragment of cold sausage. Coffee, granny never indulged in, believing whiskey to be more healthful. Occasionally, in moments of extreme good nature, she had given Tom a sip of whiskey; but the young Arab had never got to like it, fortunately for herself, though she had accepted it as a variation of her usual beverage, cold water.

In considering what she should do for the day, Tom decided to go to some of the railway stations or steamboat landings, and try to get a chance to carry a carpet-bag. “Baggage-smashing” required no capital, and this was available in her present circumstances.

Tom made her way to the pier where the steamers of the Fall River line arrive. Ordinarily it would have been too late, but it had been a windy night, the sound was rough, and the steamer was late, so that Tom arrived just in the nick of time.

Tom took her place among the hackmen, and the men and boys who, like her, were bent on turning an honest penny by carrying baggage.

“Clear out of the way here, little gal!” said a stout, overgrown boy. “Smash your baggage, sir?”

“Clear out yourself!” said Tom, boldly. “I’ve got as much right here as you.”

Her little, sharp eyes darted this way and that in search of a possible customer. The boy who had been rude to her got a job, and this gave Tom a better chance. She offered her services to a lady, who stared at her with curiosity and returned no answer. Tom began to think she should not get a job. There seemed a popular sentiment in favor of employing boys, and Tom, like others of her sex, found herself shut out from an employment for which she considered herself fitted. But, at length, she saw approaching a big, burly six-footer, with a good-natured face. There was something about him which inspired Tom with confidence, and, pressing forward, she said, “Carry your bag, sir?”

He stopped short and looked down at the queer figure of our heroine. Then, glancing at his carpet-bag, which was of unusual size and weight, the idea of his walking through the streets with Tom bending beneath the weight of his baggage, struck him in so ludicrous a manner that he burst into a hearty laugh.

“What’s up?” demanded Tom, suspiciously. “Who are you laughin’ at?”

“So you want to carry my carpet-bag?” he asked, laughing again.

“Yes,” said Tom.

“Why, I could put you in it,” said the tall man, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“No, you couldn’t,” said Tom.

“Do you think you could carry it?”

“Let me try.”

He set it down, and Tom lifted it from the ground; but it was obviously too much for her strength.

“You see you can’t do it. Have you found anything to do this morning?”

“No,” said Tom.

“Business isn’t good, hey?”

“No,” said Tom, “but I wouldn’t mind so much if I hadn’t had my money stole. I’m bust!”

“How’s that? Did the bank break or have you been speculating?”

“Oh, you’re gasin’! I aint got nothing to do with banks. Somebody stole two shillin’s I had, so I’ve had no breakfast.”

“Come, that’s bad. I guess I must give you a job, after all. You can’t carry my bag, but you can carry this.”

He had under his arm something wrapped in a paper, making a small bundle. He handed it to Tom, and she trudged along with it after him.

“You couldn’t guess what that is, I suppose?” said her companion, sociably.

“No,” said Tom; “it feels soft.”

“It’s a large wax doll, for my little niece,” said her patron. “You haven’t got any dolls, I suppose?”

“I had one once,” said Tom. “It was made of rags. But granny threw it into the fire.”

“I suppose you were sorry.”

“I was then; but I’m too old for dolls now.”

“How old are you?”

“I aint sure. Somewheres about twelve.”

“You live with your granny, then?”

“No, I don’t,—not now.”

“Why not?”

“She wanted to lick me, so I run away.”

“Then where do you live now?”

“Nowhere.”

“You have no home?”

“I don’t want no home. I can take care of myself,” said Tom, briskly.

“I see you are an independent, young woman. Now, if you were a boy, I’d give you a chance on board my ship.”

“Have you got a ship?” asked Tom, becoming interested.

“Yes, I am a sea-captain, and go on long voyages. If you wasn’t a girl, I’d take you along with me as cabin-boy.”

“I wish you would,” said Tom, eagerly.

“But you are a girl, you know? You couldn’t climb a mast.”

“Try me,” said Tom. “I’m strong. I fit with a boy yesterday, and licked him.”

