NELSON MAKES A PRESENT.
In some manner of her own Mrs. Kennedy had found out that that day was
Gertrude's birthday, and she had concocted a scheme with Nelson and
Gladys to give her a surprise.
"Sure an' the poor dear deserves a bit av pleasure," said the old
Irishwoman. "This humdrum life is almost a-killin' av her. We'll buy her
a few things, and have a bit av a party supper."
"She shall have my best bouquet," said the flower girl. She loved
Gertrude dearly.
Nelson was in a great state of perplexity concerning what to give
Gertrude. One after another, different things were considered and
rejected.
"You see, she's a regular lady," he said to George Van Pelt, "and I want
to give her something that just suits. Now a common girl would like most
anything, but she's--well, she's different; that's all."
"Most girls like dresses and hats," suggested Van Pelt.
Nelson shook his head.
"It won't do. Her dresses and her hat are better than I could buy.
Besides, I want to give her something she can keep."
"Does she like to read?"
"I guess she does."
"I saw a new book advertised--a choice collection of poems. It's really
something fine--far better than most collections. How would that suit?"
"How much was the book?"
"Two dollars and a half, but we, as dealers, can get it for a dollar and
seventy-five cents."
"Then that's what I'll get. And I'll write in it, 'To Miss Gertrude
Horton, from her true friend Nelson,'" said the boy.
The book was duly purchased, and our hero spent the best part of half an
hour in writing in it to his satisfaction. That night he closed up a
little early and walked down to the Kennedy home with the volume under
his arm.
"Oh, what a splendid book!" cried Gertrude, on receiving it. Then she
read the inscription on the fly-leaf. "Nelson, you are more than kind,
and I shall never forget you!" And she squeezed his hand warmly.
Gladys had brought her largest bouquet and also a nice potted plant, and
Mrs. Kennedy had presented a sensible present in the shape of a
much-needed pair of rubbers.
"Winter will soon be here," said the old woman. "And then it's not our
Miss Gertrude is going to git wet feet, at all!"
The girl was taken quite by surprise, and even more so when Mrs. Kennedy
brought in a substantial supper, which had been cooking on the stove of
a neighbor. To this Nelson added a quart of ice cream from a near-by
confectioner's, and the birthday party was voted a great success by all
who participated.
"You have all been so kind to me," said Gertrude, when they broke up,
"you make me forget what I had to give up."
"Don't ye be after worryin', dear," said Mrs. Kennedy. "'Twill all come
out right in the end."
"I trust so, Mrs. Kennedy. But I ask for nothing more than that I can
earn my own living and keep the friends I have made," answered the girl.
"How many scholars have you now?" questioned Gladys.
"Fourteen, and two more are promised."
"Sixteen is not bad," said our hero, who knew that that meant eight
dollars a week for the teacher.
It was after midnight when the party broke up, and Nelson had to take
Gladys to her home, several blocks away. The flower girl lived with a
bachelor brother, who supported himself and paid the rent. The rest
Gladys had to supply herself.
"I wish I had a regular stand for flowers," she said to Nelson. "I could
make a good deal more, then."
"I'll help you buy a stand some day, Gladys," he replied. "I know a good
place up in your neighborhood."
That was Nelson, helping everybody he could, and that is why he is the
hero of this tale of New York street life.
"If you'll help me I'll pay you back," said the flower girl earnestly.
"You know flowers keep so much better when they are in a glass case,"
she explained.
A light rain was falling when the newsboy at last started for the house
where he roomed. He buttoned his coat up around his throat and pulled
his hat far down over his eyes.
He was almost to his room when, on turning a corner, he saw two big boys
shoving a push-cart along, piled high with goods concealed under some
potato sacking. As the boys passed in the glare of an electric light he
recognized Billy Darnley and Len Snocks.
"Hullo, this is queer!" he murmured. "Where are they going with that
push-cart? I didn't know either of 'em was in the peddling business."
The pair soon passed out of sight, and Nelson continued on his way.
Quarter of an hour later he was in bed and in the land of dreams.
It was George Van Pelt's turn to open up the stand on the following
morning, our hero being entitled to sleep an hour longer than otherwise
in consequence. But hardly had the time for opening arrived when George
Van Pelt came rushing around to our hero's room in high excitement.
"Nelson, what does this mean?" he demanded.
"What does what mean?" asked our hero sleepily.
"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."