LED BY A BOOTBLACK.
WHILE Walter is anticipating commencing his duties as teacher on Monday
morning, we leave him awhile to chronicle the adventures of Joshua
Drummond, his distant relative. Readers of “Strong and Steady” will call
to mind that he was the son of Jacob Drummond, of Stapleton, a country
shopkeeper, with whom Walter passed a few weeks shortly after his
father’s death. Mr. Drummond was thoroughly a mean man, and, though his
son was now eighteen years of age, allowed him only twenty-five cents a
week for spending-money. When Joshua asked for more, he told him he
might go to work in a shoeshop, or in his own store, though in the
latter case he only agreed to pay him fifty cents. But work was not what
Joshua wanted. He thought that, as a rich man’s son, he was entitled to
a liberal allowance without working at all. He was willing,
nevertheless, to take a situation in the city, being anxious to see
life, as he termed it.
Finally, seeing no other way to compass his desire, Joshua opened his
father’s strong box with a key which he had found, and abstracted from
it fifty dollars in gold, and a five-twenty government bond for five
hundred dollars, excusing himself for the theft by the specious
reasoning that it was only taking in advance what would be his some day.
Thus provided, he secretly left the house, and took the train for New
York, saying to himself, in exultation, as he took his seat at the car
window, “Now I am going to see life.”
Joshua felt immensely wealthy with the proceeds of the robbery,
amounting, at the price of bonds, to over six hundred dollars.
Accustomed to the paltry sum of twenty-five cents a week, never having
had in his possession more than a dollar at a time, and seldom that, it
is not surprising that he should have regarded six hundred dollars as a
small fortune. He knew nothing of the city and its dangers. He had an
idea that he should easily get a situation in a week or two, which time
he proposed to spend in seeing life.
When he reached New York, he left the depot and went out into the
street. He felt bewildered. The change from the quiet streets of
Stapleton to the thronged avenues of the great city was very great, and
he hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his heels. But he
realized, with a thrill of exultation, that he was in the city of which
he had so often dreamed. He felt that a new page was to be turned over
in his life, and that his future would be much more brilliant than his
past.
Joshua knew nobody in the city except Sam Crawford. His first desire was
to find out where Sam lived. Sam he was accustomed to regard as a
personage of a good deal of importance. But how to find him--that was
the question. He knew that Sam was a clerk in a shoe store on Eighth
avenue, but where that avenue was he had not the least idea.
While he was standing outside the depot in some perplexity, wondering
how far off Sam’s store was, he was accosted by a sharp-looking
bootblack, whose hands indicated his profession.
“Shine yer boots, mister?”
Joshua was not reckless in his expenditures, and he inquired,
cautiously, “How much do you ask?”
“Twenty-five cents,” said the bootblack.
“Twenty-five cents!” exclaimed Joshua, aghast, reflecting that the sum
asked represented what hitherto had been his entire weekly allowance.
“Well,” said the bootblack, “seein’ you’re from the country, I’ll call
it twenty cents.”
“What makes you think I’m from the country?” asked Joshua, quite
unconscious of his rustic air.
“I saw you git off the cars,” said the bootblack, not caring to offend a
possible customer by commenting on his verdant appearance.
“Yes,” said Joshua, satisfied; “I came from the country this morning. I
don’t know much about the city. I’ve got a friend here. He is in a store
in Eighth avenue. His name is Sam Crawford. Do you know him?”
“Know Sam Crawford? In course I do,” said the bootblack, who had never
heard the name before. “I black his boots every mornin’.”
“Do you?” asked Joshua, brightening up.
“Yes. He always gives me twenty cents. He wouldn’t go round with no such
lookin’ boots as yours. They ain’t respectable here in the city.”
Joshua believed all this. He was not yet accustomed to the “ways that
are dark and tricks that are vain” of city street Arabs, and he decided
to have his boots blacked notwithstanding the price, which he could not
help regarding as very steep. He was anxious to conform, as speedily as
possible, to city fashions, and, if it was not respectable to walk about
in unpolished boots, he decided to have them blacked, so that his friend
Sam might not feel ashamed of him when he came into his store.