Captain Barnes laughed, but shook his head.

“I see you’re spunky, if you are a girl,” he said. “But I never heard of a girl being cabin-boy, and I don’t think it would do.”

“I’d put on a boy’s clothes,” suggested Tom.

“You’ve begun to do it already,” said the captain, glancing at the cap and jacket. “I didn’t know at first but you were a boy. What makes you wear a cap?”

“Granny gave it to me. I like it better than a bonnet.”

They had by this time reached Broadway.

“You may steer across the Park to French’s Hotel,” said the sailor. “It’s too late to get breakfast at my sister’s.”

“All right,” said Tom.

They crossed the Park, and the street beyond, and reached the door of the brick hotel on the corner of Frankfort Street.

“I’ll go down into the restaurant first,” said Captain Barnes. “I feel like laying in a cargo before navigating any farther.”

“Here’s your bundle,” said Tom.

He took it, and handed Tom twenty-five cents, which she received with gratification, not having expected so much for carrying so small a bundle.

“Stay a moment,” said the sailor, as she was about to go away. “You haven’t had any breakfast, I think you said.”

“No.”

“Then you shall come in, and breakfast with me.”

This invitation astonished Tom not a little. It was the first invitation she had ever received to breakfast with a gentleman. French’s restaurant being higher priced than those which her class were in the habit of patronizing, she entered with some hesitation, not feeling quite sure how her entrance would be regarded by the waiters. She was not generally wanting in self-possession, but as she descended the stairs and entered the room, she felt awkward and out of her element.

CHAPTER VIII.

AT FRENCH’S HOTEL

“Clear out of here!” said a waiter, arresting Tom’s progress, and pointing to the steps by which she had descended from the sidewalk.

If Tom had been alone, she would have felt bound to obey the summons; but being under the protection of Captain Barnes, who, she reflected, looked a good deal stronger than the waiter, she stood her ground.

“Did you hear what I said?” demanded the waiter angrily, about to take Tom by the shoulder.

“Avast there!” put in the captain, who thought it time to interfere; “is that the way you treat your customers?”

“She aint no customer.”

“She is going to take breakfast here, my friend, and I should like to know what you have got to say about it.”

The waiter seemed taken aback by this unexpected championship of one whom he had supposed to be an unprotected street girl.

“I didn’t know she was with you,” he stammered.

“Well, you know it now. Come, child, you can sit down here.”

Tom enjoyed her triumph over the waiter, and showed it in a characteristic manner, by putting her thumb to her nose.

Captain Barnes sat down on one side of a table at one of the windows, and motioned Tom to sit opposite.

“I don’t think you told me your name,” he said.

“Tom.”

“Then, Tom, let me suggest that you take off your cap. It’s usual in the best society.”

“I never was there,” said Tom; but she removed her cap. This revealed a mop of hair, tangled it is true, but of a beautiful brown shade. Her black eyes sparkled from beneath, giving a bright, keen look to her face, browned by exposure to all weathers. I regret to say that the face was by no means clean. If it had been, and the whole expression had not been so wild and untamed, Tom would certainly have been considered pretty. As it was, probably no one would have wasted a second glance upon the little street girl.

“What will you have, sir, you and the young lady?” asked the waiter, emphasizing the last word, with a grin at Tom.

“What will you have, Tom?” asked the captain.

“Beefsteak, cup o’ coffee, and bread-and-butter,” said Tom, glibly.

Her knowledge of dishes was limited; but she had tried these and liked them, and this guided her in the selection.

“Very good,” said Captain Barnes; “the same for me, with fried potatoes and an omelet.”

Tom stared at this munificent order. She fixed her black eyes meditatively upon her entertainer, and wondered whether he always indulged in such a superlatively square meal.

“What are you thinking about, Tom?” questioned the captain.

“You must be awful rich,” said Tom.

Captain Barnes laughed.

“What makes you think so?”

“It’ll cost you a lot for breakfast.”

“But you know I don’t always have company to breakfast.”

“Do you call me company?”

“Of course I do.”

“I shouldn’t think you’d want to have me eat with you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a gentleman.”

