Nelson The Newsboy

"Nelson is no rascal. He is an honest boy."

"Nelson!" ejaculated the young man. "Is his name Nelson?"

"Yes. You act as if you had met him."

"I—er—no—but I have—have heard of him," stammered the young man.

"He called on you once, I believe, with somebody who sold you some books."

"I don't remember that. But he must be the thief."

"I tell you Nelson is no thief."

"Thank you for that, Miss Gertrude," came from behind the pair, and our hero stepped up. "Mr. Bulson, you haven't any right to call me a thief," he went on, confronting the fashionable young man.

"Go away, boy; I want nothing to do with you," answered Bulson. Nevertheless, he looked curiously at our hero.

"I am no thief, but you are pretty close to being one," went on Nelson.

"Me!"

"Yes, you. You tried to swindle a friend of mine out of the sale of some books you had ordered from him. I call that downright mean."

"Boy, don't dare to talk to me in this fashion!" stormed the young man. "If you do, I'll—I'll hand you over to the police."

"No, you won't. You just leave me alone and I'll leave you alone," answered the newsboy. "And you leave Miss Gertrude alone, too," he added warmly.

"Gertrude, have you taken up with this common fellow?" asked Bulson.

"Nelson has been my friend," answered the girl. "He has a heart of gold."

"I can't agree with you. He is but a common boy of the streets, and–"

Homer Bulson went no further, for Nelson came closer and clenched his fists.

"Stop, or I'll make you take it back, big as you are," said the boy.

"Then you won't accept my protection?" said Bulson, turning his back on our hero.

"No. If Uncle Mark wishes to write to me he can address me in care of the General Post Office," answered Gertrude.

"All right; then I'll bid you good-day," said Homer Bulson, and tipping his silk hat, he hurried on and was soon lost to sight on the crowded thoroughfare.

"I hate that man!" murmured Nelson, when he had disappeared.

"I both hate and fear him," answered Gertrude. "I am afraid he intends to cause me a great deal of trouble."

CHAPTER XV.

BUYING OUT A NEWS STAND

After the above incident several weeks slipped by without anything out of the ordinary happening.

In the meantime Sam Pepper's place was thoroughly remodeled and became a leading café on the East Side—a resort for many characters whose careers would not stand investigation. The man seemed wrapped up in his business, but his head was busy with schemes of far greater importance.

He had said but little to Nelson, who spent a good part of his time at Mrs. Kennedy's rooms with Gertrude. Sam had found the letters and put them in a safe place without a word, and the boy had not dared to question him about them. Nor had Pepper questioned Nelson concerning what the lad knew or suspected.

The results of Gertrude's advertising were not as gratifying as anticipated; still the girl obtained seven pupils, which brought her in three dollars and a half weekly. Most of the lessons had to be given on Saturdays, when her pupils were home from school, and this made it necessary that she ride from house to house, so that thirty-five cents of the money went for carfare.

"Never mind," said the newsboy; "it's better than nothing, and you'll get more pupils, sooner or later."

The boy himself worked as never before, getting up before sunrise and keeping at it with "sporting extras" until almost midnight. In this manner he managed to earn sometimes as high as ten dollars per week. He no longer helped Pepper around his resort, and the pair compromised on three dollars per week board money from Nelson. The rest of the money our hero either saved or offered to Gertrude. All he spent on himself was for the suit, shoes, and hat he had had so long in his mind.

"I declare, you look like another person!" cried the girl, when he presented himself in his new outfit, and with his hair neatly trimmed, and his face and hands thoroughly scrubbed. "Nelson, I am proud of you!" And she said this so heartily that he blushed furiously. Her gentle influence was beginning to have its effect, and our hero was resolved to make a man of himself in the best meaning of that term.

One day Nelson was at work, when George Van Pelt came along.

"How goes it, George?" asked the boy.

"Nothing to brag about," returned Van Pelt. "How goes it with you?"

"I am doing very well. Made ten dollars and fifteen cents last week."

"Phew! That's more than I made."

"How much did you make?"

"Eight dollars. I wish we could buy out that news stand. I am sick of tramping around trying to sell books," went on George Van Pelt. "Last week I was over in Jersey City, and one woman set her dog on me."

