LITTLE ROSE.
Rough and Ready had sold out his stock of morning papers, and would have
no more to do until the afternoon, when the "Evening Post" and "Express"
appeared. The "Mail," "Telegram," and "News," which now give employment
to so many boys, were not then in existence.
I may as well take this opportunity to describe the newsboy who is to be
the hero of my present story. As already mentioned, he was fifteen years
old, stoutly built, with a clear, fresh complexion, and a resolute,
good-humored face. He was independent and self-reliant, feeling able to
work his own way without help, and possessed a tact and spirit of
enterprise which augured well for his success in life. Though not so
carefully dressed as most of the boys who will read this story, he was
far from being as ragged as many of his fellow-newsboys. There were two
reasons for this: he had a feeling of pride, which made him take some
care of his clothes, and besides, until within a year, he had had a
mother to look after him. In this respect he had an advantage over the
homeless boys who wander about the streets, not knowing where they shall
find shelter.
But, within a year, circumstances had changed with our young hero. His
mother had been left a widow when he was nine years old. Two years later
she married a man, of whom she knew comparatively little, not from love,
but chiefly that she might secure a comfortable support for her two
children. This man, Martin, was a house-carpenter, and was chiefly
employed in Brooklyn and New York. He removed his new wife and the
children from the little Connecticut village, where they had hitherto
lived, to New York, where he found lodgings for them.
In the course of a few months, she found that the man she had so hastily
married had a violent, and even brutal, temper, and was addicted to
intemperate habits, which were constantly interfering with his prospects
of steady employment. Instead of her care and labor being lessened, both
were increased. The lodgings to which Martin carried his wife, at first,
were respectable, but after a while there was a difficulty about the
rent, and they were obliged to move. They moved frequently, each time
compelled to take dirtier and shabbier accommodations.
Rufus was soon taken from school, and compelled, as a newsboy, to do his
part towards supporting the family. In fact, his earnings generally
amounted to more than his stepfather's, who only worked irregularly. A
year before the date of our story, Mrs. Martin died, solemnly intrusting
to her son the charge of his little sister Rose, then six years old.
"Take good care of her," said the dying mother. "You know what your
stepfather is. Don't let him beat or ill-treat her. I trust her wholly
to you."
"I'll take care of her, mother," said Rufus, sturdily. "Don't be afraid
for her."
"God will help you, Rufus," said the poor mother "I am glad you are such
a boy as I can trust."
"I aint so good as I might be, mother," said Rufus, touched by the
scene; "but you can trust me with Rosie."
Mrs. Martin knew that Rufus was a sturdy and self-relying boy, and she
felt that she could trust him. So her last moments were more peaceful
than they would have been but for this belief.
After her death, Rufus continued the main support of the household. He
agreed to pay the rent,—five dollars monthly,—and fifty cents a day
towards the purchase of food. This he did faithfully. He found himself
obliged, besides, to buy clothing for his little sister, for his
stepfather, who spent his time chiefly in bar-rooms, troubled himself
very little about the little girl, except to swear at her when he was
irritated.
Rough and Ready gained his name partly from its resemblance in sound to
his right name of Rufus, but chiefly because it described him pretty
well. Any of his street associates, who attempted to impose upon him,
found him a rough customer. He had a pair of strong arms, and was ready
to use them when occasion seemed to require it. But he was not
quarrelsome. He was generous and kind to smaller boys, and was always
willing to take their part against those who tried to take advantage of
their weakness. There was a certain Tom Price, a big, swaggering
street-bully, a boot black by profession, with whom Rough and Ready had
had more than one sharp contest, which terminated in his favor, though a
head shorter than his opponent.
To tell the truth, Rough and Ready, in addition to his strength, had the
advantage of a few lessons in boxing, which he had received from a young
man who had been at one time an inmate of the same building with
himself. This knowledge served him in good stead.
I hope my young readers will not infer that I am an advocate of
fighting. It can hardly help being brutal under any circumstances; but
where it is never resorted to except to check ruffianism, as in the case
of my young hero, it is less censurable.
After setting up Johnny Nolan in business, Rough and Ready crossed to
the opposite side of the street, and walked up Centre Street. He stopped
to buy a red-cheeked apple at one of the old women's stalls which he
passed.
"Rosie likes apples," he said to himself. "I suppose she's waiting to
hear me come upstairs."
He walked for about quarter of a mile, till he came in sight of the
Tombs, which is situated at the north west corner of Centre and Leonard
Streets, fronting on the first. It is a grim-looking building, built of
massive stone. Rough and Ready did not quite go up to it, but turned
off, and went down Leonard Street in an easterly direction.
