MR. CROSSCRAB'S VISIT
Business with the partners went on as usual for several days. There
was a brisk demand for papers, and slowly they saw the little savings
in the bank grow. They began to have visions of a fine stand by
Christmas, and the one they had first considered was still in their
mind, for the owner had not succeeded in disposing of it.
"Dick," remarked Jimmy one night, "I've got a new scheme."
"What is it?" and Dick looked up from the book he was reading at his
partner on the other side of the table. Jimmy was laboriously figuring
on the back of an old envelope.
"Well, you know that weekly illustrated paper that's making such a hit
now? It comes out every Friday, an' lots of the boys sell it."
"Yes, I know the one you mean. What about it?"
"I was thinking we might add it to our stock. If we did, and sold
enough of 'em, we could make quite a bit. There's two and a half cents
profit on each copy, and if we sold fifty each that'd be two dollars
and a half each week."
"Good! You're coming on with your arithmetic," exclaimed Dick. "Why,
that sounds good, Jimmy. Let's do it."
"There's one thing agin it, though."
"What's that?"
"There's no returns. You can't take back what you don't sell, and we
might lose on it."
"Well, I suppose we'll have to take that risk. Business men generally
have to venture something."
"I know, but we ain't got much capital. If we was to lose a dollar in
the week it wouldn't be no fun."
"No; still I think it's worth trying."
"Then I'll do it. I'll order a stock for this Friday, and we'll see
what we can do."
Jimmy was glad his chum had agreed to the scheme, which the older
newsboy had had in mind for some time, ever since he saw how well some
of his companions were doing with the new weekly, which was making
quite a bid for trade.
Accordingly, when Friday came, Jimmy got up early, and purchased one
hundred copies of the periodical. These he divided with Dick, and the
two boys, rather more heavily laden than usual, started out for their
day's business.
If Dick thought he was going to dispose of all his copies of the new
weekly quickly, he was much disappointed. Down in the financial
section he sold his usual number of daily papers, but, when it came to
disposing of the other, he had no luck.
"Why, I get that magazine at home every Friday morning," said one
broker, the one for whom Dick had delivered the letter that day he
nearly was arrested at the park fountain. "I subscribe for it."
"Then you don't want two copies," spoke Dick cheerfully, though he
began to have his doubts about Jimmy's new scheme.
He found that nearly every person whom he asked to buy the weekly
received it at his house, either through the mail, or from some boy who
had a route in that vicinity. He did manage to sell a few copies, but
not enough to pay for carrying the fifty around.
"I don't believe you'll have much of a success with that," said a
banker, who was one of Dick's steady customers. "The concern sent out
an army of agents to get subscriptions by the year, before allowing
boys to sell it on the streets, and persons down here haven't time to
read a magazine like that during business hours. We get it at our
homes."
Before the day was over Dick began to believe this was true. He only
managed to sell twelve copies out of the fifty he had taken out, and,
as the sale of the magazine was practically over on the day of
publication, he could see a financial loss staring him in the face.
"That is, unless Jimmy managed to dispose of all of his," he thought.
"Guess I'll quit now, and go up and see how he's making out."
He found Jimmy on his corner, busily engaged in disposing of the
evening papers, for his customers did not stop work as early as did
those in the financial section.
"How's the new weekly going, Jimmy?" asked 'Dick, when there came a
lull in trade.
"Rotten!" was Jimmy's characteristic answer. "It's a regular lemon,
down here. It's on de blink. I sold ten copies, and I couldn't get
rid of another one. So I stowed 'em away, and I got busy with me--I
mean my--regular papers. No trouble to sell them. How'd you make out?"
"Not much better. I sold twelve."
"Say, ain't that the limit? I'll never try a new stunt like that
ag'in. Everybody I struck to buy one, had one already, or got it home."
"Same with me," agreed Dick.
"Well, I can see us losin' some of our hard-earned plunks," went on
Jimmy.
"Never mind," consoled his partner. "We made a good try, and we'll
know better next time."
"You bet I will. What's that the book says about a trolley conductor
stickin' to his car?"
"I guess you mean the one about the shoemaker sticking to his last,"
said Dick, with a smile.
"Well, last or first, it don't make much difference, only I'm going to
stick to daily papers after this. Crimps! T'ink what a lot of fun we
could have had with de chink we lost!"
"Well, we'll make it up, somehow," said Dick. "Don't worry over it."
But Jimmy could not help it, and it was some time before he got over
the financial disaster which came to him and his partner. However, it
was, as Dick said, a good lesson to them, not to venture into a field
of which they knew nothing.
Jimmy had, under Dick's guidance, resumed his studies at night, and
Frank Merton came in occasionally. The boys began to plan on attending
night school as soon as the term opened, which would be in a few weeks.
"Then you'll have to study harder than you do now, Jimmy," said Dick.
"Those teachers will not be as easy on you as I am."
"Well, I guess I can stand it," answered Jimmy, with a little sigh.
"As long as I've got to read and write and do arithmetic, I might as
well learn to do it good."
One evening, when Jimmy had not come in, as he had undertaken to
dispose of a lot of late extras, Dick sat alone in the room. He was
vainly puzzling over his queer case, and wondering if he would ever
learn who he was, and who his folks were, if he had any. He tried and
tried again to penetrate back into the past, but he had to stop at a
certain place. And that was a confused scene, where he found himself
in a crowd, felt a stunning blow on the head and then awoke in the box
with Jimmy.
"I'm afraid that's as near it as I ever shall get," thought poor Dick.
"If only I could see something, or somebody, or hear something said
that would recall the past. But I can't."
A little later some one knocked on the door. Thinking it was Mr.
