For two weeks Tom Gordon prosecuted his vocation as a newsboy in the city
of New York, by which time he had gained enough experience to earn his
daily bread, but nothing beyond that. Such being the case, he felt that he
was not making a success of his calling, as there was no reserve fund upon
which to draw for clothing or other necessities.
The greater portion of a month wore by, during which he never gained the
slightest knowledge of the fate of Jim Travers.
Tom went to the morgue, and applied to the police, and, in fact, used
every means at his command to learn something. He occasionally encountered
his friend Patsey, who rendered all the assistance he could, but it
availed nothing.
When the fortnight was up, Tom received an unexpected offer, that the
Irishman, through some acquaintance, secured for him. It was the
opportunity to sell newspapers and periodicals on the Hudson River
Railroad. He was to leave New York in the morning, "working the train" on
the way up to Albany, and come down again in the afternoon.
This was such a big advance on what he had been doing, that he joyfully
accepted the offer, even though he held not the slightest intention of
following it as a continuous occupation. It would do very well until he
could obtain something more suitable.
The lad found at the end of the first week that he was much better off
than he anticipated. The privilege was conceded to him of charging double
the price for the papers which was asked on the streets or at the
news-stands, and his percentage of profits was very large.
Tom held his position for a couple of months to the satisfaction of his
employer, and he had accumulated quite a sum, which was deposited in a
savings-bank that wasn't likely to "suspend" for the benefit of the
officers.
Spring had opened, the Hudson was clear of ice, and his business became
quite agreeable.
It happened that he encountered, on several occasions, some of his former
friends of Briggsville, who could not conceal their surprise at seeing him
engaged in selling newspapers.
Tom could not always keep back the flush that stole over his handsome face
at such times. But he began to believe there was a nobility in honest
labor like his, of which he had no right to feel ashamed.
There were any number of young fellows who envied him his position, and
who were ready to use all sorts of artifices to have him "bounced."
Slanderous reports were carried to his employers, who took measures to
investigate them, reaching the conclusion that Tom was without a superior
in the way of integrity, politeness, and faithfulness.
The tiny gold chain and locket obtained from the drowning girl in so
singular a manner, he preserved with a religious devotion. It was
deposited in the savings-bank, beyond all danger of loss, and he would
have starved to death before consenting to part with it.
The sweet face within the locket was as vividly fixed in his memory as if
the original were a sister of his, and he never passed through the train
without looking around, in the hope of seeing the little girl herself.
The only sister which Tom had ever had died in infancy, and there was
something which linked the memory of the two in the tenderest and most
sacred manner.
There were true modesty and manhood in the noble fellow, when he overheard
a visitor in his employer's office relate the incident of the rescue,
without suspecting that the hero stood before him, and never dropped the
slightest intimation that he knew anything about it.
One bright spring morning Tom was passing through the smoking-car, when a
young man, very flashily dressed, whistled to him, and asked for a copy
of a sporting paper.
Tom had but a single copy left. This he tossed over into the lap of the
applicant in that careless, off-hand style which characterizes the veteran
newsboy.
The purchaser passed over a quarter in coin, and as Tom pulled out a
handful of silver from his pocket, from which to select the change, the
flashy young man said,--
"Never mind, sonny; I'll make you a present of that."
"But you have given me five times the price of the paper," said Tom,
thinking there was an error.
"That's all right. When I see a fellow of your style I like to encourage
him."
Tom thanked him and passed on.
The incident would not be worth recording but for the fact that it was
repeated the next day, when the same young man bought a _Herald_, and
compelled the lad to accept a bright silver quarter in payment, without
allowing him to give any change.
Six times on successive days was this done, and then the liberal purchaser
disappeared from the train.
Aside from the repetition of his favors, it was rather curious that on
each occasion he should have placed a silver quarter in the palm of Tom.
Each coin was of the same date as that year, and was so bright and shiny
that Tom believed they must have come directly from the mint. They looked
so handsome, indeed, that he determined to keep them as pocket-pieces,
instead of giving them out in change.
There is nothing like actual experience to sharpen a fellow's wits; and,
on the first day the munificent stranger vanished, a dim suspicion entered
the head of Tom that some mischief was brewing.
That night in New York he examined the coins more minutely than
heretofore. Half an hour later he walked down to the wharf and threw them
into the river.
The whole six were counterfeit. It wasn't safe for any one to carry such
property about him.
Tom was strongly convinced, further, that a job was being "put up" on him,
and he was mightily relieved when thoroughly rid of them.
That same evening one of his employers sent for him, and told him that he
had received reliable information that he, Thomas Gordon, was working off
counterfeit money on the road.
