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THE YOUNG OUTLAW;
Or,
Adrift in the Streets.
by
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
* * * * * *
Horatio Alger's Successful Books for Boys and Girls.
"Half a million of readers shows how popular they are."
Ragged Dick Series.
Complete in Six Volumes--in a Box.
I. RAGGED DICK; or, Street Life in New York.
II. FAME AND FORTUNE; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter.
III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.
IV. ROUGH AND READY; or, Life Among New York Newsboys.
V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY; or, Among the Wharves.
VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready.
Price, $1.25 per volume.
Tattered Tom Series.
A Continuation of the Ragged Dick Series.
FIRST SERIES, Complete in Four Volumes--in a Box.
I. TATTERED TOM; or, The Story of a Street Arab.
II. PAUL, THE PEDDLER; or, The Adventures of a Young Street
Merchant.
III. PHIL, THE FIDDLER; or, The Young Street Musician.
IV. SLOW AND SURE; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop.
Price, $1.25 a volume.
SECOND SERIES.
I. JULIUS; or, The Street Boy out West.
II. THE YOUNG OUTLAW; or, Adrift in the World.
III. SAM'S CHANCE, and How He improved It.
IV.
Price, $1.25 a volume.
Campaign Series.
Complete in Three Volumes--in a Box.
I. FRANK'S CAMPAIGN.
II. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.
Price, $1.25 per volume.
Luck and Pluck Series.
FIRST SERIES, Complete in Four Volumes--in a Box,
I. LUCK AND PLUCK; or, John Oakley's Inheritance.
II. SINK OR SWIM; or Harry Raymond's Resolve.
III. STRONG AND STEADY; or, Paddle your own Canoe.
IV. STRIVE AND SUCCEED; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad.
Price, $1,50 per volume.
SECOND SERIES, Complete in Four Volumes--in a Box,
I. TRY AND TRUST; or, The Story of a Bound Boy.
II. BOUND TO RISE; or, How Harry Walton rose in the World.
III. RISEN FROM THE RANKS; or, Harry Walton's Success.
IV. HERBERT CARTER'S LEGACY; or, the Inventor's Son.
Price, $1.50 per volume.
Brave and Bold Series.
To be completed in four Volumes.
I. BRAVE AND BOLD; or, The Story of a Factory Boy.
II. JACK'S WARD: or, The Boy Guardian.
III. SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF.
Price, $1.50 per volume.
Each volume sold separate from the set.
LORING, PUBLISHER, BOSTON.
* * * * * *
[Frontispiece: the deacon asks directions of the street Arab.]
[Series Title Illustration]
THE YOUNG OUTLAW;
Or,
Adrift in the Streets.
by
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
Author of "Ragged Dick,"--"Tattered Tom,"--"Luck and Pluck,"--"Brave
and Bold," Series.
Loring, Publisher,
Cor. Washington and Bromfield Streets,
Boston.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
A. K. Loring,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
39 Arch Street, Boston.
To
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
HARRY L. DE VISSER,
THIS VOLUME
IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"The Young Outlaw" is the sixth volume of the Tattered Tom Series, and
the twelfth of the stories which are wholly or mainly devoted to
street-life in New York. The story carries its moral with it, and the
writer has little fear that the Young Outlaw will be selected as a
model by the boys who may read his adventures, and be amused by the
scrapes into which he manages to fall. In previous volumes he has
endeavored to show that even a street-boy, by enterprise, industry and
integrity, may hope to become a useful and respected citizen. In the
present narration he aims to exhibit the opposite side of the picture,
and point out the natural consequences of the lack of these
qualities.
This may be a proper occasion to express gratitude for the very
remarkable favor with which these stories of humble life have been
received throughout the country. The writer is glad to believe that
they have done something to draw attention to a neglected class of
children, whom it is important to elevate and redeem.
NEW YORK, March 25, 1875.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW;
OR,
ADRIFT IN THE STREETS.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW.
"Boy, is this Canal Street?"
The speaker was evidently from the country. He was a tall man, with
prominent features, and a face seamed and wrinkled by the passage of
nearly seventy years. He wore a rusty cloak, in the style of thirty
years gone by, and his clothing generally was of a fashion seldom seen
on Broadway.
The boy addressed was leaning against a lamppost, with both hands in
his pockets. His clothes were soiled and ragged, a soft hat, which
looked as if it had served in its varied career as a foot-ball, was
thrust carelessly on his head. He looked like a genuine representative
of the "street Arab," with no thought for to-morrow and its needs, and
contented if he could only make sure of a square meal to-day. His face
was dirty, and marked by a mingled expression of fun and impudence;
but the features were not unpleasing, and, had he been clean and
neatly dressed, he would undoubtedly have been considered
good-looking.
He turned quickly on being addressed, and started perceptibly, as his
glance met the inquiring look of the tall, stranger. He seemed at
first disposed to run away, but this intention was succeeded by a
desire to have some fun with the old man.
"Canal Street's about a mile off. I'll show yer the way for ten
cents."
"A mile off? That's strange," said the old man, puzzled. "They told me
at the Astor House it was only about ten minutes walk, straight up."
"That's where you got sold, gov'nor. Give me ten cents, and you won't
have no more trouble."
"Are you sure you know Canal Street, yourself?" said the old man,
perplexed. "They'd ought to know at the hotel."
"I'd ought to know too. That's where my store is."