"I hope you didn't get bit," said Nelson with a laugh.

"No, but the dog kept a sample of my pants."

"Have you heard anything more of the stand?"

"The owner says he's going to sell out sure by next week. He told me he would take ninety dollars cash. He's going away and don't want a mortgage now."

"Ninety dollars. How much have you got?"

"I can scrape up forty dollars on a pinch."

"I've got fifteen dollars."

"That makes fifty-five dollars. We'll want thirty-five more. How can we get that amount?"

"I reckon we can save it up—inside of a few weeks, if we both work hard."

"The man won't wait. There's a party will give him seventy-five dollars cash right away. He's going to take that if he can't get ninety."

At that moment Nelson caught sight of the familiar figure of a stout gentleman crossing the street toward him, and ran out to meet the party.

"Good-morning, sir!" he said. "Have some papers this morning?"

"Hullo! you're the boy that saved me from being run over a few weeks ago," returned the stout gentleman.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll have a Sun and a Journal, and you can give me a Times, too. How is business?"

"Good, sir."

"I was in a hurry that day, or I would have stopped to reward you," went on the gentleman.

"You did reward me, sir."

"Did I? I had forgotten. You see, that fire in Harlem was in a house of mine. I was terribly upset. But the matter is all straightened out now."

"I hope you didn't lose much."

"No, the loss went to the insurance companies." The stout gentleman paused. "My lad, I would like to do something for you," he went on seriously.

"Have you got a job for me?"

"I don't know as I have, just now. But if you need help–"

"I do need help, sir. Are you a capitalist?"

"A capitalist?" queried the man, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean one of those gentlemen that loan money out on business? I've heard of 'em, down in Wall Street."

"Well, I sometimes loan money out."

"Then I'd like to borrow thirty-five dollars." Nelson beckoned to George Van Pelt, who had moved off a short distance. "You see, it's this way," he went on, and then told about the news stand that was for sale, and what he and the book agent wished to do.

Mr. Amos Barrow, for such was the gentleman's name, listened attentively.

"And you think this would be a good investment?" he questioned.

"Yes, it's a good stand," said Van Pelt.

"But you ought to have some money with which to stock up."

"We'll work hard and build it up," said our hero. "I know that neighborhood well. Old Maxwell never 'tended to business. I'll go around and get twice as large a paper route as he ever had. And we can keep plenty of ten-cent paper-covered books, and all that."

"And we can keep things for school children, too," put in George Van Pelt. "There is a school near by, and many of the children pass the stand four times a day."

"Well, I'll give you fifty dollars, Nelson," said Mr. Barrow. "That will help you to buy the stand and give you fifteen dollars working capital."

"You can't give me the money, sir. But you can loan it to me."

"But why won't you let me give it to you?" laughed the stout gentleman. "Isn't my life worth that?"

"It isn't that, sir. I want to do this in a regular business fashion."

"All right; have your own way, my lad."

"We'll give you a mortgage on the stand," said George Van Pelt.

"Never mind the mortgage. I believe I can read faces, and I'll take the boy's word," answered Mr. Barrow.

Hauling out a fat pocketbook, he counted out five new ten-dollar bills and passed them over to our hero.

"There you are," he said. "I would rather you would keep them. But if not, you can pay the amount back whenever it is convenient." And he passed over his business card. A few minutes later he hurried on.

"He's a brick!" was George Van Pelt's comment. "Now we can buy the stand."

"All right," answered Nelson. "But I want to get rid of my morning papers first."

"Well, I have several books to deliver. I'll do that, and then we can meet at the stand after dinner."

So it was agreed, and the pair separated.

Business continued good with our hero, and by eleven o'clock he had sold out. Anxious to look the stand over, he hurried off in that direction.

He found old Maxwell sitting on a soap-box, reading a sporting paper. The stand was full of dust and the stock much disarranged. Evidently the owner had lost interest in it.

"I understand you want to sell out," said Nelson.

"I do," answered Maxwell. "Want to buy?"

"I might buy if you sell out cheap enough."

"I want a hundred dollars."

"A hundred? I thought you'd sell out for seventy-five."

"No, I've been asking a hundred. I might knock off ten dollars, though."

Nelson looked the stand over, and asked some questions about the trade done.

