ROSE IS RESTORED TO HER BROTHER.
When Mr. Martin re-entered his boarding-house late in the afternoon,
Mrs. Waters looked as if she expected her bill to be paid.
"I couldn't change my fifty dollars," said Martin; "but it's all right,
Mrs. Waters. You shall have the money to-morrow."
Notwithstanding the confidence with which he spoke, Mrs. Waters felt
rather troubled in mind. She doubted very much whether it was all right,
and would have felt very much relieved if she could have seen the
bank-note which Martin talked about changing. However, there was no good
excuse for questioning his statement, and she could only wait as
patiently as she might. But she resolved that if the money were not
forthcoming the next day, she would advise Mr. Martin to seek another
boarding-place, and that without delay.
When breakfast was over the next morning, Martin said to Rose, "Put on
your bonnet. I want you to go out with me."
Rose looked at him in surprise.
"I'm goin' to get her some new clothes, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Waters.
"She needs 'em, and it will give me a good chance to change my bill."
This might be so. Mrs. Waters hoped it was. Rose, however, listened with
amazement. Her stepfather had not bought her any clothes for
years,—indeed, she could not remember when,—and it was not long since he
had taken away and sold those which her brother bought her. The idea
struck her with alarm that perhaps he had the same intention now.
"Come, don't be all day," said Martin, roughly. "Maybe I'll change my
mind, and not buy you any if you're so long gettin' ready."
It took little time for Rose to make necessary preparations. After
leaving the house, Mr. Martin led the way to Third Avenue, where they
got on board the horse-cars. It struck Mr. Martin that a good place for
Rose to commence her new profession would be in front of Fulton Ferry,
where crowds of people were passing and repassing continually.
Rose did not venture to ask any questions till they reached their
destination.
Then seeing the ferry, which she remembered, she asked hopefully, "Are
we going to New York?"
"No, we aint. Don't you think of such a thing," said Martin, roughly.
"Are you going to buy me some clothes here? I don't see any stores."
"You've got clothes enough. You've got better clothes than I have."
"I thought," said Rose, "you told Mrs. Waters you were going to buy me
some."
"Maybe I'll buy you some, if you do just as I tell you. I've got
something for you to do."
They had now left the cars, and were crossing the street to the ferry.
"Now," said Martin, "I'll tell you what you must do. You must stand just
there where people come out, and hold out your hand, and say, 'Give me a
few pennies for my poor sick mother.'"
"But," said Rose, in dismay, "that will be begging."
"S'pose it is," retorted her stepfather, doggedly. "Are you too proud to
beg? Do you expect me to support you without you doin' anything?"
"I'm willing to work," said Rose, "but I don't want to beg."
"None of your impudence!" said Martin, angrily. "You must do just as I
told you. Say, 'Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother.'"
These last words he brought out in a doleful whine, such as he thought
might excite compassion.
"There, see if you can say it as I did."
"I haven't got any sick mother," pleaded Rose.
"What's the odds? Half of them aint. Only you must say so, or they won't
give you anything. Come, are you ready?"
"I don't want to beg," said Rose, desperately.
"I tell you what, little gal," said Martin, fiercely; "if you don't do
as I tell you, I'll give you the wust lickin' you ever had. Say what I
told you."
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," repeated Rose,
unwillingly.
"You don't say it feelin' enough," said Martin, critically. "Anybody
would think you didn't care nothin' for your poor sick mother. Say it
so;" and he repeated the whine.
Rose said it after him, and though her performance was not quite
satisfactory to her stepfather, he decided that it would do.
"There, stand there," he said, "and begin. I'm goin' just across the
street, and if you don't do it right, look out for a lickin'."
Rose took her position, feeling very much ashamed, and almost ready to
cry. She wished she could escape the necessity; but looking across the
street she saw Martin furtively shaking his fist at her, and turned
desperately to follow his directions.
The boat was just in, and a throng of passengers was passing through the
gate.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," said Rose, to a
good-natured-looking man who passed her.
He looked at her anxious face, and something in it excited his pity. He
took out ten cents, and gave it to her. Rose took it, feeling very much
ashamed, and turned to the next passer.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," she said.
"Out of the way there, you young beggar!" said he, roughly. "Such
nuisances as you are ought to be sent to the Island."
Rose drew back alarmed at this rough language, and for a moment kept
silent, hardly daring to renew her appeal. But a look at James Martin's
threatening face compelled her to continue, and again she made the
appeal.
This time it was a lady she addressed,—mild and pleasant,—who paused a
moment, and spoke gently.
"Is your mother quite sick, my dear?" she asked, in a voice of
compassion.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Rose, faintly, ashamed of the falsehood she was
uttering.
"Have you any brothers and sisters?"
"One brother," answered Rose, glad that here at least she could tell the
truth.
