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[Illustration: "Your forged document will help you little," said Mr.
Grey, triumphantly. "I have torn it into a hundred pieces."--Page 138.]
TOM, THE BOOTBLACK;
OR,
THE ROAD TO SUCCESS
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
_Author of "Joe's Luck," "Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy," "Tom Temple's
Career," "The Errand Boy," "Tom Turner's Legacy," etc., etc._
ILLUSTRATED
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
52-58 DUANE STREET, NEW YORK
TOM, THE BOOTBLACK.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCING TOM, THE BOOTBLACK.
"How do you feel this morning, Jacob?" asked a boy of fifteen, bending
over an old man crouched in the corner of an upper room, in a poor
tenement-house, distant less than a quarter of a mile from the New York
City Hall.
"Weak, Tom," whined the old man, in reply. "I--I ain't got much
strength."
"Would you like some breakfast?"
"I--I don't know. Breakfast costs money."
"Never you mind about that, Jacob. I can earn money enough for both of
us. Come, now, you'd like some coffee and eggs, wouldn't you?"
There was a look of eager appetite in the old man's eyes as he heard
the boy speak.
"Yes," he answered, "I should like them; but we can't afford it."
"Don't you be afraid of that. I'll go and ask Mrs. Flanagan to get some
ready at once. I've earned thirty cents this morning already, Jacob,
and that'll pay for breakfast for the two of us. I think I could eat
some breakfast myself."
Jacob uttered a feeble remonstrance, but the boy did not stop to hear
it. He went down the rough staircase, and knocked at the door of the
room below. It was opened by a stout, wholesome-looking Irish woman,
who saluted the boy heartily.
"Well, Tom, and how's your grandfather this mornin'?"
"He's weak, Mrs. Flanagan; but he'll be the better for some breakfast,
and so shall I. I'll go and buy half a dozen eggs, if you'll be kind
enough to cook them, and make some coffee for us. I'll pay you for your
trouble."
"Of course I will, Tom. And for the eggs you needn't go out, for I've
got the same in the closet; but I'm short of bread, and, if you'll buy
a loaf, I'll have the coffee and eggs ready in no time."
While Tom is on his way to the baker's shop, a few words of explanation
and description may be in place. First, for our hero. I have already
said he was fifteen. Let me add that he was stout and strongly built,
with an open, prepossessing face, and the air of one who is ready to
fight his own battles without calling for assistance. His position in
life is humble, for he is a street bootblack. He has served, by turns,
at other vocations; but he has found none of them pay so well as this.
He has energy and enterprise, and few of his comrades secure so many
customers as he. For years he has lived with the old man introduced as
Jacob, and is popularly regarded as his grandson; but Jacob has never
made claim to that relationship, nor has he ever volunteered any
information to the boy as to what originally brought them together.
Occasionally Tom has tried to obtain some information, but on such
occasions Jacob has been very reticent, and has appeared, for some
reason, unwilling to speak. So, by degrees, Tom has given up asking
questions, and has been much more concerned about the means of living
than about his pedigree.
Jacob has done little or nothing for their common support, though at
times, greatly to the annoyance of Tom, he has gone out on the street
and asked alms. Tom, being high-spirited and independent, has resented
this, and has always interfered, in a very decided manner, to prevent
Jacob's figuring as a beggar. Though only a bootblack, he has an honest
independence of feeling, in which any one is justified who works,
however humbly, for his support.
Old Jacob is, moreover, a miser, so far as he can be. Whatever money he
may have acquired by begging, he has kept. At all events, he has
offered nothing of it for the common expenses. But Tom has not troubled
himself about this. He suspects that Jacob may have a few dollars
secreted somewhere, but is perfectly willing he should keep them for
his own satisfaction. His earnings average over a dollar a day, and
with this sum he is able to pay the small rent of their humble
apartment, and buy their food.
In ten minutes Tom reappeared with a loaf under his arm. The door of
Mrs. Flanagan's room was partly open, and he entered without ceremony.
The good woman was bustling about preparing the eggs. The coffee-pot
was already on the stove.