“And you’re a young lady. Didn’t you hear the waiter call you so?”

“He was chaffin’.”

“You may be a lady some time.”

“’Taint likely,” said Tom.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t got no good clothes to wear, nor don’t know nothin’.”

“Can you read?”

“A little, but I don’t like to. It’s too hard work.”

“Makes your head ache, eh?”

“Yes,” said Tom, seriously.

Captain Barnes looked attentively at the odd little creature opposite him. He wondered what would be her fate. She was quick, sharp, pretty, but withal an untamed Arab of the streets. The chances seemed very much against her in the warfare of life. Society seemed leagued against her, and she was likely to be at war with it.

“I’ll make an effort to save her,” he thought. But of this he did not speak to Tom at present, more especially as the waiter was seen advancing with the breakfast ordered.

He deposited the various dishes, some before Tom, and the remainder before the captain.

Tom was not used to restaurants of the better class, and did not see the necessity of an empty plate in addition to the dish which contained the meat. Such ceremony was not in vogue at the ten-cent restaurants which she had hitherto patronized. She fixed her eyes eagerly upon the beefsteak, which emitted a very savory odor.

“Pass your plate, Tom, and I will give you some meat.”

Tom passed her plate, nothing loath, and the captain transferred to it a liberal supply of meat.

Tom waited for no ceremony, but, seizing her knife, attacked the meat vigorously.

“How is it?” asked her companion, amused.

“Bully!” said Tom, too busy to raise her eyes from her plate.

“Let me help you to a little of the omelet.”

Tom extended her plate, and a portion of the omelet was placed upon it.

Tom raised a little to her lips, cautiously, for it was a new dish to her, and she did not know whether she would like it. It seemed to be satisfactory, however, none being left upon her plate when she had finished eating.

Not much conversation went on during the meal. Tom’s entire energies were given to disposing of the squarest meal in which she had ever indulged, and the captain’s attention was divided between his breakfast and the young waif upon whom he was bestowing perfect bliss.

At length Tom’s efforts relaxed. She laid down her knife and fork, and heaved a sigh of exquisite enjoyment.

“Well,” said the captain, “would you like some more?”

“No,” said Tom, “I’m full.”

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“Didn’t I, just?” and Tom’s tone spoke volumes.

“I’m glad of that. I think it’s very good myself.”

“You’re a brick!” said Tom, in a tone of grateful acknowledgment.

“Thank you,” said Captain Barnes, his eyes twinkling a little; “I try to be.”

“I wonder what granny would say if she knowed where I was,” soliloquized Tom, aloud.

“She’d be glad you had enjoyed your breakfast.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She’d be mad.”

“You don’t give your grandmother a very good character. Doesn’t she like you?”

“No; she hates me, and I hate her. She takes all my money, and then licks me.”

“That’s unpleasant, to be sure. Then you don’t want to go back to her?”

“Not for Joe!” said Tom, shaking her head very decidedly.

“Then you expect to take care of yourself? Do you think you can?”

Tom nodded confidently.

“What are you going to do this morning, for instance?”

“Buy some papers with the money you give me.”

“What a self-reliant spirit the little chit has!” thought Captain Barnes. “I’ve known plenty of young men, who had less faith in their ability to cope with the world, and gain a livelihood, than she. Yet she has next to no clothes, and her entire capital consists of twenty-five cents. There is a lesson for the timid and despondent in her philosophy.”

Tom had no idea of what was passing in the mind of her companion. If she had been able to read his thoughts, it is not likely she would have understood them. Her own thoughts had become practical. She had had a good breakfast,—thanks to the kindness of her new friend,—but for dinner she must depend upon herself. She felt that it was quite time to enter upon the business of the day.

She put on her cap and rose to her feet.

“I’m goin’,” she said, abruptly.

“Where are you going?”

“To buy some papers. Thank you for my breakfast.”