"Your store!" ejaculated the old man, fixing his eyes upon his ragged
companion, who certainly looked very little like a New York merchant.
"In course. Don't I keep a cigar store at No. 95?"
"I hope you don't smoke yourself," said the deacon (for he was a
deacon), solemnly.
"Yes, I do. My constitushun requires it."
"My boy, you are doing a lasting injury to your health," said the old
man, impressively.
"Oh, I'm tough. I kin stand it. Better give me a dime, and let me show
yer the way."
The deacon was in a hurry to get to Canal Street, and after some
hesitation, for he was fond of money, he drew out ten cents, and
handed it to his ragged companion.
"There, my boy, show me the way. I should think you might have done it
for nothing."
"That aint the way we do business in the city, gov'nor."
"Well, go ahead, I'm in a hurry."
"You needn't be, for _this_ is Canal Street," said the boy, edging off
a little.
"Then you've swindled me," said the deacon, wrathfully. "Give me back
that ten cents."
"Not if I know it," said the boy, mockingly. "That aint the way we do
business in the city. I'm goin to buy two five-cent cigars with that
money."
"You said you kept a cigar-store yourself," said the deacon, with
sudden recollection.
"You mustn't believe all you hear, gov'nor," said the boy, laughing
saucily.
"Well now, if you aint a bad boy," said the old man.
"What's the odds as long as you're happy?" said the young Arab,
carelessly.
Here was a good chance for a moral lesson, and the deacon felt that it
was his duty to point out to the young reprobate the error of his
ways.
"My young friend," he said, "how can you expect to be happy when you
lie and cheat? Such men are never happy."
"Aint they though? You bet I'll be happy when I'm smokin' the two
cigars I'm goin to buy."
"Keep the money, but don't buy the cigars," said the deacon, religion
getting the better of his love of money. "Buy yourself some clothes.
You appear to need them."
"Buy clo'es with ten cents!" repeated the boy, humorously.
"At any rate, devote the money to a useful purpose, and I shall not
mind being cheated out of it. If you keep on this way, you'll end in
the gallus."
"That's comin' it rather strong, gov'nor. Hangin's played out in New
York. I guess I'm all right."
"I'm afraid you're all wrong, my boy. You're travellin' to
destruction."
"Let's change the subject," said the street boy. "You're gittin'
personal, and I don't like personal remarks. What'll you bet I can't
tell your name?"
"Bet!" ejaculated the deacon, horrified.
"Yes, gov'nor. I'll bet you a quarter I kin tell your name."
"I never bet. It's wicked," said the old man, with emphasis.
"Well, we won't bet, then," said the boy. "Only, if I tell your name
right, you give me ten cents. If I don't get it right, I'll give back
this dime you gave me. Aint that fair?"
The deacon might have been led to suspect that there was not much
difference between the boy's proposal, and the iniquity of a bet, but
his mind was rather possessed by the thought that here was a good
chance to recover the money out of which he had been so adroitly
cheated. Surely there was no wrong in recovering that, as of course he
would do, for how could a ragged street boy tell the name of one who
lived a hundred and fifty miles distant, in a small country town?
"I'll do it," said the deacon.
"You'll give me ten cents if I tell your name?"
"Yes, and you'll give me back the money I give you if you can't
tell."
"That's it, gov'nor."
"Then what's my name, my boy?" and the deacon extended his hand in
readiness to receive the forfeit of a wrong answer.
"Deacon John Hopkins," answered the boy, confidently.
The effect on the old man was startling. He was never more surprised
in his life. He stared at the boy open-mouthed, in bewilderment and
wonder.
"Well, I declare!" he ejaculated. "I never heard of such a thing."
"Aint I right, gov'nor?"
"Yes, my boy, you're right; but how on earth did you find out?"
"Give me the money, and I'll tell you;" and the boy extended his
hand.
The deacon drew the money from his vest-pocket, and handed it to the
young Arab, without remonstrance.
"Now tell me, my boy, how you know'd me."
The boy edged off a few feet, then lifted his venerable hat so as to
display the whole of his face.
"I'd ought to know you, deacon," he said; "I'm Sam Barker."
"By gracious, if it aint Sam!" ejaculated the old man. "Hallo! stop, I
say!"
But Sam was half-way across the street. The deacon hesitated an
instant, and then dashed after him, his long cloak floating in the
wind, and his hat unconsciously pushed back on the top of his head.
"Stop, you Sam!" he shouted.
But Sam, with his head over his shoulder, already three rods in
advance, grinned provokingly, but appeared to have no intention of
stopping. The deacon was not used to running, nor did he make due
allowance for the difficulty of navigating the crowded streets of the
metropolis. He dashed headlong into an apple-stand, and suffered
disastrous shipwreck. The apple-stand was overturned, the deacon's hat
flew off, and he found himself sprawling on the sidewalk, with apples
rolling in all directions around him, and an angry dame showering
maledictions upon him, and demanding compensation for damages.
The deacon picked himself up, bruised and ashamed, recovered his hat,
which had rolled into a mud-puddle, and was forced to pay the woman a
dollar before he could get away. When this matter was settled, he
looked for Sam, but the boy was out of sight. In fact, he was just
around the corner, laughing as if he would split. He had seen his
pursuer's discomfiture, and regarded it as a huge practical joke.
"I never had such fun in all my life," he ejaculated, with difficulty,
and he went off into a fresh convulsion. "The old feller won't forget
me in a hurry."