JAMES MARTIN'S VICISSITUDES.
While Miss Manning is seeking a new boarding-place for herself and Rose,
events are taking place in Brooklyn which claim our attention. It is
here that James Martin, the shiftless and drunken step-father of Rufus
and Rose, has made a temporary residence. He had engaged board at the
house of a widow, Mrs. Waters, and for two or three weeks paid his board
regularly, being employed at his trade of a carpenter on some houses
going up near by. But it was not in James Martin's nature to work
steadily at anything. His love of drink had spoiled a once good and
industrious workman, and there seemed to be little chance of any
permanent improvement in his character or habits. For a time Rufus used
to pay him over daily the most of his earnings as a newsboy, and with
this he managed to live miserably enough without doing much himself. But
after a while Rufus became tired of this arrangement, and withdrew
himself and his sister to another part of the town, thus throwing Martin
on his own resources. Out of spite Martin contrived to kidnap Rose, but,
as we have seen, her brother had now succeeded in recovering her.
After losing Rose, Martin took the way back to his boarding-house,
feeling rather doubtful of his reception from Mrs. Waters, to whom he
was owing a week's board, which he was quite unable to pay. He had told
her that he would pay the bill as soon as he could exchange a
fifty-dollar note, which it is needless to say was only an attempt at
deception, since he did not even possess fifty cents.
On entering the house, he went at once to his room, and lay down on the
bed till the supper-bell rang. Then he came down, and took his place at
the table with the rest of the boarders.
"Where's your little girl, Mr. Martin?" inquired Mrs. Waters, missing
Rose.
"She's gone on a visit to some of her relations in New York," answered
Martin, with some degree of truth.
"How long is she to stay?"
"'Till she can have some new clothes made up; maybe two or three weeks."
"That's rather sudden, isn't it? You didn't think of her going this
morning?"
"No," answered Martin, with his mouth full of toast; "but she teased so
hard to go, I let her. She's a troublesome child. I shall be glad to
have the care of her off my mind for a time."
This might be true; but Mrs. Waters was beginning to lose confidence in
Mr. Martin's statements. She felt that it was the part of prudence to
make sure of the money he was already owing her, and then on some
pretext get rid of him.
When supper was over, Martin rose, and was about to go out, but Mrs.
Waters was too quick for him.
"Mr. Martin," she said, "may I speak to you a moment?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Martin, turning reluctantly.
"I suppose you are ready to pay my bill; I need the money particularly."
"I'll pay it to-morrow, Mrs. Waters."
"You promised to pay me as soon as you changed a bill, and this morning
you said you should have a chance to change it, as you were going to buy
your little girl some new clothes."
"I know I did," said Martin, feeling cornered.
"I suppose, therefore, you can pay me the money to-night," said Mrs.
Waters, sharply.
"Why, the fact is, Mrs. Waters," said Martin, awkwardly, "I was very
unfortunate. As I was sitting in the horse-car coming home, I had my
pocket picked of all the money I got in change. There was some over
forty dollars."
"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Waters, coldly, for she did not believe a word of
this; "but I need my money."
"If it hadn't been for that, I'd have paid you to-night."
"There's only one word I have to say, Mr. Martin," said the landlady,
provoked; "if you can't pay me, you must find another boarding-place."
"I'll attend to it in a day or two. I guess I can get the money
to-morrow."
"If you can't pay me to-night, you'll oblige me by giving up your room
to-morrow morning. I'm a poor widder, Mr. Martin, and I must look out
for number one. I can't afford to keep boarders that don't pay their
bills."
There was one portion of this speech that set Mr. Martin to thinking.
Mrs. Waters was a widow--he was a widower. By marrying her he would
secure a home, and the money received from the boarders would be paid to
him. He might not be accepted. Still it would do no harm to try.
"Mrs. Waters," he said, abruptly, wreathing his features into what he
considered an attractive smile, "since I lost my wife I've been feeling
very lonely. I need a wife to look after me and my little gal. If you
will marry me, we'll live happy, and--"
"Thank you, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters, considerably astonished at
the sudden turn affairs had taken; "but I've got too much to do to think
about marrying. Leastways, I don't care about marrying a man that can't
pay his board-bill."
"Just as you say," answered Martin, philosophically; "I've give you a
good chance. Perhaps you won't get another very soon."
"Well, if there isn't impudence for you!" ejaculated Mrs. Waters, as her
boarder left the room. "I must be hard up for a husband, to marry such a
shiftless fellow as he is."
The next morning, Mr. Martin made his appearance, as usual, at the
breakfast-table. Notwithstanding his proposal of marriage had been so
decidedly rejected the day before, his appetite was not only as good as
usual, but considerably better. In fact, as he was not quite clear where
his dinner was to come from, or whether, indeed, he should have any at
all, he thought it best to lay in sufficient to last him for several
hours. Mrs. Waters contemplated with dismay the rapid manner in which he
disposed of the beef-steak and hash which constituted the principal
dishes of her morning meal, and decided that the sooner she got rid of
such a boarder the better.
Mr. Martin observed the eyes of the landlady fixed upon him, and
misinterpreted it. He thought it possible she might have changed her
mind as to the refusal of the day before, and resolved to renew his
proposal. Accordingly he lingered till the rest of the boarders had left
the table.
