Nelson The Newsboy

"All the things are gone from the stand!"

"Gone?"

"Yes, everything—papers, books, pens, pencils, writing pads, ink, mucilage, everything. It's a clean sweep. Do you know anything about it?"

"No, I don't," answered Nelson, and now he was as wide awake as his partner. "When did it happen?"

"I don't know—some time before I got there. One of the padlocks was broken and the other unlocked. The rascals even took the money drawer," went on Van Pelt bitterly.

"That had fifteen cents in it," said Nelson. "I took it in after I made up the cash for the day."

"Well, we're in a pickle now," groaned Van Pelt. "And just think, we were insured only day before yesterday."

"But not against burglars," groaned Nelson in return. "If we can't trace up the stuff, we'll have to lose it."

"But we can't afford to lose the stuff. It was worth sixty dollars if it was worth a penny."

"Nearer seventy dollars, for I bought some new pads and paper-bound books yesterday, and they cost seven dollars and a quarter. We must find the robbers." The newsboy hit his washstand with his fist. "By jinks, I've got it! I know who robbed us!"

"Who?"

"Len Snocks and Billy Darnley, those newsboys I told you about. I saw them eying the stand pretty closely, and last night, when I came home from the party, I saw them on the block below here with a push-cart full of goods. I thought it funny at the time. They had the stuff covered with old sacks. I never saw either of them with a push-cart before."

"That certainly is suspicious."

"Have you notified the police?"

"Yes, I told the officer on the beat as I came along. He's going to send in a report. But if you think those fellows are guilty we had better go after them without delay. Otherwise they'll sell the stuff and clear out."

"I think I know where to look for them," said Nelson.

He was soon into his clothing, and he and Van Pelt hurried to the stand, where they found Paul selling such papers as had come in for the morning trade.

"It's awful," said the small boy. "Such thieves ought to be placed behind the bars."

It was decided that Paul should run his route and then tend the stand, while Nelson and his partner went on a hunt down the Bowery and on the East Side for Darnley and Snocks.

"I can't say when we'll be back, Paul," said Van Pelt. "But until we return you must do the best you can." And this the little lad promised.

Our hero knew that Darnley and Snocks lived not far from each other on a street running toward the East River, and thither he led the way.

"Seen anything of Len Snocks?" he asked of a newsboy he met in the vicinity.

"Yes, I did," answered the boy. "Saw him early this morning."

"Where?"

"Down by the ferry to Brooklyn."

"Was he alone?"

"No; he had Billy Darnley with him."

"Were they carrying anything?"

"Yes, each had a couple of heavy bundles, about all he could manage."

"Did you see them get on the ferry?" questioned George Van Pelt.

"Saw 'em go into the ferryhouse. They must have gone over," answered the newsboy.

A few words more followed, and Nelson and Van Pelt hurried to the ferry and soon found themselves on Fulton Street, one of the main thoroughfares of Brooklyn.

"Now to find them," said our hero. "I'm afraid it's going to prove a big job."

CHAPTER XXII.

A DISAPPOINTMENT

"How shall we strike out?" asked George Van Pelt, as he and our hero came to a halt under the elevated railroad.

"It's more than likely they'll try to sell those things to some stationer or at a second-hand store," answered Nelson. "And the chances are that they'll sell 'em as quick as possible."

"You are right there," answered his partner. "Supposing you take one side of the street and I'll take the other, and we'll ask at the different stores."

This was agreed upon, and soon our hero had visited five stores.

Nobody had seen the thieves or knew anything about them.

"It's no use," he thought, and then entered a sixth establishment, kept by an old man.

"Yes, I saw them," said the old man. "They were here early this morning, and wanted to sell me the things dog-cheap. But I was suspicious of them, so I didn't buy."

"Do you know where they went next?"

"One of them said something about taking the elevated train."

"You didn't watch them?"

"No; I was going to, but a customer took my time."

The old man described both Darnley and Snocks, and also some of the goods offered, so there could not possibly be any mistake.

"I hate thieves," he concluded. "I hope you catch them."

"If we need a witness, will you aid us?" asked Nelson.

"I will."

"Thank you," said Nelson, and left him one of the business cards he and Van Pelt had had printed.

