Tattered Tom

“What are you thinking of, Tom?” asked the captain, desiring to draw her out.

“Does your sister live here?”

“Yes.”

“She’s rich, isn’t she?”

“No, she makes a living by keeping boarders. Perhaps you’d like to board with her.”

Tom laughed.

“She don’t take the likes of me,” she said.

“Suppose you were rich enough, wouldn’t you like to board here?”

“I don’t know,” said Tom, looking round. “It’s dark.”

“All the rooms are not dark. Besides, you’d get three square meals every day.”

“I’d like that,” said Tom, seriously.

Their further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the captain’s sister, Mrs. Merton. She was rather a stout woman, but there was an expression of care on her face, which was not surprising, for it is no light thing to keep a New York boarding-house.

“When did you arrive in the city, Albert?” she asked, giving him her hand cordially.

“Only just arrived, Martha. How does the world use you?”

“I can’t complain, though it’s a wearing thing looking after a household like this. Have you had any breakfast?”

“I took some down town.”

Just then Mrs. Merton’s eye fell for the first time upon Tom. She started in surprise, and looked doubtfully at her brother.

“Who is this?” she asked. “Did she come with you?”

“It’s a young friend of mine. She met me at the wharf, and wanted to carry my carpet-bag.”

“You didn’t let her do it?”

“Bless you, no. It’s big enough to pack her away in. But I employed her to carry a bundle. Didn’t I, Tom?”

“What did you call her?” asked his sister.

“Tom. That’s her name, so she says.”

“What made you bring her here?” asked Mrs. Merton, who evidently regarded her brother’s conduct as very queer.

“I’ll tell you, but not before her. Tom, you can go out into the entry, and shut the door behind you. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

Tom went out, and Captain Barnes returned to the subject.

“She’s got no relations except an intemperate old grandmother,” he said. “I’ve taken a fancy to her, and want to help her along. Can’t you find a place for her in your kitchen?”

“I take a girl from the street!” ejaculated Mrs. Merton. “Albert, you must be crazy.”

“Not at all. I am sure you can find something for her to do,—cleaning knives, running of errands, going to market, or something of that kind.”

“This is a very strange proposal.”

“Why is it? At present she lives in the street, being driven from the only home she had, by the ill-treatment of a vicious grandmother. You can see what chance she has of growing up respectably.”

“But there are plenty such. I don’t see that it’s our business to look after them.”

“I don’t know why it is, but I’ve taken a fancy to this little girl.”

“She looks perfectly wild.”

“I won’t deny that she is rather uncivilized, but there’s a good deal in her. She’s as smart as a steel trap.”

“Smart enough to steal, probably.”

“Perhaps so, under temptation. I want to remove the temptation.”

“This is a very strange freak on your part, Albert.”

“I don’t know about that. You know I have no child of my own, and am well off, so far as this world’s goods are concerned. I have long thought I should like to train up a child in whom I could take an interest, and who would be a comfort to me when I am older.”

“You can find plenty of attractive children without going into the street for them.”

“I don’t want a tame child. She wouldn’t interest me. This girl has spirit. I’ll tell you what I want you to do, Martha. I’m going off on a year’s voyage. Take her into your house, make her as useful as you can, civilize her, and I will allow you a fair price for her board.”

“Do you want her to go to school?”

“After a while. At present she needs to be civilized. She is a young street Arab with very elementary ideas as to the way in which people live. She needs an apprenticeship in some house like this. My little niece must be about her age.”

“Mary? How can I trust her to the companionship of such a girl?”

“Tom isn’t bad. She is only untrained. She will learn more than she will teach at first. Afterwards Mary may learn something of her.”

“I am sure I don’t know what to say,” said Mrs. Merton, irresolutely.

Here the captain named the terms he was willing to pay for Tom’s board. This was a consideration to Mrs. Merton, who found that she had to calculate pretty closely to make keeping boarders pay.

“I’ll try her,” she said.

“Thank you, Martha. You can let her go into the kitchen at first, till she is fit to be promoted.”

“She must have some clothes. She had on a boy’s jacket.”

“Yes, and cap. In fact she is more of a boy than a girl at present.”

“I am not sure but some of Mary’s old dresses may fit her. Mary must be a little larger than she is.”

“That reminds me I brought a doll for Fanny. She has not grown too large for dolls yet.”

“No, she is just the age to enjoy them. She will be delighted.”