"I'll give you eighty dollars cash," he said, at last.

"Make it ninety."

"No, eighty, and not a cent more."

"When will you take the stand?"

"This afternoon, and I'll pay fifty dollars now."

"All right, you can have it," replied Maxwell.

A bill of sale was drawn up, and Nelson paid the fifty dollars on account. Then he went off for lunch; first, however, taking an account of the stock on hand.

"What you take in from now on is mine," he said.

"All right, you shall have it," replied the old stand-keeper.

CHAPTER XVI.

NELSON AND PEPPER PART

Nelson remained on watch, and as soon as he saw George Van Pelt coming he headed him off and took him around the corner.

"I've bought the stand," he said.

"Already?"

"Yes. I had a talk with old Maxwell, offered him eighty cash, and he took me up. So we've saved ten dollars."

"He'll be mad when he learns he might have had ninety."

"He needn't know. Give me your money, and I'll pay him the balance."

So it was arranged, and Nelson went to the stand and closed the deal. Old Maxwell had taken in thirty-two cents, and this was passed over to the boy.

"Going to run the stand alone?" queried the old man.

"No, a man is going to help me," said our hero.

"Who is it?"

"George Van Pelt."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" exclaimed old Maxwell. "I thought he wanted the stand himself."

"He couldn't raise the money. Here he comes now."

Nelson beckoned to Van Pelt, and soon both were hard at work cleaning up the stand. They talked the matter over and agreed to give old Maxwell a dollar more, if he would come around for two mornings and explain whatever proved strange to them.

"Sure, I'll do it," said Maxwell. "I want you to get the best of the man up on the elevated station and the man on the next block. They are both mean fellows and don't deserve any trade."

"We intend to hustle and get all the trade we can," said our hero.

It must be confessed that he felt very proud of his situation. He was no longer a mere newsboy, but a business man, and he felt, somehow, as if he had grown several inches taller.

"We must have a sign," said Van Pelt. "What will we make it—Van Pelt & Pepper, Newsdealers?"

"I don't like the name Pepper—for a last name, I mean," said our hero, scratching his curly head. "Better make it Van Pelt & Company, for the present." And the next day an oilcloth sign was tacked up proclaiming the new firm, and notifying all that they dealt in newspapers, magazines, books, and school supplies. While Nelson tended the stand George Van Pelt went downtown to a jobbing house and bought some extra stock. In a few days business was in full blast and prospects looked very bright.

"I am glad to see you doing well," said Gertrude, on visiting the stand one Saturday, after giving her music lessons. "It looks quite like a place of business. It won't be long before you'll have a store."

"We'll have to save up for it," answered our hero.

He wanted the girl to stay a little while, but she could not, for Mrs. Kennedy was down with rheumatism and was next to helpless.

"She has been very kind to me and I wish to do what I can for her," said Gertrude.

"Is her stand closed?"

"No, Gladys Summers is running it for her. She has put her flowers in with the other stock."

"Gladys is good-hearted, too," was Nelson's comment.

Sam Pepper heard of the newsboy's new move two days after the stand was bought.

"Going into business with George Van Pelt, eh?" he observed, when Nelson came home that night.

"Yes."

"He's a poor sort. He'll never get rich. He's not slick enough."

"I'm satisfied with him," returned the newsboy briefly.

"What did you take in to-day?"

"A little over nine dollars."

"Phew! that's better than I thought. How much profit?"

"About three dollars and a half above expenses."

"And you git half?"

"Yes."

"Then you ought to pay me more board money."

"I'm paying all it's worth now. I get no more meals, remember—I only use this place to sleep in."

"Well, that's worth more."

"I'm thinking of getting a room near the stand," went on Nelson, after a pause.

"What! you want to leave me!" roared Sam Pepper.

"Why not? There is nothing to keep me here. I don't want anything to do with your saloon."

"That's a nice way to talk to me."

"I can't help it. I hate the saloon, and it's too far to come down here just to sleep; especially when I have to leave so early in the morning."

"Supposing I don't let you leave?"

To this Nelson made no reply.

"You're a nice son, I must say," went on Sam Pepper. "This is what I git for raising you."