"It'll be ready in a minute, Tom," she said. "A cup of hot coffee'll do
the poor craythur, yer grandfather, a power of good. So he's fable, is
he?"
"Yes, Mrs. Flanagan."
"He won't last long, to my thinkin'."
"Do you think he's going to die?" asked Tom, thoughtfully.
"Yes, poor craythur. It's all he can do to drag himself up and down
stairs."
"I shall be sorry to have him die," said Tom, "though I don't believe
he's any relation to me."
"Isn't he your grandfather, then?" asked Mrs. Flanagan, in surprise.
"No; he never said he was."
"Then what makes the two of you live together? Maybe he's your uncle,
though he looks too old for that."
"I don't think he's any relation. All I know is, I've lived with him
ever since I was so high."
And Tom indicated with his hand the height of a boy of six.
"Then he's never told you anything?"
"No. I've asked him sometimes, but he didn't seem to want to speak."
When Tom re-entered the room he found the old man crouching in the
corner, as at first.
"Come, Jacob," he said, cheerfully, "get up; I've got some breakfast
for you."
The old man's features lighted up as he inhaled the grateful odor of
the coffee, and he rose with some effort to his feet, and seated
himself at the little table on which our hero placed it.
"Now, Jacob," said Tom, cheerfully, "I'll pour you out a cup of coffee.
Mrs. Flanagan made it, and it's bully. It'll put new life into you.
Then what do you say to a plate of eggs and some roll? I haven't got
any butter, but you can dip it in your coffee. Now, isn't this a nice
breakfast?"
"Yes, Tom," said the old man, surveying the coffee and eggs with eyes
of eager desire. "It's nice; but we can't afford to live so all the
time."
"Never you mind about that; we can afford it this morning; so don't
spoil your appetite with thinkin' how much it costs."
"Now," said Tom, after he had helped the old man, "I don't mind takin'
something myself. I ain't troubled with a delicate appetite, 'specially
when I've been up and at work for two hours."
"Did you make much, Tom?"
"Well, I ain't made my fortune yet. I've earned thirty cents, but I'll
make it up to a dollar before noon."
"You're a good boy, Tom," said the old man, approvingly. "Don't be
afraid of work; I'd work, too, if I wasn't so old. It costs a sight to
live, and I don't earn a cent."
"There ain't no need of it, Jacob; I can earn enough for the two of us.
I'm young and strong. You are old and weak. When I'm an old man, like
you, I won't want to work no more."
"I ain't so very old," said Jacob, jealously. "I'm only turned
sixty-five. There's a good many years of life in me yet."
"Of course there is, Jacob," said Tom, though as he looked at his
companion's thin, wasted face and shaking hand, he felt very doubtful
on this point.
"My father lived to be seventy-five," said Jacob.
"So will you," said Tom, though, to the boy of fifteen, sixty-five
appeared a very advanced age, and but little younger than eighty.
"I'll be stronger soon," said Jacob. "The weather ain't suited me."
"That's it, Jacob. Now let me give you another cup of coffee. It goes
to the right spot, don't it? Don't you be afraid; there's plenty of
it."
So he filled Jacob's cup once more, and the old man drank the contents
with evident relish.
"Now don't you feel better?" asked Tom. "Why, you look ten years
younger'n you did before you sat down. There's nothing like a bully
breakfast to make a feller feel tip-top."
"Yes, I do feel better," said Jacob. "I--I think you're right, Tom. If
I was rich, I'd always have a good breakfast."
"So you shall now, Jacob. It don't cost much. Now lie down again, and
I'll take these dishes down to Mrs. Flanagan."
Tom speedily reappeared, and said, cheerfully:
"If there's nothing more you want, Jacob, I'll go out and look out for
work. Mrs. Flanagan will bring you up some toast at noon, and I'll be
back at six o'clock."
"All right, Tom. Go to work, there's a good boy. It costs a sight of
money to live."
Tom seized his blacking-box and hurried down stairs. He had delayed
longer than he intended, and was resolved to make up for lost time.