“I think we may call in Tom now, and inform her of our intention.”

“She must have another name. It won’t do to call a girl Tom.”

“She said her name used to be Jenny, but she has been nicknamed Tom.”

The door was opened, and Captain Barnes called in Tom.

“Come in, Tom,” he said.

“All right!” said Tom. “I’m on hand!”

“We’ve been talking about you, Tom,” pursued the captain.

“What have you been sayin’?” asked Tom, suspiciously.

“I’ve been telling my sister that you had no home, and were obliged to earn your own living in the streets.”

“I don’t care much,” said Tom. “I’d rather do that than live with granny, and get licked.”

“But wouldn’t you like better to have a nice home, where you would have plenty to eat, and a good bed to sleep in?”

“Maybe I would.”

“I’ve been asking my sister to let you stay here with her. Would you like that?”

Tom regarded Mrs. Merton attentively. The face was careworn, but very different from granny’s. On the whole, it inspired her with some degree of confidence.

“If she wouldn’t lick me very often,” she said.

“How about that, Martha?” he asked.

“I think I can promise that,” said Mrs. Merton, amused in spite of herself.

“Of course you will have to work. My sister will find something for you to do.”

“I aint afraid of work,” said Tom, “if I only get enough to eat, and aint licked.”

“You see, Tom, I feel an interest in you.”

“You’re a brick!” said Tom, gratefully.

“Little girl,” said Mrs. Merton, shocked, “you mustn’t use such language in addressing my brother.”

“Never mind, Martha; she means it as a compliment.”

“A compliment to call you a brick!”

“Certainly. But now about clothes. Can’t you rig her out with something that will make her presentable?”

“She needs a good washing first,” said Mrs. Merton, surveying Tom’s dirty face and hands with disfavor.

“A very good suggestion. You won’t mind being washed, I suppose, Tom?”

“I’d just as lives,” said Tom.

In fact she was quite indifferent on the subject. She was used to being dirty, but if she could oblige her new protector by washing, she was quite willing.

“I’ve got to go out for an hour or two,” said Captain Barnes, “but I will leave my carpet-bag here, and come back to lunch.”

“Of course, Albert. When do you sail?”

“In three days at farthest.”

“Of course you will remain here up to the day of sailing.”

“Yes, if you can find a spare corner to stow me in.”

“It would be odd if I couldn’t find room for my only brother.”

“So be it, then. You may expect me.”

He rose and taking his hat left the house. Tom and Mrs. Merton were now alone.

CHAPTER X.

TOM DROPS HER TATTERS

“Now, what is your name, little girl?” asked Mrs. Merton, surveying Tom doubtfully, half sorry that she had undertaken the care of her.

“Tom.”

“That’s a boy’s name.”

“Everybody calls me Tom,—sometimes Tattered Tom.”

“There’s some reason about the first name,” thought Mrs. Merton, as her glance rested on the ragged skirt and well-ventilated jacket of her brother’s protegée.

“As you are a girl, it is not proper that you should have a boy’s name. What is your real name?”

“I think it’s Jenny. Granny used to call me so long ago, but I like Tom best.”

“Then I shall call you Jenny. Now, Jenny, the first thing to do, is to wash yourself clean. Follow me.”

Mrs. Merton went up the front stairs, and Tom followed, using her eyes to good advantage as she advanced.

The landlady led the way into a bath-room. She set the water to running, and bade Tom undress.

“Am I to get into the tub?” asked Tom.

“Yes, certainly. While you are undressing, I will try and find some clothes that will fit you.”

Though she did not at first fancy the idea of bathing, Tom grew to like it, and submitted with a good grace. Mrs. Merton took care that it should be thorough. After it, she dressed Tom in some clothes, still very good, which had been laid aside by her daughter Mary. Then she combed Tom’s tangled locks, and was astonished by the improvement it made in the appearance of the little waif.

I have already said that Tom had elements of beauty, but it took sharp eyes to detect them under the rags and dirt which had so effectually disguised her. She had very brilliant dark eyes, and a clear olive complexion, with cheeks that had a tinge of red instead of the pallor usually to be found in those children who have the misfortune to be reared in a tenement house. In her new clothes she looked positively handsome, as Mrs. Merton thought, though she did not see fit to say so to Tom herself.

When her toilet was concluded she turned Tom to the glass, and said, “There, Jenny, do you know who that is?”