Leonard Street, between Centre and Baxter Streets, is wretched and
squalid, not as bad perhaps as some of the streets in the
neighborhood,—for example, Baxter Street,—but a very undesirable
residence.
Here it was, however, that our hero and his sister lived. It was not his
own choice, for he would have gladly lived in a neat, clean street; but
he could not afford to pay a high rent, and so was compelled to remain
where he was.
He paused in front of a dilapidated brick building of six stories. The
bricks were defaced, and the blinds were broken, and the whole building
looked miserable and neglected. There was a grocery shop kept in the
lower part, and the remaining five stories were crowded with tenants,
two or three families to a floor. The street was generally littered up
with old wagons, in a broken-down condition, and odors far from savory
rose from the garbage that was piled up here and there.
Crowds of pale, unhealthy-looking children, with dirty faces, generally
bare-headed and bare-footed, played about, managing, with the happy
faculty of childhood, to show light-hearted gayety, even under the most
unpromising circumstances.
Rough and Ready, who was proud of his little sister, liked to have her
appear more decently clad than most of the children in the street.
Little Rose never appeared without a bonnet, and both shoes and
stockings, and through envy of her more respectable appearance, some of
the street girls addressed her with mock respect, as Miss Rose. But no
one dared to treat her otherwise than well, when her brother was near,
as his prowess was well known throughout the neighborhood.
Our hero dashed up the dark and rickety stair case, two stairs at a
time, ascending from story to story, until he stood on the fifth
landing.
A door was eagerly opened, and a little girl of seven called out
joyfully:—
"Is it you, Rufus?"
At home, Rough and Ready dropped his street nickname, and was known by
his proper appellation.
"Yes, Rosie. Did you get tired of waiting?"
"I'm always tired of waiting. The mornings seem so long."
"Yes, it must seem long to you. Did you go out and play?"
"Only a few minutes."
"Didn't you want to stay?"
The little girl looked embarrassed.
"I went out a little while, but the girls kept calling me Miss Rose, and
I came in."
"I'd like to hear 'em!" said Rufus, angrily.
"They don't do it when you are here. They don't dare to," said Rose,
looking with pride at her brother, whom she looked upon as a young hero.
"They'd better not," said the newsboy, significantly. "They'd wish they
hadn't, that's all."
"You see I wore my new clothes," said Rose, by way of explanation. "That
made them think I was proud, and putting on airs. But they won't do it
again."
"Why not?" asked her brother, puzzled.
"Because," said Rose, sadly, "I shan't wear them again."
"Shan't wear them!" repeated Rough and Ready. "Are you afraid to?"
"I can't."
"Why can't you?"
"Because I haven't got them to wear."
Rose's lip quivered as she said this, and she looked ready to cry.
"I don't understand you, Rosie," said the newsboy, looking perplexed.
"Why haven't you got them, I should like to know?"
"Because father came home, and took them away," said the little girl.
"_What!_" exclaimed Rough and Ready, quickly. "Took them away?"
"Yes."
"What did he do that for?" said the boy, angrily.
"He said he shouldn't let you waste your money in buying nice clothes
for me. He said that my old ones were good enough."
"When did he take them away?" said the boy, his heart stirred with
indignation.
"Only a little while ago."
"Do you know where he took them, Rosie?"
"He said he was going to take them to Baxter Street to sell. He said he
wasn't going to have me dressed out like a princess, while he hadn't a
cent of money in his pocket."
Poor Rufus! He had been more than a month saving up money to buy some
decent clothes for his little sister. He had economized in every
possible way to accomplish it, anticipating her delight when the new hat
and dress should be given her. He cared more that she should appear well
than himself, for in other eyes, besides her brother's, Rose was a
charming little girl. She had the same clear complexion as her brother,
an open brow, soft, silken hair hanging in natural curls, fresh, rosy
cheeks in spite of the unhealthy tenement-house in which she lived, and
a confiding look in her dark blue eyes, which proved very attractive.
Only the day before, the newsboy had brought home the new clothes, and
felt abundantly rewarded by the delight of his little sister, and the
improvement in her appearance. He had never before seen her looking so
well.
But now—he could not think of it without indignation—his intemperate
stepfather had taken away the clothes which he had worked so hard to
buy, and, by this time, had probably sold them for one quarter of their
value at one of the old-clothes shops in Baxter Street.
"It's too bad, Rosie!" he said. "I'll go out, and see if I can't get
them back."
While he was speaking, an unsteady step was heard on the staircase.
"He's coming!" said Rose, with a terrified look.
A hard and resolute look came into the boy's face, as, turning towards
the door, he awaited the entrance of his stepfather.