"Here's something for you," said the lady, placing twenty-five cents in
the child's outstretched palm.
All the passengers had now passed through the portal, and she had some
respite.
James Martin crossed the street, and, coming up to her, asked, "How much
did you get?"
Rose opened her hand.
"Thirty-five cents in five minutes," he said, elated. "Come, little gal,
you're gettin' on finely. I shouldn't wonder if you'd take three or four
dollars by two o'clock. We'll go home then."
"But I don't like to beg," said Rose.
"Don't let me hear none of that," said Martin, angrily. "You're lazy,
that's what's the matter. You've got to earn your livin', there's no two
ways about that, and this is the easiest way to do it. There aint no
work about beggin'."
Since Martin was mean enough to live on the money begged by a little
girl, it isn't likely that he would understand the delicate
scrupulousness which made Rose ashamed of soliciting charity.
"I'll take the money," said her stepfather, "and you can get some more
when the next boat comes in. I'm goin' away a few minutes," he
proceeded; "but you must stay here just where you are, and keep on just
as if I was here. I won't be gone long. If I find you haven't done
nothing when I come back, look out for yourself."
James Martin had reflected that the thirty-five cents would be
sufficient to get him a drink and a couple of cigars, and it was to
obtain these that he went away. He found it rather dull work, standing
on the sidewalk and watching Rose, and he thought that by inspiring her
with a little wholesome fear, she would go on just as well in his
absence. Still it might be as well to encourage her a little.
"If you're a good gal," he proceeded, in a changed tone, "and get a lot
of money, I'll buy you some candy when we go home."
This, however, did not cheer Rose much. She would much prefer to go
without the candy, if she might be relieved from her present
disagreeable employment.
If Mr. Martin had been aware that among the passengers on the next boat
were Rough and Ready and Ben Gibson, he would scarcely have felt so safe
in leaving Rose behind. Such, however, was the case. While Rose was
plunged in sorrowful thought, filled with shame at the thought of her
employment, deliverance was near at hand.
The boat came in, and she felt compelled to resume her appeal.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," she said, holding out
her hand.
"Where is your poor sick mother?" asked the person addressed.
"She's dead," said Rose, forgetting herself.
"That's what I thought," he answered, laughing, and passed on, of course
without giving anything.
Rather mortified at the mistake she had made, Rose turned to address the
next passenger, when she uttered a joyful cry.
"O Rufie!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.
"Rose, is it you?" he exclaimed, surprised and delighted. "How came you
here? I came over to Brooklyn on purpose to find you; but I had no idea
you were so near."
"Mr. Martin sent me here to beg."
"To beg!" repeated Rufus, indignantly. "And where is he now?"
"He's gone away," said Rose, "but he's coming right back."
"Then he won't find you, that's all. Come, Ben, we'll go right back by
the next boat, and carry Rose with us. I didn't expect to be so lucky."
"Won't Martin be mad?" said Ben. "I'd like to see him when he finds your
sister gone."
"He shan't see her again very soon," said Rufus, "not if I can help it.
Come along, Rose."
He paid their fare by the boat, and hurried Rose on board. It started in
the course of two or three minutes on its return trip. On the way he
made Rose tell him how she had been treated, and was very angry when
told of the persecutions to which she had been subjected.
"But it's all over now, Rosy," he said, putting his arm caressingly
round his little sister's neck, "you're safe now, and nobody shall
trouble you. Miss Manning will be rejoiced to see you again."
"I shall be _so_ glad to get home again, Rufie," said Rose, earnestly;
"Miss Manning's so much nicer than Mrs. Waters."
"And am I as nice as Mr. Martin?" asked Rufus, laughing.
"Ten thousand million times," said Rose, emphatically. "He isn't nice at
all."
Meanwhile we return to Mr. Martin.
When he got back, he looked in vain for Rose.
"Where's she gone?" he asked himself, angrily.
He looked about him on all sides, but no Rose was to be seen. It
occurred to him that perhaps she might have taken some of the money
obtained by begging, and gone over to New York in the boat, in the hope
of finding her brother. If so, he would follow her.
To make sure, he asked the fare-taker.
"Did you see a little girl begging just outside the gate a few minutes
ago?"
"Yes."
"She's gone away. Did you see where she went?"
"She went over to New York in the boat, about twenty minutes ago."
"Did she go alone?"
"No; there were two boys went with her."
Martin asked for a description of the boys, and realized to his intense
disappointment that his plans were foiled, and that Rough and Ready had
recovered his sister. He was provoked with himself for leaving her, and
his vexation was the greater that he had not only lost Rose and the
money she might have made for him, but also the sum which the newsboy
stood ready to pay for the return of his sister.
"Confound the luck!" he muttered. "It's always against me."