Tom stared in open-eyed wonder at the image which she saw. She could hardly believe the testimony of her eyes.

“Is that me?” she asked.

“I believe so,” said Mrs. Merton, smiling.

“It don’t look like me a bit,” continued Tom.

“It doesn’t look like ‘Tattered Tom,’ certainly. Don’t you like it better?”

“I dunno,” said Tom, doubtfully. “It looks too much like a girl.”

“But you are a girl, you know.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“Why?”

“Boys have more fun; besides, they are stronger, and can fight better.”

“But you don’t want to fight?” said Mrs. Merton, scandalized.

“I licked a boy yesterday,” said Tom, proudly.

“Why did you do that?”

“He sassed me, and I licked him. He was bigger’n I was, too!”

“I can’t allow you to fight in future, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton. “It isn’t at all proper for girls, or indeed for boys, to fight; but it is worse for girls.”

“Why is it?” asked Tom.

“Because girls should be gentle and lady-like.”

“If you was a girl, and a boy should slap you in the face, what would you do?” asked Tom, fixing her bright eyes upon her mentor.

“I should forgive him, and hope he would become a better boy.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Tom. “I’d give him Hail Columby.”

“You’ve got some very wrong ideas, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton. “I fear that your grandmother has not brought you up properly.”

“She did not bring me up at all. I brought myself up. As for granny, she didn’t care as long as I brought her money to buy whiskey.”

Mrs. Merton shook her head. It was very evident to her that Tom had been under very bad influences.

“I hope you will see the error of your ways after a while, Jenny. My brother takes an interest in you, and for his sake I hope you will try to improve.”

“If he wants me to, I will,” said Tom, decidedly.

Arab as she was, she had been impressed by the kindness of Captain Barnes, and felt that she should like to please him. Still, there was a fascination in the wild independence of her street life which was likely for some time to interfere with her enjoyment of the usages of a more civilized state. There was little prospect of her taming down into an average girl all at once. The change must come slowly.

“My brother will be very much pleased if he finds that you have improved when he returns from his voyage.”

“When is he goin’ to sea?”

“In two or three days.”

“I asked him to take me with him,” said Tom; “but he wouldn’t.”

“You would only be in the way on a ship, Jenny.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I could be a cabin-boy.”

“But you are not a boy.”

“I could climb the masts as well as a boy. If there was only a pole here, I’d show you.”

“What a child you are!”

“Did you ever read about the female pirate captain?” asked Tom.

“No.”

“Jim Morgan told me all about it. He’d read it in some book. It was a bully story.”

“Such stories are not fit to read.”

“I’d like to be a pirate captain,” said Tom, thoughtfully.

“You mustn’t talk so, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton, shocked.

“But I would, though, and carry two pistols and a dagger in my belt, and then if anybody sassed me I’d give ’em all they wanted.”

“My brother wouldn’t like to hear you talk so, Jenny. I’m sure I don’t know what has got into you to say such dreadful things.”

“Then I won’t,” said Tom. “I wonder what granny would say if she saw me in these fixin’s. She wouldn’t know me.”

“When my brother comes, you shall go down and open the door for him, and see if he knows you.”

“That will be bully.”

“Now I must be thinking what I can find for you to do. You will be willing to help me?”

“Yes,” said Tom, promptly.

“Do you know how to make beds?”

“I can learn,” said Tom.

“Didn’t your grandmother ever teach you?” asked Mrs. Merton, who, though for a long time a resident of New York, had a very imperfect knowledge of how the poorest classes lived.

“Granny never made her bed,” said Tom. “She just gave it a shake, and tumbled into it.”

“Bless me, how shiftless she must be!” ejaculated Mrs. Merton, in surprise.

“Oh, granny don’t mind!” said Tom, carelessly.

“Did you ever sweep?”

“Lots of times. That’s the way I got money to carry to granny.”

“Were you paid for sweeping, then?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“Yes, people that came along would give me money. If they wouldn’t I’d muddy their boots.”

“What do you mean, child? Where did you sweep?”

“Corner of Broadway and Chambers’ Streets.”

“Oh, you swept the crossing, then.”

“In course I did. If you’ll give me a broom, I’ll go out and sweep front of your house; but I guess there aint so many people come along here as in Broadway.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” said Mrs. Merton, hastily. “I want you to sweep the rooms in the house. Sarah, the chambermaid, will show you how, and also teach you to make beds.”