"Mrs. Waters," he said, "maybe you've changed your mind since
yesterday."
"About what?" demanded the landlady, sharply.
"About marrying me."
"No, I haven't," answered the widow; "you needn't mention the matter
again. When I want to marry you, I'll send and let you know."
"All right!" said Martin; "there's several after me, but I'll wait a
week for you."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself," said the landlady, sarcastically; "I don't
want to disappoint anybody else. Can you pay me this morning?"
"I'll have the money in a day or two."
"You needn't come back to dinner unless you bring the money to pay your
bill. I can't afford to give you your board."
Mr. Martin rose and left the house, understanding pretty clearly that he
couldn't return. On reaching the street, he opened his pocket-book, and
ascertained that twelve cents were all it contained. This small amount
was not likely to last very long. He decided to go to New York, having
no further inducements to keep him in Brooklyn. Something might turn
up, he reasoned, in the shiftless manner characteristic of him.
Jumping upon a passing car, he rode down to Fulton Ferry, and crossed in
the boat to the New York side, thus expending for travelling expenses
eight cents.
Supposing that Rufus still sold papers in front of the "Tribune" office,
he proceeded to Printing House Square, and looked around for him; but he
was nowhere to be seen.
"Who you lookin' for, gov'nor?" inquired a boot-black, rather short of
stature, but with an old-looking face.
"Aint you the boy that went home with me Wednesday?" asked Martin, to
whom Ben Gibson's face looked familiar.
"S'posin' I am?"
"Have you seen a newsboy they call Rough and Ready, this morning?"
"Yes, I seed him."
"Where is he? Has he sold all his papers?"
"He's giv' up sellin' papers, and gone into business on Wall Street."
"Don't you try to fool me, or I'll give you a lickin'," said Martin,
sternly.
[Illustration: "DON'T YOU TRY TO FOOL ME."]
"Thank you for your kind offer," said Ben, "but lickings don't agree
with my constitution."
"Why don't you tell me the truth then?"
"I did."
"You said Rufus had gone into business in Wall Street."
"So he has. A rich cove's taken a fancy to him, and adopted him as a
office-boy."
"How much does he pay him?" asked Martin, considering whether there
would be any chance of getting some money out of his step-son.
"Not knowin' can't say," replied Ben; "but he's just bought two
pocket-books to hold his wages in."
"You're a humbug!" said Martin, indignantly. "What's the man's name he
works for?"
"It's painted in big letters on the sign. You can't miss it."
James Martin considered, for an instant, whether it would be best to
give Ben a thrashing, but the approach of a policeman led him to decide
in the negative.
"Shine yer boots, gov'nor?" asked Ben, professionally.
"Yes," said Martin, rather unexpectedly.
"Payment in advance!" said Ben, who didn't think it prudent to trust in
this particular instance.
"I'll tell yer what," said Martin, to whom necessity had taught a
certain degree of cunning, "if you'll lend me fifty cents for a week,
I'll let you shine my boots every day, and pay you the money besides."
"That's a very kind proposal," said Ben; "but I've just invested all my
money on a country-seat up the river, which makes me rather short."
"Then you can't lend me the fifty?"
"No, but I'll tell you where you can get it."
"Where?"
"Up in Chatham Street. There's plenty'll lend it on the security of that
hat of yours."
The hat in question was in the last stages of dilapidation, looking as
if it had been run over daily by an omnibus, and then used to fill the
place of a broken pane, being crushed out of all shape and comeliness.
Martin aimed a blow at Ben, but the boot-black dexterously evaded it,
and, slinging his box over his back, darted down Nassau Street.
Later in the day he met Rough and Ready.
"I see the gov'nor this mornin'," said Ben.
"What, Mr. Martin?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He inquired after you in the most affectionate manner, and wanted to
know where you was at work."
"I hope you didn't tell him."
"Not if I know myself. I told him he'd see the name on the sign. Then he
wanted to borrow fifty cents for a week."
Rufus laughed.
"It's a good investment, Ben. I've invested considerable money that way.
I suppose you gave him the money?"
"Maybe I did. He offered me the chance of blacking his boots every day
for a week, if I'd lend him the money; but I had to resign the glorious
privilege, not havin' been to the bank this mornin' to withdraw my
deposits."
"You talk like a banker, Ben."
"I'm goin' to bankin' some day, when boot-blacking gets dull."
Ben Gibson had been for years a boot-black, having commenced the
business when only eight years old. His life had been one of hardship
and privation, as street life always is, but he had become toughened to
it, and bore it with a certain stoicism, never complaining, but often
joking in a rude way at what would have depressed and discouraged a more
sensitive temperament. He was by no means a model boy, though not as bad
as many of his class. He had learned to smoke and to swear, and did both
freely. But there was a certain rude honesty about him which led Rufus,
though in every way his superior, to regard him with friendly interest,
and he had, on more than one occasion, been of considerable service to
our hero in his newsboy days. Rufus had tried to induce him to give up
smoking, but thus far without success.
"It keeps a feller warm," he said; "besides it won't hurt me. I'm
tough."