“I guess I’ll have my boots blacked,” he said. “Can’t you take less than
twenty cents?”
“That’s the regular price, fixed by the city gov’ment,” protested the
bootblack. “If I was to take less, I’d have my license took away.”
“Do you have a license?” asked Joshua, with curiosity.
“In course I do.”
“Have you got it here?”
“No, I’ve got it to home, along with my gold valooables. I had to pay
fifty dollars for it.”
“That’s high, isn’t it?” asked Joshua, who was gathering valuable
information with great rapidity.
“Yes, it is; but then, you see we have to support the gov’ment.”
Meanwhile the mendacious young bootblack was vigorously employed upon
Joshua’s boots. He had a hard job. They were made of cow-hide, for Jacob
Drummond was not in the habit of spending much for the outfit of his
son, and they had never been well polished since they were new. At
length, however, they were polished, and certainly were greatly improved
by the process, though in shape they would hardly have been taken for
the work of a fashionable city bootmaker.
“There,” said the young Arab, surveying his work complacently, “now they
look respectable.”
“They do look better than they did,” Joshua was compelled to admit. He
drew out twenty cents from his vest pocket and handed it to the boy.
“Is it far to Sam Crawford’s store?” he asked.
“About two miles,” was the answer.
“Could I find the way easy?”
“Yes; all you’ve got to do is to go up Madison avenue till you get to
the Battery. Go round it; then cross Madison square, keepin’ the Astor
House on your left hand. Turn into the Bowery at Trinity Church; then
cross over to Twenty-seventh street. Go up Twenty-seventh street six
blocks till you get to A. T. Stewart’s store; then take a short cut to
Eighth avenue, and there you are.”
These false and absurd directions were delivered with great volubility
by the bootblack; but it is needless to say that they made a very
confused impression upon the mind of Joshua, who felt more bewildered
and helpless than before.
“I don’t know any of those places,” he said. “I am afraid I couldn’t
find the way.”
“Maybe you couldn’t. I know a man who was two days findin’ a place only
a mile off. If he’d paid a dollar to somebody that knew the way he’d
been all right.”
This put a new idea into Joshua’s mind.
“If you’ll show me the way to Sam Crawford’s, I’ll give you fifty
cents,” he said.
“That’s too little,” said the boy. “I couldn’t neglect my business so
long for that. I should lose money.”
“How much do you want?”
“A dollar. It’s worth a dollar to go so fur. I might lose half a dozen
shines.”
The boy would have stood out for a dollar but for the fact that another
bootblack had come up--one of his rivals in business--and he was afraid
he might offer to go for less. Accordingly he hastened to strike a
bargain.
“All right,” said he. “Hand over your money.”
“Wait till I get there,” said Joshua, cautiously.
“Payment in advance,” said the young Arab. “That’s the way they do
business in the city.”
Joshua drew out seventy-five cents, and placed them in his hand.
“Follow me, mister,” said the young conductor. “I guess I won’t go the
way I told you. I’ll take a short cut,” he added.
The bootblack led Joshua by a pretty direct course to Eighth avenue. It
was a considerable walk, and to Joshua an interesting one. As he noted
block after block of elegant buildings he felt elated to think that his
home was from henceforth to be in the great city. Some time or other,
when his father had forgiven him, he would go back to Stapleton, and
show off the same city airs which had so impressed him in the case of
Sam Crawford. He was rather alarmed when he came to cross Broadway, and
came near being run over by a passing omnibus.
“Look out, mister,” said his young guide, “or you’ll get knocked into a
cocked hat. Folks is in such a hurry here that they don’t stop to pick
up dead bodies.”
Arrived in Eighth avenue, the bootblack, who had cunningly managed to
find out Sam Crawford’s business, pointed to the first shoe store they
reached, and said, “That’s the place.”
“Does Sam Crawford work there?”
“In course he does. You jest go in, and you’ll see him at the back of
the store.”
Joshua went in, never dreaming that he had been deceived. Meanwhile his
guide took to his heels with the money he had extracted from Joshua by
false pretenses.
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