Snowden, who used to call on the permanent lodgers in the house
occasionally, Dick called out an invitation to enter.
A tall young man came in. He was a stranger to Dick, who looked at him
in the light of the gas-jet, wondering what was wanted.
"Is Jimmy Small here?" asked the young man.
"He is out selling papers," replied Dick. "I'm his partner. Can I do
anything for you."
"Well, I just dropped in to pay him a friendly visit, as I promised I
would. I'm Mr. Crosscrab."
"Oh, yes, I've often heard Jimmy speak of you. Won't you sit down.
He'll soon be in."
Dick stepped out of the shadow cast by a shelf on the wall and offered
Mr. Crosscrab a chair. As the light fell upon the boy's face the
visitor stepped back in amazement.
"Who--who are you?" asked Mr. Crosscrab.
"Why, I'm Jimmy's partner."
"Yes, but what--what is your name?"
"Well, Jimmy calls me Dick Box. My first name is Dick, but I have
forgotten my other."
"Yes, yes! I know. You're Dick Box. At least, that's what Jimmy
calls you. But--yes, it must be--yet I had better make certain before
I tell him," and these last words Mr. Crosscrab murmured in a low voice.
Dick did not know what to make of the man's manner.
"What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter?"
"I wish I had known this before I went to Vermont," went on Mr.
Crosscrab, speaking to himself. "Yet it must be the same one. But how
could he be here when he's supposed to be in Chicago?"
Dick began to be a little alarmed. He thought perhaps Mr. Crosscrab
might be a little insane. He wished Jimmy would come in.
"Can't you remember your other name?" asked the visitor. "Try--try
very hard."
"I have tried--every day, but it's no use."
"Do you know where you came from?"
"No. All I can remember is a large house with lots of ground about it,
and a man and woman who were kind to me. Oh, Mr. Crosscrab, do you
know anything about me? Do you know who I am? Tell me, please, if you
do!"
"I am not sure, yet you look exactly the same. Tell me, can you
remember anything about the house where you used to live?"
Dick puzzled his brain. Strange shadows seemed to flit past him, yet
they meant nothing.
"Can you recall a little brook that used to run in front of the house,
across the road, and a little rustic bridge that spanned it?" asked Mr.
Crosscrab.
"Yes! Yes!" cried Dick eagerly. "I begin to remember now. Help me,
please do!"
At that instant the door opened and Jimmy entered. He looked in
surprise at Mr. Crosscrab, and then Dick's manner showed him something
unusual was taking place.
"What is the matter, Dick?" he asked. "Are you sick again?"
"No, but Mr. Crosscrab thinks he knows who I am. He is trying to help
me remember."
"I am not sure," replied the visitor in answer to Jimmy's look. "This
is the first time I have seen your partner, and I do not want to raise
false hopes. Yet he may be a certain boy of whom I heard on my recent
visit to my home in Vermont."
"Who is he?" asked Jimmy.
"Perhaps I had better tell you the story," suggested Mr. Crosscrab.
"Then we can decide what to do. But don't be disappointed if, after
all, the secret of Dick Box is still unsolved."
"Oh, I hope I can find out who I am," murmured the boy who had
forgotten the past.
"When I was home this trip," went on Mr. Crosscrab, "I heard my father
tell about a friend of his owning a farm not far away whose son is
missing. The boy had been gone for several months, but the father only
just learned of it."
"How was that?" asked Jimmy.
"This way: The farmer I speak of lived with his wife and son on a big
farm near my father's. One day, some time ago, all three started for
New York. The farmer and his wife had to go to Europe to settle up an
estate to which the farmer had fallen heir, and his wife went with him.
As they expected to travel about considerably, for part of the property
was in Germany and part in France, they decided not to take their son
with them. He was to be sent to a cousin in Chicago who would care for
him until his parents returned.
"The three arrived in New York, where the boy was to take a train for
Chicago and the father and mother embark on a ship for Europe. They
took their son to the Grand Central Station here, and, bidding him
farewell, left him just before he was to take his train as they had to
go aboard their vessel. That was the last they saw of their son. They
went to Europe, and as they had to travel about more than they expected
they lost considerable of their mail. They never got a letter from the
cousin in Chicago telling about their son, but they did not worry, for,
though they would liked to have heard from him, they thought he was all
right. They wrote a number of letters to him, but he never got them."
"Why not?" asked Dick, who was deeply interested.
"Because the boy never got to Chicago. He disappeared somewhere
between here and there, maybe after arriving in the western city. His
father and mother never knew it until they came back from Europe last
week. Then, in answer to a telegram to the cousin in Chicago asking
how their son was, there came a message saying he had never arrived.
The cousin, after receiving letters from the other side, which
indicated that the boy's parents believed their son was with her, had
tried to send them word that he had never arrived, but of course the
messages did not reach the boy's father and mother.
"So they never knew until they got back the other day that he has been
missing all this while. They are heartbroken, and they have hired
private detectives to find him if possible. This is the story my
father told me when I was home, and he showed me a picture of the
missing boy."
"Does the picture look like me?" demanded Dick.
"Very much. So much so that I was startled when I came in here and saw
you."
"What's the missing boy's name?" asked Jimmy.
"Dick Sanden."
"That's me! That's me!" exclaimed Dick, springing to his feet. "I
remember now! I'm Dick Box no longer! I'm Dick Sanden! I remember it
all! Oh, how glad I am!"
"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Crosscrab, for he did not want the boy to be
mistaken. "Be careful now. What is your father's name?"
"My father's name? My father's name?" murmured Dick. "I--I can't seem
to remember." He passed his hand across his forehead. "I can't recall
that," he said piteously.