MR. MARTIN HAS AN IDEA.
We must now return to Rose, whom we left confined in the cellar. Now, a
cellar is not a very pleasant place, and Rose had a dismal time of it.
She was considerably frightened also, when, as she sat on the lower step
of the cellar stairs she saw a large rat running rapidly past. It is not
to be wondered at that Rose was alarmed. I know many persons much older
who would have done precisely what she did under the circumstances,
namely, scream with all their might.
The little girl's scream brought Mrs. Waters to the door at the head of
the stairs.
"What are you howling at?" she demanded, roughly.
"I just saw a big rat," said Rose. "Do let me come up; I'm afraid he'll
bite me."
"Most likely he will," said Mrs. Waters. "But I can't let you come up.
You've acted too bad. Next time you'll find it best to behave. And, mind
you don't yell again! If you do, I'll come down and give you something
to yell for."
Saying this, she slammed the door, and returned to her work, leaving
Rose in a very unhappy state of mind. She sat in momentary expectation
of the reappearance of the rat, thinking it very likely it would bite
her, as Mrs. Waters had told her. She began to cry quietly, not daring
to scream, lest Mrs. Waters should carry out her threat and give her a
whipping.
At the end of an hour—it seemed more like a day to Rose—Mrs. Waters came
to the door, and said, "You can come up now, if you can make up your
mind to behave yourself."
Rose needed no second invitation. She ran upstairs hastily, under the
impression that the rat might pursue her, and breathed a sigh of relief
when she was fairly out of danger.
Fanny was sitting at the table, eating a piece of apple-pie.
"Did the rats bite you?" she asked, laughing maliciously.
"No," answered Rose.
"I wish they had. It would have been such fun to hear you holler."
"You're a mean girl," said Rose, indignantly.
"Hoity-toity! What's all this?" demanded Mrs. Waters. "Have you begun to
call Fanny names already?"
"She said she wished the rats had bitten me," said Rose.
"Well, so do I. It would have been a good lesson to you. Now, miss, I've
got one word to say. If you abuse and quarrel with Fanny, I'll just put
you down cellar again, and this time I'll keep you there all night. Do
you hear?"
"Yes," said Rose, shuddering. She privately made up her mind that she
should die if this threat were carried out, and the very thought of it
made her turn pale.
"Don't you want some pie, Rose?" asked Fanny, with her mouth full.
"Yes," said Rose, "I should like some."
"Well, you can't have any," said Fanny, maliciously. "Can she, ma?"
"Of course not. She don't deserve any," said the mother. "Pie is too
good for wicked girls. Here, you Rose, here's something for you to do,
to keep you out of mischief. Sit down to the table here, and shell these
beans. Don't you want to help, Fanny?"
"No, I don't," said Fanny, decidedly. "She can do 'em alone."
A tin-pan half full of bean-pods was placed on the table, and Rose was
ordered to be "spry," and not to waste her time. Fanny, having finished
her pie, began to tease the cat, which employment she found much more
satisfactory than helping Rose.
That night Mrs. Waters presented her bill to Mr. Martin for a week's
board in advance for himself and Rose. The fact that he had apparently
given up working made her a little doubtful whether he would prove good
pay. She determined to ask payment in advance, and thus guard against
all risk of loss.
"Mr. Martin," she said, "here's my bill for your board, and the little
girl's. I'm rather short of money, and have got some bills to pay, and I
should feel particularly obliged if you could pay me now."
Mr. Martin took the bill, and looked at it.
"It's seven dollars," said Mrs. Waters. "I can't afford to take any
less. Beef's two cents a pound higher, and potatoes is rising every day.
You can't say it's unreasonable."
"It's all right, Mrs. Waters," said Martin, slipping it into his
vest-pocket. "It's all right. I'll attend to it in a day or two."
"Can't you pay me to-day?" persisted the landlady. "I've got my rent to
pay to-morrow, and it'll take all I can get to pay it."
"Can you change a fifty-dollar bill?" asked Martin.
"I can get it changed."
"I guess I'll get it changed myself," said Martin. "I'm goin' out on
business."
"I don't believe he's got so much money," thought Mrs. Waters,
suspiciously, and it is needless to say that she was quite right in her
suspicions. The exact amount of Mr. Martin's cash in hand was a dollar
and thirty-seven cents, and his entire wardrobe and the sum of his
earthly possessions would not probably have brought over fifteen
dollars.
Strong as Mrs. Waters' suspicions were, however, she could not very well
press the matter then. She resolved to wait till Mr. Martin returned,
and then renew the subject. She would be guided in her action by what
happened then.
Martin, meanwhile, began to consider that possibly he had made a mistake
in kidnapping Rose. The necessary outlay for her board and clothes would
be a serious drain upon him, especially as for years he had barely
earned enough to pay his own personal expenses. On the whole, he thought
he might as well restore her to her brother; but he would take care that
the newsboy paid for the concession. He thought he might by good
management get twenty dollars out of him, or, if he had not so much,
part down, and the rest in a week or fortnight. He resolved to see Rough
and Ready about it the very next morning.
There are some who say that money earned is enjoyed the most. James
Martin did not believe this. Earning money was very disagreeable to him,
and he considered any other mode of getting it preferable.
He was lounging along the street, with his hands in his pockets,
meditating as above, when a little girl came up to him, and, holding out
her hand, whined out, "Won't you give me a few pennies for my poor sick
mother?"
Suddenly a brilliant idea came to Mr. Martin. He determined to question
the little girl.
"How long have you been out beggin'?" he asked.
"Ever since morning."
"How much money have you made?"
The little girl hesitated.
"Come, little girl, if you'll tell me true, I'll give you five cents."
"I'll show you," she answered, regaining confidence.
She drew from her pocket a miscellaneous collection of pennies and
silver pieces, which Martin counted, and found to amount to sixty-eight
cents.
"Do you make as much every day, little gal?" he asked.
"Sometimes more," she answered.
"Pretty good business, isn't it? How long's your mother been sick?"
"Most a year," said the little girl, hesitating.
"What's the matter with her?"
"I don't know. She can't set up," said the girl, again hesitating, for
she was a professional mendicant, and the sick mother was a sham, being
represented in reality by a lazy, able-bodied woman, who spent most of
the charitable contributions collected by her daughter on drink.
"Oh, yes, I understand," said Martin, with a wink. "Good-by, little gal.
Give my love to your poor sick mother, and tell her I'd come round and
inquire after her health if I had time."
As he said this he turned to go away.
"You promised me five cents," said the little girl, running after him.
"Did I? Well, you'll have to wait till next time, unless you can change
a fifty-dollar bill."
"I aint got money enough."
"Then you must wait till you see me again."
Mr. Martin's questions had not been without an object. The idea which
had occurred to him was this. Why might he not make Rose, in like
manner, a source of income? Perhaps he might in that way more than pay
expenses, and then he would still be able to keep her, and so continue
to spite Rough and Ready, which would be very agreeable to his feelings.
"I'll send her out to-morrow morning," he said to himself. "If she's
smart, she can make a dollar a day, and that'll help along considerable.
I'll be her poor sick mother. It'll save my workin' so hard, and
injurin' my health in my old age."
The more Mr. Martin thought of this plan, the better he liked it, and
the more he wondered that he had never before thought of making Rose a
source of income.