BULLDOG QUESTIONS DICK
Business was better for the two boys the next day, as the rain had
ceased and there was a lively demand for papers. As soon as the first
rush was over Jimmy, who was as usual at his place at Broadway and
Barclay Street, turned to an advertisement in one of the papers and
began to pick out the letters. He was engaged in this occupation when
a man stopped in front of him, but at first Jimmy did not see him.
"Aren't you selling any papers to-day?" asked the man.
"Sure," replied Jimmy, alive in an instant to business. "_Sun, Woild,
Herald, Times, Joinal_--why--why----" he exclaimed as he looked up and
saw Mr. Crosscrab, the young man from Vermont, standing in front of him.
"I see you remember me," said Mr. Crosscrab, smiling.
"Dat's what I do. Did youse git t' Brooklyn all right?"
"Yes, and when I got there I found my aunt very sick. That is why I
haven't been back to New York. This is the first chance I have had to
come over, and I took the opportunity of looking for you."
"Well, I'm right on de job. Have a paper?"
"I'll take a _Sun_," and the countryman handed Jimmy a nickel.
"Dat's all right," replied the newsboy in a spirit of generosity.
"Have one on me."
"Are you giving papers away?"
"To me friends, yep."
"Well, I don't expect to get my news that way, though I'm glad you
consider me a friend. I insist on paying for this."
"But didn't youse give me a quarter?"
"That was for information furnished. I consider I got twenty-five
cents' worth from you. Now I want to buy a paper. If you won't sell
it, I'll get one from some other boy."
"Well, if youse puts it dat way I'll take de coin," said Jimmy, though
he honestly wanted Mr. Crosscrab to take a paper for nothing.
"How have you been since I last saw you?" asked the young man.
"Fine. I've got a partner in me business now."
"Is that so? Who is he?"
"Dick Box."
"Dick Box? What a strange name."
"Well, I found him in a queer place--in a box--so I give him dat name.
He don't know any udder."
"That's odd. Well, I am going up to Central Park. Which is the best
way to get there?"
Jimmy gave the necessary directions.
"I'd like to have you come along," proposed Mr. Crosscrab, who had
taken quite a liking to Jimmy.
"Can't leave me business. Me partner'd git mad if I made him do all de
work."
"No, probably it wouldn't be right. Well, perhaps I will see him some
day and take you both along. I need a guide to show me around New
York. I suppose you would come if I made it worth your while?"
"I'll have t' speak t' me partner," replied Jimmy with a laugh.
"Where do you live?"
"Newsboys' Lodgin' House. We've got a regular room, an' we're dead
swell. Come an' see us."
"Perhaps I will some time," and with a pleasant smile Mr. Crosscrab
bade Jimmy good-by.
"Dick Box," mused the country young man as he walked away. "That is
certainly an odd name. I used to know a boy named Dick, but his last
name wasn't Box nor anything like it."
During this time Dick was selling papers in the financial district. He
found that it was an advantage to follow his method of calling the
attention of the bankers and brokers to news in which they were
interested rather than to more sensational items.
He sold nearly as many papers as did Jimmy, who had years of experience
to his credit. Dick soon became well known as a newsboy in the moneyed
section of the city, and many rich men bought their papers regularly
from him. His frank and courteous manners, and the quiet,
business-like way in which he went about gained him a number of friends.
It also gained him enemies among the other newsboys, who did not like
to see their territory invaded by a newcomer, especially one who did so
well.
But as the financial district was patroled by several policemen and
detectives to prevent robberies, none of the jealous newsboys dared
attack Dick and engage him in a fight, which a number of them wanted to
do to pay him back for taking some of their trade away.
Dick was doing nothing wrong, and he knew it. The streets were free,
and if he could sell papers by his own methods, he knew he was within
his rights.
Still there was much feeling against him, and among those who
considered him their especial enemy was Bulldog Smouder. He had often
sold newspapers in Wall Street, and he noted a falling off in his sales
since Dick's advent. Bulldog's method was like that of his companions.
He would yell out at the top of his voice, and call some piece of news
which might or might not be true. And whatever it was, he mumbled his
words so that no one could understand him. Whenever he saw a man put
his hand in his pocket he would assume that the man wanted a paper, and
he would rush up and thrust one in his face.
On one occasion a gentleman who frequently bought a paper of Dick
approached him, putting his hand in his pocket to extract a coin. The
motion was observed by Bulldog, who rushed forward with such eagerness
that he ran into the man.
"Here! What are you trying to do!" exclaimed the customer.
"Wuxtry! Don't youse want a wuxtry? All de latest news!" exclaimed
the big newsboy.
"Certainly I want a paper, but I prefer to buy it of this lad," and he
purchased one from Dick.
"I'll fix youse fer dis!" threatened Bulldog when the man had gone.
Perhaps he might have undertaken to chastise Dick then and there had it
not been for the presence of a big policeman on the next corner.
"What have I done?" asked Dick.
"Youse is takin' all me customers away."
"I didn't do anything to induce that man to buy of me."
"Yes, youse did."
"What did I do?"
"Well, I don't know what it was, but youse has got t' git outer here.
Dis is me stampin' ground, an' I want youse t' git."
"Suppose I don't?" asked Dick, who was not afraid, even if Bulldog was
the larger.
"Well, you'll see. Who are youse, anyhow? Comin' t' N'York an'
buttin' in here where youse ain't wanted. Why don't youse go back
home?"
"I would if I knew where my home was," spoke Dick quietly, for he made
no secret of his queer plight.
"Say, kid, honest, don't youse remember anyt'ing about yerself?" asked
Bulldog with a sudden assumption of friendliness, for he happened to
remember the conversation he and Mike Conroy had had concerning Dick,
and he thought this a good chance to further the plot which the two had
made.
"I can remember very little about what happened before I met Jimmy
Small."
"Don't youse know what kind of a place youse lived in?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"An' can't youse remember yer own name?"
"Only the first part of it."
"Well, dat's a queer go! Would youse like t' git back home, kid?"
"Indeed I would. Why, do you know anything about me? My mind seems in
a daze whenever I try to think about it. If you know anything, please
tell me."
"Naw, I don't know nuttin'. Say, youse didn't run away, did youse?
Youse ain't comin' no game like dat, is yer?"
"No, certainly not," replied Dick, his face flushing at the insinuation.
"Well, dat's queer," murmured Bulldog as he turned away. Then he
started suddenly as he saw coming toward him a man whom he knew. It
was a detective from police headquarters, and Bulldog had frequently
given the man information about petty thieves.
"Say," said Bulldog in a low tone to the detective as the latter
reached him, "I want t' ask youse a few questions. Come in here," and
he motioned to a hallway. The detective, who was inclined to be
friendly with the newsboy, thinking he might have some future use for
him, complied, and soon the two were in conversation.