It was probably the first time Tom ever thanked anybody for anything. I am not quite sure whether anybody before this had given her any cause for gratitude. Certainly, not granny, who had bestowed far less than she had received from the child, upon whom she had not been ashamed to be a selfish dependent. There was something, possibly, in her present companionship with a kind-hearted gentleman, something, perhaps, in her present more respectable surroundings, which had taught Tom this first lesson in good manners. She was almost surprised herself at the expression of gratitude to which she had given utterance.

“Stop a minute, Tom!” said the captain.

Tom had got half way to the door, but she stopped short on being called back.

“You haven’t asked me whether I have got through with you.”

Tom looked surprised. She knew of no further service in which she could make herself useful to her companion.

“Haven’t you got through with me?” she asked.

“Not quite. I’m not going to stop here, you know,—I am going to my sister’s.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Sixteenth Street.”

“Do you want me to carry your carpet-bag?” asked Tom.

“Well, no; I think you couldn’t manage that. But you can carry the bundle.”

“All right!” said Tom.

It was all one to her whether she sold papers, or carried bundles. The main thing was to earn the small amount of money necessary to defray her daily expenses. Of the two she would rather go up to Sixteenth Street; for as she had seldom found occasion to go up town, the expedition promised a little novelty.

Captain Barnes paid his bill, and left the restaurant, with Tom at his heels.

CHAPTER IX.

MRS. MERTON

“We’ll go across Broadway, and take the Sixth Avenue cars, Tom,” said the captain.

“Are we goin’ to ride?” asked Tom, surprised.

“Yes, you don’t catch me lugging this heavy carpet-bag up to Sixteenth Street.”

Tom was rather surprised at this. She did not understand why her services were required to carry the bundle if they were going to ride. However, she very sensibly remained silent, not feeling called upon to comment on her employer’s arrangements.

At this time in the day there was no difficulty in obtaining a seat in the cars. Tom, however, was not disposed to sit down quietly:—

“I’ll stand outside,” she said.

“Very well,” said Captain Barnes, and he drew out a copy of a morning paper which he had purchased on leaving the hotel.

Tom took her position beside the driver. She rather enjoyed the ride, for, though she had lived in the city for years, she had seldom been on the car as a passenger, though she had frequently stolen a ride on the steps of a Broadway omnibus.

“Well, Johnny, are you going up town to look after your family?” asked the driver, good-naturedly.

“I’d have to look a long time before I found ’em,” said Tom.

“Haven’t you got any relations, then?”

“There’s an old woman that calls herself my granny.”

“Does she live up on Fifth Avenue?”

“Yes,” said Tom; “next door to you.”

“You’ve got me there,” said the driver, laughing. “Give my respects to your granny, and tell her she’s got a smart grand-daughter.”

“I will, when I see her.”

“Don’t you live with her?”

“Not now. She aint my style.”

Here the conductor tapped Tom on the shoulder.

“He pays for me,” said Tom, pointing back at Captain Barnes.

“I suppose he’s your grandfather,” said the driver, jocosely.

“I wish he was. He’s a trump. He gave me a stunnin’ breakfast.”

“So you like him better than your granny?”

“You can bet on that.”

Captain Barnes, sitting near the door, heard a part of this conversation, and it amused him.

“I wonder,” he thought, “whether my sister will be willing to assume charge of this wild little girl? There’s enough in her to make a very smart woman, if she is placed under the right influences and properly trained. But I suspect that will require not a little patience and tact. Well, we shall see.”

After a while the car reached Sixteenth Street, and the captain left it, with Tom following him. They turned down Sixteenth Street from the avenue, and finally stopped before a fair-looking brick house. Captain Barnes went up the steps, and rang the bell.

“Is Mrs. Merton at home?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the servant, looking hard at Tom.

“Then I’ll come in. Tell her her brother wishes to see her. Come in, Tom.”

Tom followed the captain, the servant continuing to eye her suspiciously. They entered the parlor, where Captain Barnes took a seat on the sofa, motioning Tom to sit beside him. Tom obeyed, surveying the sofa with some curiosity. The families in the tenement house with whom she had been on visiting terms did not in general possess sofas. She had sometimes seen them in furniture stores, but this was the first time she had sat upon one.