The boy denied it, of course, but he did not choose to tell all he knew,
for he saw that his own situation was a dangerous one; but he demanded
that the proof should be produced.
There was an officer present, who thereupon searched the lad for the
"queer," but he acknowledged there wasn't a penny on him which was not
sound.
Tom was kept at the office while another officer went to his
lodging-house and ransacked his room. The result was _nil_. This rather
stumped the detective, who was acting on the charge of some one else, and
he started off, remarking that the business wasn't done yet, and the best
thing the boy could do was to confess.
"I must first have something to confess," replied Tom, who was excusable
for some honest indignation.
"Where is the man who said I was in _that_ business?"
"You'll meet him in the court-room," was the significant reply of the
detective.
"That's just where I'd like to meet him, and you too, but you're afraid to
try it."
"Come, come, young man, you'd better keep a civil tongue in your head, or
I'll jug you as it is. I've enough against you."
"Why don't you do it, then?" was Tom's defiant question; "I've learned
enough during the last few minutes to understand my rights, and if you
think I don't, now's the time to test it."
The officer went out muttering all sorts of things; and Tom, turning to
his employer, his breast heaving with indignation, said,--
"They have been plotting against me ever since I've been on the road. They
went with all kinds of stories to you, and now they've been trying to make
it appear that I am in the counterfeit business."
"But there must have been something tangible, or that detective would not
have come here with the charge."
"There was something;" and thereupon Tom told the story of the six shining
quarters.
His employer was angered, for he saw through it all; and from the
description of the donor, he recognized a worthless scamp who had been
discharged for stealing some time before Tom went on the route. The
detective was sent for, and the case laid before him. That night Mr. Dick
Horton, who made the charge, was arrested, and in his rooms were found
such proofs against him as a counterfeiter that, a few months later, he
went to Sing Sing for ten years.
For a time succeeding this incident Tom was left undisturbed in the
pursuit of his business, the occurrence becoming pretty generally known
and causing much sympathy for him.
It was about a month subsequent that Tom missed his afternoon train down
the river, and took another, which left later, not reaching New York till
late at night.
[Illustration: It was a fierce drive.]
As there was nothing for him to do, the train being in the hands of
another newsboy, he sat down in the smoking-car, which was only moderately
filled. Directly in front was a man who, he judged from his dress, was a
Texan drover, or some returning Californian He was leaning back in the
corner of his seat, with his mouth open and his eyes shut, in a way to
suggest that he was asleep.
Seated next him was an individual who looked very much like the Italian
who had shoved his head into the door of Tom's room some months before.
This foreigner was watching the Californian--if such he was--as a cat
watches a mouse.
"I believe he means to rob him," was Tom's conclusion, who, without being
suspected by the scoundrel, was taking mental notes of the whole
proceeding.
The supposition was confirmed within five minutes, when the Italian,
leaning over toward the other, in an apparently careless manner, began
cautiously inserting his hand into his watch-pocket.
The instant Tom saw this, he bent forward and shook the Californian's
shoulder so vigorously that he started up, and demanded in a gruff voice
what was the matter. The Italian, of course, had withdrawn his hand like a
flash, and was leaning the other way, with his eyes half-closed, like one
sinking into a doze.
"I saw that man there," said Tom, pointing to the Italian, "with his hand
in your pocket, about to steal your watch, and I thought I'd best let you
know."
"Is that so?" demanded the stranger, a giant in stature, as he laid his
immense hand on the shoulder of the other, who started up as if just
aroused from sleep, and protested in broken English that he was not aware
of being seated with the gentleman at all.
His vehement declarations seemed to raise a doubt in the mind of the
Californian, who began an examination of his pockets. He found everything
right, and so declared.
"He was just beginning operations," said Tom in explanation, "when I woke
you."
"Bein' as he ain't took nothin', I won't knock the head off him," said the
Californian, as he announced himself to be; "but he ain't any business to
look so much like a sneaking dog, so I'll punch him on general
principles."
Whereupon he gave the fellow such a resounding cuff that he flopped out of
the seat, and, scrambling to his feet, hurried out of the car.
The Californian thanked Tom, and then resumed his nap.
In half an hour Tom found the tobacco-smoke so oppressive that he rose to
go into the next car. On the platform stood the discomfited Italian, who
seemed to be waiting for revenge.
"You lie of me," he muttered, before Tom suspected his danger. "I show
you."
With a quick push he gave the lad a violent shove, thrusting him entirely
off the platform and out upon the ground, fortunately clear of the rushing
wheels.