"I am not your son, Sam Pepper. As for what you've done for me, I'm willing to pay you for that. You let me leave without any fuss and I'll give you two dollars a week until the debt is paid."

"Two dollars a week aint much."

"It's all I can afford, with my other expenses."

"Reckon you don't care much for me, any more."

"I never did care for you, and you know it. I don't like drinking people and the other kind that hang around here. I want to become respectable and make something of myself."

"Aint I respectable?" roared Pepper, raising his fist in anger. "Say that again, and I'll knock you down."

"I said that I didn't like the crowd that hangs around here. I'm going to get out, whether you take up my offer or not."

"Then clear out—and the sooner the better. It's a pity I didn't kick you out," growled Sam Pepper, walking the floor savagely. "Go! go to-night!"

"I will," answered our hero.

No more was said, and the boy tied up what little clothing he had in a newspaper. He was soon ready to depart, and then he faced Pepper again.

"Good-by," he said, holding out his hand. "Let us part friends."

"You've missed it by turning against me," said Pepper, with a strange look in his eyes. "I might have made you rich."

"How?"

"Never mind now. You can go your way, and I'll go mine. I don't want to shake hands. Go!" And he turned his back on the newsboy.

"One word more, before I leave," said our hero. "Will you tell me my right name?"

"I won't tell you anything. If Nelson Pepper aint good enough for you, you can make the name what you please."

"Then good-by," said Nelson, a little sadly, and in a moment more he was gone.

It was so late he knew not where to look for a room that night, so trudged back to the stand. It was entirely inclosed with wooden shutters, and large enough inside for him to make himself fairly comfortable, and there he remained until daylight.

"I'm glad to hear you've left Pepper," said George Van Pelt, when he heard the news. "He's a bad fellow, and getting worse. If you want, you can get a room in the house next to where I live."

"What will they charge me?"

"You can get a small, but clean, hall bedroom for a dollar a week."

"That will just suit me," answered our hero.

The place was but three blocks away from the stand, and Nelson made the necessary arrangements that afternoon, during the time when trade was dull.

Nelson wondered what Pepper had meant by saying he had missed it in turning against the man. Did Pepper refer to the past, or did he have in mind what he could leave when he died?

"I don't want a cent of his money," our hero told himself; "but I would like to solve the mystery of my birth and parentage."

CHAPTER XVII.

A BOLD MOVE

On the night following Nelson's leave-taking from Sam Pepper's establishment the keeper of the resort stood behind his bar, doing business as usual. The place now glistened with glasses and mirrors, but its so-called beauty was lost to view in the tobacco smoke which filled every nook and corner.

The lunch tables had given place to little round affairs where the patrons might drink and play cards, and several of the tables were filled by a noisy crowd.

Sam Pepper had just gotten rid of two tramps who wished drinks without paying for them, when he was surprised to see the door open slowly, and Homer Bulson showed himself.

"Ah! how do you do, Mr. Bulson?" he said cheerily.

"Please don't talk so loud," replied the young man, as he came in and walked to the rear end of the polished bar.

"All right, if you want it that way. Have a drink?"

"Some whisky!" was the careless answer.

"How are you making out with the girl?"

"Haven't you heard? She has left the house. My uncle cast her out."

Sam Pepper gave a long, low whistle.

"Things seems to be coming all your way," he remarked.

"I don't know about that. Don't you know that Gertrude Horton and Nelson the Newsboy are friends?"

"I've heard they knew each other."

"They are friends."

"What do you know of it?"

"I met her on Broadway one day, and he came up and wouldn't give me a chance to talk to her. Do you know where she is now?"

"No."

"Nelson must know. Question him when he comes in, will you?"

"I will—when he comes. He doesn't live with me any longer, you must remember."

"He doesn't? When did he leave?"

"Yesterday. He and a man have bought out a news stand, and he's going to live near by."

"You mustn't lose track of him—just yet."

"Trust me for that, Mr. Bulson."

"If you hear anything of Gertrude, let me know at once. If you can help me, I'll pay you well."

"I'm your man and I'll remember," answered Sam Pepper, and thereupon Homer Bulson finished his liquor, threw down a quarter dollar, and started to leave.

"Where can I find you, if you're not at home?" called Pepper after him.