On the corner he beckoned to his partner and told Van Pelt of what he had learned.

"We'll ask the elevated railroad gate-keeper below," said Van Pelt.

But at the station they got no satisfaction.

"I came on an hour ago," said the gate-keeper. "The other man has gone home."

"And you haven't seen 'em?" asked Nelson.

"No. The fact is, so many people come and go we hardly notice anybody."

"That is so," said George Van Pelt, as he and our hero walked away. "Nelson, I am afraid we are stumped."

"It looks like it," said the newsboy soberly.

"What shall we do next?"

"I hardly know, George. I hate to give up. The stuff we lost cost too much money."

"Do you suppose either Darnley or Snocks went home?"

"It's possible."

"We ought to visit their homes and make sure."

The matter was talked over for several minutes, and it was finally agreed that Nelson should visit the homes of the two boys while George Van Pelt returned to the news stand to relieve Paul.

Billy Darnley lived on the fourth floor of a large rear tenement on one of the dirtiest streets of the East Side. To get to the place our hero had to pass through an alleyway filled with rubbish and teeming with neglected children. Hardened as he was to the rougher side of city life he could not help but shudder at the sight.

"Poor things! they are a heap worse off than myself," was his thought.

At a corner of the alleyway he ran across a small girl and one several years older. The little girl was a cripple, and the larger girl was making fun of her deformity.

"Limpy leg! Limpy leg!" she cried shrilly. "Limpy leg, aint you ugly!" At this the cripple began to cry.

"Stop that!" called out Nelson. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. This little girl can't help being a cripple. Perhaps some day you'll be a cripple yourself, and then you won't want anybody to make fun of you." And at this the big girl fell back abashed.

"She always does that," said the cripple. "She's awful mean."

Nelson asked the girl where Billy Darnley lived, and the girl pointed out the rooms. Soon the newsboy was knocking on one of the doors to the apartment.

"Come in," said a rough voice, and Nelson entered, to find himself confronted by a burly man slightly the worse for the rum he had been drinking.

"Is this where Billy Darnley lives?" he asked.

"I'm Billy Darnley," answered the man.

"I mean Billy Darnley, the newsboy."

"That's my son. He lives here, but he aint here now. He's out selling papers."

"Has he been home in the last two or three hours?"

"No."

There was an awkward pause, and the man eyed Nelson curiously.

"What do you want of Billy?" he questioned at last.

"I want to recover some things he stole from my news stand," answered our hero stoutly.

"Things he stole?" cried Darnley senior.

"Yes."

"Are you sure Billy stole them?"

"Yes—he and another boy named Len Snocks."

"When was this?"

"Last night."

"Humph! Tell me all about it."

Nelson did as requested. Before he had finished Darnley senior gave a long yawn.

"Hang that boy!" he observed. "He's going from bad to worse. He will end up on the gallows if he aint careful."

To console himself he got out a black bottle and took a deep drink. Evidently he was not deeply impressed.

"Have you any idea where Billy is now?" asked our hero.

"No. He'll keep shady, I suppose. I can't help you. Go to the police. If he gets hung some day it will be his own fault."

The man turned his back on Nelson as if to end the interview. In a minute more our hero was in the street again.

"A fine father for any boy to have," was his thought. "I reckon one is about as bad as the other, and perhaps both will end up in the electric chair."

CHAPTER XXIII.

AN UNSUCCESSFUL QUEST

From the tenement where Billy Darnley lived Nelson made his way to where Len Snocks resided.

This home in the tenements was in strong contrast to that of the Darnleys. There were but three rooms, but each was as clean and bright as hard work could make them.

A small, trim-looking woman carrying a baby in her arms answered his knock. This proved to be Mrs. Snocks. In the rooms were several other children of various ages.

"No, I haven't seen Len since last night," she said, in reply to our hero's question. "He went off with another boy named Billy Darnley."

"Did he say where he was going or when he would be back?"

"He did not. I am anxious about him, too. He never stayed away all night before. What do you want of him?"

"He and Billy Darnley robbed my news stand last night."

"Robbed your stand!" Mrs. Snocks grew very pale. "Can this be true?"

"Yes, ma'am, it is." And Nelson gave the particulars once more.