“All right,” said Tom. “Bring her on, and I’ll help her.”

“We will defer that till to-morrow. Now you may come down to the kitchen with me, and I’ll see if I can find anything for you to do there.”

Tom felt ready for any enterprise, and started to follow Mrs. Merton downstairs, but rather startled the good lady by making a rapid descent astride the banisters.

“Don’t you do that again, Jenny,” she said reprovingly.

“Why not?” asked Tom. “It’s jolly fun.”

CHAPTER XI

THE MISTAKES OF A MORNING

On the way to the kitchen they met Sarah, the chambermaid, going upstairs to make the beds.

“Sarah,” said Mrs. Merton, “here is a little girl who is going to stay with me, and help about the house. You may take her upstairs, and show her how to help you make the beds.”

If Tom had been in her street costume, Sarah would have preferred to dispense with her assistance, but she looked quite civilized and respectable now, and she accepted the offer. Tom accompanied her upstairs to the second floor. The first chamber was that of Mr. Craven,—a gentleman in business down town. It was of course vacant, therefore.

Tom looked about her curiously.

“Now,” said Sarah, “do you know anything about making beds?”

“No,” said Tom.

“Then stand on one side, and I will tell you what to do.”

Tom followed directions pretty well, but, as the task was about finished, an impish freak seized her, and she caught the pillow and threw it at Sarah’s head, disarranging that young lady’s hair, and knocking out a comb.

“What’s that for?” demanded Sarah, angrily.

Tom sat down and laughed boisterously.

“It’s bully fun!” she said. “Throw it at me.”

“I’ll give you a shaking, you young imp,” said Sarah. “You’ve broke my comb.”

She picked up the comb, and dashed round the bed after Tom, who, seeing no other way for escape, sprang upon the bed, where she remained standing.

“Come down from there,” demanded Sarah.

“Let me alone, then!”

“I’ll tell the missis, just as sure as you live!”

“What’ll she do? Will she lick me?”

“You’ll see.”

This would not have checked Tom, but it occurred to her, all at once, that her freak would be reported to the captain, and might displease him.

“I’ll stop,” said she. “I was only in fun.”

By this time, Sarah had ascertained that the comb was not broken, after all, and this made her more inclined to overlook Tom’s offence.

“Now behave decent!” she said.

She gave Tom further directions about the proper way of doing chamber-work, which Tom followed quite closely, being resolved apparently to turn over a new leaf. But her reformation was not thorough. She caught sight of Mr. Craven’s shaving materials, which he had carelessly left on the bureau, and before Sarah anticipated her intention, she had seized the brush and spread the lather over her cheeks.

“What are you doing, you little torment?” asked Sarah.

“I’m goin’ to shave,” said Tom. “It must feel funny.”

“Put that razor down!” said Sarah, approaching.

Tom brandished the razor playfully, in a manner that considerably startled the chamber-maid, who stopped short in alarm:—

“I’ll go and tell the missis how you cut up,” said she, going to the door.

This was unnecessary, however, for at this moment Mrs. Merton, desirous of learning how Tom was getting along, opened the door. She started back in dismay at the spectacle which greeted her view, and, in a tone unusually decided for so mild a woman, said, “Jenny, put down that razor instantly, and wipe the soap from your cheeks. Not so,” she added hastily, seeing that Tom was about to wipe it off upon her skirt. “Here, take the towel. Now, what do you mean by such conduct?”

“Wouldn’t he like it?” asked Tom, somewhat abashed.

“Do you mean my brother?”

“Yes, the sailor man.”

“No, he would be very angry.”

“Then I won’t do so again;” and Tom seemed quite decided in her repentance.

“What possessed you to touch those things, Jenny?”

“That isn’t all she did, mum,” said Sarah. “She threw the pillow at me, and almost druv the comb into my head. She’s the craziest creetur’ I ever sot eyes on.”

“Did you do that?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“Yes,” said Tom. “I told her she might pitch it at me. It’s bully fun.”

“I can’t allow such goings-on,” said Mrs. Merton. “If you do so again, I must send you back to your grandmother.”

“You don’t know where she lives,” said Tom.

“At any rate I won’t keep you here.”

Tom thought of the three square meals which she would receive daily, and decided to remain. She continued quiet, therefore, and really helped Sarah in the remaining rooms. When this task was completed she went downstairs. At this moment a ring was heard at the door-bell. Thinking that it might be the captain, Tom answered the summons herself. She opened the door suddenly, but found herself mistaken.