"Generally at the Broxton Club," answered Bulson. "You know where that is, near Union Square." And as Pepper nodded, he opened the door and walked away.

After this, business continued brisk for half an hour, when Sam Pepper found it necessary to go to a back room for some bottles.

Hardly had he left the saloon when the door was opened, and much to the astonishment of the men at the round tables a young lady, plainly dressed, stepped in. It was Gertrude.

"I say, that's a fine girl," remarked one of the men, a rounder named Worden. "She's a new one around here, aint she?"

"Reckon she is," returned another.

"How do you do, miss?" went on the first man, getting up and tipping his hat.

"Excuse me, sir," said the girl. "Is Mr. Pepper in?"

"Yes, here he comes now," answered Con Worden, and fell back to the table again, followed by his companion.

"You are Mr. Sam Pepper?" said Gertrude timidly. The general appearance of the place frightened her.

"That's my name, miss. But you've got the advantage of me."

"I am Gertrude Horton."

Sam Pepper stared at her in the greatest astonishment.

"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered to himself. "This beats the Dutch!"

"I believe you are Nelson's foster father," continued Gertrude.

The café keeper nodded.

"Is he here?"

"Well—er—he aint here yet," answered Pepper, hardly knowing what to say. "But if you'll sit down he may come soon."

"I—I guess I had better remain outside," said Gertrude, looking around with much disgust. "You are quite sure he'll come soon? I wish to see him about Mrs. Kennedy. She has been taken dangerously ill, and I do not know what to do. Could you send him over to her place when he comes?"

"Better wait for him, Miss Horton. Come, I'll show you into our sitting room. It's not a grand place, but it's clean and quiet. Come."

He pointed to one of the back rooms, now fixed up as a sitting room. She hesitated, but before she could resist he caught her by the arm.

"Nobody shall disturb you here," he half whispered. And before she knew it she was in the sitting room. The gas was turned down, but he turned it up. Then he went out, closing the door after him. "Nelson must come in soon," he said.

Gertrude sank down on a chair. Her mind was concerned entirely over the serious sickness which had suddenly overtaken good Mrs. Kennedy, and consequently she thought little of herself. But when she heard some shutters to the window of the sitting room slam from the outside she leaped to her feet.

"What can that mean?" she cried, and ran to the window. Trying the shutters, she found them fastened from the outside. At once she crossed over to the door, to find it locked.

"He has made me a prisoner!" she moaned. Then she knocked loudly on the door, but nobody came to answer her summons.

In the meantime Sam Pepper, having locked the door and fastened the window shutters, called Con Worden to him.

"Worden, do you want to earn a quarter?" he asked.

"Well, I should smile," answered the hanger-on eagerly.

"You saw that gentleman who was here a while ago—him with the silk hat and gold-headed cane."

"Of course I did."

"Go over to the Broxton Club, near Union Square, and see if he is there. Call for Mr. Bulson. If you find him, tell him to come at once."

"All right," said Con Worden, and hurried off.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

The Broxton Club was a fashionable resort for young gentlemen who usually had more money than brains. It was located near the upper side of Union Square, and the club apartments consisted of a parlor, a dining and wine room, and a room for card-playing. In the latter apartment gambling went on at nearly all hours of the day and night.

Reaching the club Homer Bulson found several congenial companions, and presently sat down to a game of cards. Bets were made, first at a dollar, then at five, and then at ten and twenty. Bulson had no luck, and soon lost forty dollars.

"I'm on the wrong side to-night," was his dismal comment, and he went to the wine room to forget his losses in the flowing bowl.

He had just finished a glass of liquor when a servant came to him.

"A man at the door to see you, sir," said the servant. "Says he has a private message for you."

Wondering who the messenger could be, Homer Bulson hurried below and found Con Worden awaiting him.

"You want to see me?" he questioned sharply. He did not like the dilapidated appearance of the hanger-on.

"Are you the gent that just came from Sam Pepper's place?"

"What if I am?" asked Bulson cautiously.

"He says he wants to see you at once."

"At once?"

"That's it."

"He didn't say what about?"

"No."

"All right; I'll be over as soon as I can get there."

"I'll tell him that."

Homer Bulson expected Worden to make off at once, but the hanger-on did not budge.

"Well, aren't you going?" asked the young man sharply.