"Too bad!" cried the woman, and, dropping on a kitchen chair, she covered her face with her apron.

Nelson saw that she was suffering keenly, and felt sorry for her.

"It's that Darnley boy," she said presently. "He is a bad egg and is leading our Len astray. My husband and I have warned Len time and time again to let Billy alone; but he won't mind, and Billy leads him into all kinds of mischief."

"Well, I'm sorry for you, ma'am, but we have got to have our stuff back."

"How much was it worth?"

"About seventy-five dollars."

"Oh, dear! I'm sure I don't know what to do."

"Is your husband to work?"

"No; he hasn't had any work for several months. Wait; I'll call him."

Mrs. Snocks went to a rear window and called to somebody in the courtyard below. Soon Mr. Snocks appeared. He was an iron molder, but looked far from healthy.

"Stole from your stand," he said, after listening to his wife and Nelson. "This is the worst yet."

"It's Billy Darnley's fault," put in the wife.

"He hasn't any business to go with Billy, Mary. That rascal will lead him to prison."

"You're right there," said our hero.

"I don't know what to do," went on Mr. Snocks, to Nelson. "I'd square this up, only I'm out of work, and haven't more than two or three dollars to my name."

"We have three dollars and twenty-five cents," said the wife. "You can have that." And she brought out a well-worn pocketbook.

Her manner touched the newsboy to the heart.

"No, I won't take your last cent," he said. "You'll need it for yourself and the children. Only if you see Len, try to get back the goods or the money he got for them."

"We'll do that—don't fear," said Mr. Snocks. "And I'll thrash him everlastingly in the bargain."

No more could be accomplished at the Snockses' home, and soon Nelson was on his way back to the stand.

"What luck?" questioned George Van Pelt, as soon as he appeared.

"Not much," he answered, and told his story. "We'll never hear from old Darnley," he added. "But perhaps we'll get something from the Snockses."

"I'm glad you didn't take that woman's last dollar," said Van Pelt. "We're not as hard up as all that, even if we have been almost cleaned out."

Fortunately for the partners they had paid all bills promptly since taking charge of the stand, so their credit was good. On the following morning Van Pelt went around and explained the situation to several wholesale dealers, and also to the news company, and succeeded in getting a fresh supply of goods on thirty and sixty days' time.

"We've got to hustle to make it up," he said.

"Well, I'm in the business to hustle," answered Nelson, with a grim smile. "I never yet was idle, as far back as I can remember."

"Always sold newspapers?"

"Mostly. Once in a while I blacked boots and carried baggage, but not very often."

"Are you related to Sam Pepper?"

"I don't think I am."

"Hasn't he ever told you anything about yourself?"

"He has and again he hasn't. He told me some things that I don't believe are true, George."

"Humph! Well, I wouldn't trust him too much."

"I don't trust him at all, since the time he tried to help Mr. Bulson against Miss Gertrude."

"It's queer that Bulson is so possessed to marry Miss Horton, when she doesn't care for him."

"I guess the reason is that Bulson is afraid Mr. Horton will relent and take Miss Gertrude back, and then she'll come in for half the money, after all. He is so piggish that he wants to get it all."

"Mr. Horton ought to be told how Bulson is acting."

"Miss Gertrude says he is a strange man and won't believe what anybody says about his nephew."

"He must be strange, or he wouldn't turn such a nice young lady as Miss Horton out of doors," said Van Pelt feelingly. He had met Gertrude several times and was much interested in her.

On the week following Mrs. Kennedy was served with a notice to quit her apartments, as the tenement was to be torn down. She and Gertrude hunted up other rooms, not far from Nelson's stand. These were bright and cheerful and a very great improvement over those vacated.

"And I will feel safer," said Gertrude. "For I fancy Homer Bulson knew the other home and often watched me going in and coming out."

Gertrude was right in her surmise. Homer Bulson was watching her very closely and laying his plans to make her his own, in spite of herself.

But when everything was in readiness to make a move, he found to his chagrin that the rooms were empty and the building was being torn down.

"Hang the luck, anyhow!" he muttered sulkily. "Now where in the world shall I look for her?"

He questioned several people in the neighborhood, but nobody seemed to be able to give him any information.