A young gentleman was the visitor.

“Can I see Mrs. Merton?” he inquired.

“Yes,” said Tom; “come in.”

He stepped into the hall.

“Come right along. I’ll show you where she is.”

She knew that the landlady was in the kitchen, and supposed that this was the proper place to lead the visitor.

The latter followed Tom as far as the head of the stairs, and then paused.

“Where are you leading me?” he asked.

“She’s down in the kitchen. Come right along.”

“No, I will stay here. You may tell her there is a gentleman wishes to see her.”

Tom went down, and found the landlady.

“There’s a feller upstairs wants to see you,” she said. “He wouldn’t come down here. I asked him.”

“Good gracious! You didn’t invite him down into the kitchen?”

“Why not?” said Tom.

“You should have carried him into the parlor.”

“All right!” said Tom. “I’ll know better next time.”

Mrs. Merton smoothed her hair, and went upstairs to greet her visitor, who proved to be an applicant for board.

Only fifteen minutes later Tom had a chance to improve on her first mistake. Again the door-bell rang, and again Tom opened the door. A wrinkled old woman, with a large basket, stood before her.

“I’m a poor widder,” she whined, “with four childer that have nothing to ate. Can’t you give me a few pennies, and may the blessings of Heaven rest upon you!”

“Come in,” said Tom.

The old woman stepped into the hall.

“Come right in here,” said Tom, opening the door of the parlor.

The old beggar, not accustomed to being received with so much attention, paused doubtfully.

“Come in, if you’re comin’,” said Tom, impatiently. “The lady told me to put everybody in here.”

The old woman followed, and took a seat on the edge of a sofa, placing her basket on the carpet. Before Tom had a chance to acquaint her mistress with the fact that a visitor awaited her, the bell rang again. This time Tom found herself confronted by a fashionably dressed and imposing-looking lady.

“I wish to see Mrs. Merton,” she said.

“All right!” said Tom. “Just you come in, and I’ll call her.”

The visitor entered, and was ushered also into the parlor. Leaving her to find a seat for herself, Tom disappeared in pursuit of the landlady.

Mrs. Courtenay did not at first observe the other occupant of the room. When her eyes rested on the old crone sitting on the sofa, with her basket, which was partly stored with cold victuals, resting on the carpet, she started in mingled astonishment and disgust. Her aristocratic nostrils curved, and, taking a delicate handkerchief, she tried to shut out the unsavory presence. The old woman saw the action, and fidgeted nervously, feeling that she ought not to be there. While the two guests were in this uncomfortable state of feeling, Mrs. Merton, quite unsuspicious of anything wrong, opened the door.

“Is this Mrs. Merton?” asked Mrs. Courtenay.

“Yes, madam.”

“I called to inquire about a servant who referred me to you,” continued Mrs. Courtenay, haughtily; “but I didn’t anticipate the company I should find myself in.”

Following her glance, Mrs. Merton was struck with dismay, as she saw the second visitor.

“How came you here?” she demanded hastily.

“The little gal brought me. It wasn’t my fault indeed, mum,” whined the old woman.

“What do you want?”

“I’m a poor widder, mum. If you could be so kind as to give me a few pennies.”

“I have nothing for you to-day. You can go,” said Mrs. Merton, who was too provoked to be charitable, as otherwise she might have been. She pointed to the door, and the applicant for charity hobbled out hastily, feeling that she was not likely to obtain anything under present circumstances.

“I must beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Merton, “for the mistake of an inexperienced child, who has never before waited upon the door; though, how she could have made such an absurd blunder, I cannot tell.”

Mrs. Courtenay deigned to be appeased, and opened her business. When she had left the house, Mrs. Merton called Tom.

“Jenny,” she said, “how came you to show that beggar into the parlor?”

“She asked for you,” said Tom, “and you told me to take everybody that asked for you into the parlor.”

“Never take such a woman as that in.”

“All right!” said Tom.

“That comes of taking a girl in from the street,” thought Mrs. Merton. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to take her.”

CHAPTER XII

THE VANQUISHED BULLY

Notwithstanding Tom’s mistake, she was still intrusted with the duty of answering the bell. At length, to her satisfaction, she opened the door to her friend of the morning.

He looked at her in surprise.

“What, is this Tom?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, enjoying his surprise. “Didn’t you know me?”