The truth of the matter was Mrs. Kennedy had requested her friends to say nothing to a gentleman in a silk hat who asked about Gertrude, and for this reason they were accordingly mum.

"Never mind, I'll find her sooner or later," Bulson told himself. "And then my next move will surely surprise her."

CHAPTER XXIV.

A DECOY LETTER

One day Nelson was folding some evening papers at the stand when, on glancing up, he saw Homer Bulson standing not far away eyeing him sharply.

"Hullo, what does he want now?" thought our hero.

Bulson waited until several customers had received papers and departed, and then came closer.

"How is trade?" he asked, in as pleasant a voice as he could command.

"Very good," returned Nelson coolly.

"I presume you do better with the stand than you did selling papers on the street."

"Much better."

"I am glad to hear it."

To this Nelson made no reply, for he felt certain that Homer Bulson was playing the part of a hypocrite.

"He wants to find out about Gertrude," he told himself.

"How is Miss Horton making out these days?" went on the young man.

"She is doing nicely."

"Is she working?"

"She gives piano lessons."

"Humph! she can't make much at that."

"She make enough to keep her."

"If she wouldn't be so headstrong she might have a comfortable home without working."

"She intends to do as she pleases," replied Nelson sharply. "And she doesn't ask you for advice."

"Where is she living now?"

"You'll have to find that out for yourself."

"Her uncle wants to know."

"Then let him write to her and address the letter to the general post-office."

"Does she go there for her letters?"

"No; somebody goes for her."

At this Homer Bulson bit his lip in increased vexation.

"What rot all this is!" he cried. "I'm not going to eat her up."

"You're right there," grinned Nelson. "We won't let you. The best you can do is to leave her alone. If you don't somebody will get hurt."

"Ha! do you threaten me?"

"You can take the warning as you please."

"Boy, you are a fool!"

"If I am, I am too smart a fool to be taken in by you, Mr. Homer Bulson."

"I want to help Miss Horton."

"You want to harm her, you mean."

"Then you won't tell me where she lives?"

"No. And let me add, if you find out and try to harm her you'll get hurt."

"Oh, you make me tired," muttered Bulson, and walked away.

Everything seemed to be against the young man, but two days later his luck—if such it can be called—changed.

He was walking along a fashionable side street, when on chancing to look ahead he saw Gertrude leave a house and hurry to the corner.

He started to follow her, but before he could reach her she had boarded a street car and was out of his reach.

Going back to the house he met a girl of twelve coming out on the stone stoop.

"Good-afternoon," he said politely. "Am I right about seeing Miss Horton just coming from here?"

"You are," answered the girl. "She's just been giving me a music lesson."

"Oh, so she gives music lessons here. Does she teach anybody else in the neighborhood?"

"Yes; she teaches on the block above here and around on the avenue." And the girl gave the names and addresses.

Homer Bulson made a note of the names and addresses and walked off in high satisfaction.

"Now to work my little scheme," he said to himself.

Two days later he left New York and took a train at Jersey City for Lakewood, down in New Jersey.

At the fashionable resort he managed to find a house on the outskirts of the town. It was owned and kept by an old woman, who was more than half deaf.

To this old woman, whose name was Sarah Higgins, Bulson told a long story of a cousin who was a little crazy and who wanted absolute rest.

"She is harmless, excepting for her tongue," said Bulson. "I would like to bring her here for several months. If you will take her, I will give you twenty-five dollars a week for your trouble."

Sarah Higgins was a natural-born miser, and she readily consented to take the young lady and watch her.

"I've taken care of them as is out of their mind before," she said. "I know how to treat 'em."

Homer Bulson's next move was to write a long letter to Gertrude. This letter was signed with the name of a fashionable lady of society, and ran as follows:

"Dear Miss Horton: Perhaps you will be surprised to receive this from me, a stranger, but Mrs. Jackson has been speaking to me about you, and the good lessons you are giving her daughter Belle.

"My husband used to know your father well, and the pair were warm friends, and he joins me in making this offer to you.

"I have three children, two girls and a boy, and I wish to obtain a music-teacher for them who will not only give lessons, but also take a personal interest in the little ones. There is nobody here at Lakewood who is suitable, and I wish to know if we cannot arrange to have you come down every Wednesday or Thursday? I will pay your carfare and give you five dollars per week for the lessons. Of course you can also have lunch with me.

"I think you will find this a good opening for you, and perhaps we can get you more pupils here. Please call upon me next Wednesday afternoon, and we can then talk it over and complete arrangements.

"Yours truly, "Mrs. James Broaderick."

The letter came as a complete surprise to Gertrude, and she scarcely knew what to make of it.

Of course, as was natural, she felt much pleased. A trip to Lakewood each week would be delightful, and five dollars would add quite something to her income.

The letter reached her on Tuesday morning, so she had not long to consider it. That noon she met Gladys and told her she was going to Lakewood on business the following morning, on the early train.

"Lakewood!" cried the flower girl.

"Yes. What makes you look so surprised, Gladys?"

"I didn't think you'd leave New York."

"I shall only be gone for the day. There is a lady there who wants me to give lessons to her three children."

"Oh!"

"She will pay well, and the trip each week will be quite an outing."

"It will be cold traveling this winter, I'm thinking."

"Lakewood is a famous winter resort now. The hotels are fine, so I've been told."

"Does the lady live at a hotel?"

"No; she has a private cottage near by—so her letter says."

"Well, I wish you luck," said Gladys, and so the pair parted.

CHAPTER XXV.

MARK HORTON RELENTS

After having mailed the letter to Gertrude from Lakewood, Homer Bulson returned to New York to complete his plans for the future.

Evening found him at his uncle's mansion, as smiling as ever, with nothing to betray the wicked thoughts which were in his mind.

Mr. Mark Horton had changed greatly. He was very feeble, his face was pinched, and his hair was fast growing white.

He had had two doctors waiting upon him, but neither of them had been able to make him well.

His malady baffled all their science, and despite their most carefully administered medicines he grew steadily worse.

"I cannot understand the case," said one physician to the other. "I was never so bothered in my life."

"It is certainly strange," answered the other. "I shall make a report on the case before the fraternity. Ordinarily this man should grow better quickly. He has no organic trouble whatever."

As Mark Horton grew more feeble he longed for Gertrude, remembering how she had ministered to him day and night.

"How goes it, uncle?" asked Homer Bulson, as he entered the room in which Mark Horton sat in an easy-chair.

"I am very weak, Homer. I don't think I shall ever be better. It is not because I fear death, for I have little to live for. But Gertrude–" He did not finish.

"She treated you badly, uncle, after all you had done for her."

"I am afraid that I was the one that was to blame."

"You? You were too indulgent, that was the trouble. She used to have her way in everything."

"Have you heard anything of her yet, Homer?"

"I think she went to Boston."

"To Boston? Do you know if she had much money?"

"I do not."

"Did she go alone?"

"I believe not. That actor got a position with some traveling company, and I think she went with the company, too."

"It is too bad! I do not wish her to throw her whole life away in this fashion. I wish she were here. Won't you write to her?"

"I would if I had the address."

"But you can find out where the theatrical company is, can't you?"

"The company went to pieces after visiting Boston."

"Then she must be in want," groaned Mark Horton. "If you cannot write to her, you can at least advertise for her in the Boston papers."

"I'll do that, if you wish it."

"I do, Homer. Tell her to return—that all will be forgiven. I am fairly dying to see the child again."

At this latter remark Homer Bulson drew down the corners of his mouth. But the dim light in the room hid his features from his uncle's gaze.

At this moment the servant came to the door.

"The nurse is here," she said.

"Oh, all right!" exclaimed Bulson. "Send her up."

"The new nurse," said Mark Horton wearily. "They simply bother me. Not one of them does as well as did Gertrude."

Presently a middle-aged woman came in, dressed in the outfit of a trained nurse. She bowed to both men.

"You are the nurse Dr. Barcomb said he would send?" said Homer Bulson, as he eyed her sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"What is your name, please?"

"Mrs. Mary Conroy."

"As the doctor sent you, I suppose it is all right. You have had sufficient experience?"

"Plenty, sir; plenty! What is the matter with the gentleman?"

"Nervous debility."

"That is too bad. I nursed one patient with it."

"Did he recover?" questioned Mark Horton, with a slight show of interest.

"He did, sir."