A DISHONEST BAGGAGE-SMASHER.
On the next Monday morning Robert started for the city. At the moment of
parting he began to realize that he had undertaken a difficult task. His
life hitherto had been quiet and free from excitement. Now he was about
to go out into the great world, and fight his own way. With only two
hundred dollars in his pocket he was going in search of a father, who,
when last heard from was floating in an open boat on the South Pacific.
The probabilities were all against that father's being still alive. If
he were, he had no clew to his present whereabouts.
All this Robert thought over as he was riding in the cars to the city.
He acknowledged that the chances were all against his success, but in
spite of all, he had a feeling, for which he could not account, that his
father was still living, and that he should find him some day. At any
rate, there was something attractive in the idea of going out to
unknown lands to meet unknown adventures, and so his momentary
depression was succeeded by a return of his old confidence.
Arrived in the city, he took his carpetbag in his hand, and crossing the
street, walked at random, not being familiar with the streets, as he had
not been in New York but twice before, and that some time since.
"I don't know where to go," thought Robert. "I wish I knew where to find
some cheap hotel."
Just then a boy, in well-ventilated garments and a rimless straw hat,
with a blacking box over his shoulder, approached.
"Shine your boots, mister?" he asked.
Robert glanced at his shoes, which were rather deficient in polish, and
finding that the expense would be only five cents, told him to go ahead.
"I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever had," said the ragamuffin.
"That's right! Go ahead!" said Robert.
When the boy got through, he cast a speculative glance at the carpetbag.
"Smash yer baggage?" he asked.
"What's that?"
"Carry yer bag."
"Do you know of any good, cheap hotel where I can put up?" asked Robert.
"Eu-ro-pean hotel?" said the urchin, accenting the second syllable.
"What kind of a hotel is that?"
"You take a room, and get your grub where you like."
"Yes, that will suit me."
"I'll show you one and take yer bag along for two shillings."
"All right," said our hero. "Go ahead."
The boy shouldered the carpetbag and started in advance, Robert
following. He found a considerable difference between the crowded
streets of New York and the quiet roads of Millville. His spirits rose,
and he felt that life was just beginning for him. Brave and bold by
temperament, he did not shrink from trying his luck on a broader arena
than was afforded by the little village whence he came. Such confidence
is felt by many who eventually fail, but Robert was one who combined
ability and willingness to work with confidence, and the chances were in
favor of his succeeding.
Unused to the city streets, Robert was a little more cautious about
crossing than the young Arab who carried his bag. So, at one broad
thoroughfare, the latter got safely across, while Robert was still on
the other side waiting for a good opportunity to cross in turn. The
bootblack, seeing that communication was for the present cut off by a
long line of vehicles, was assailed by a sudden temptation. For his
services as porter he would receive but twenty-five cents, while here
was an opportunity to appropriate the entire bag, which must be far more
valuable. He was not naturally a bad boy, but his street education had
given him rather loose ideas on the subject of property. Obeying his
impulse, then, he started rapidly, bag in hand, up a side street.
"Hold on, there! Where are you going?" called out Robert.
He received no answer, but saw the baggage-smasher quickening his pace
and dodging round the corner. He attempted to dash across the street,
but was compelled to turn back, after being nearly run over.
"I wish I could get hold of the young rascal!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Who do you mane, Johnny?" asked a boy at his side.
"A boy has run off with my carpetbag," said Robert.
"I know him. It's Jim Malone."
"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Robert, eagerly. "If you'll
help me get back my bag, I'll give you a dollar."
"I'll do it then. Come along of me. Here's a chance to cross."
Following his new guide, Robert dashed across the street at some risk,
and found himself safe on the other side.
"Now where do you think he's gone?" demanded Robert.
"It's likely he'll go home."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"No.--Mulberry street."
"Has he got any father and mother?"
"He's got a mother, but the ould woman's drunk most all the time."
"Then she won't care about his stealing?"
"No, she'll think he's smart."
"Then we'll go there. Is it far?"
"Not more than twenty minutes."
The boy was right. Jim steered for home, not being able to open the bag
in the street without suspicion. His intention was to appropriate a part
of the clothing to his own use, and dispose of the rest to a pawnbroker
or second-hand dealer, who, as long as he got a good bargain, would not
be too particular about inquiring into the customer's right to the
property. He did not, however, wholly escape suspicion. He was stopped
by a policeman, who demanded, "Whose bag is that, Johnny?"
"It belongs to a gentleman that wants it carried to the St. Nicholas,"
answered Jim, promptly.
"Where is the gentleman?"
"He's took a car to Wall street on business."
"How came he to trust you with the bag? Wasn't he afraid you'd steal
it?"
"Oh, he knows me. I've smashed baggage for him more'n once."
This might be true. At any rate, it was plausible, and the policeman,
having no ground of detention, suffered him to go on.
Congratulating himself on getting off so well, Jim sped on his way, and
arrived in quick time at the miserable room in Mulberry street, which he
called home.
His mother lay on a wretched bed in the corner, half stupefied with
drink. She lifted up her head as her son entered.
"What have you there, Jimmy?" she asked.
"It's a bag, mother."
"Whose is it?"
"It's mine now."
"And where did ye get it?"
"A boy gave it to me to carry to a chape hotel, so I brought it home.
This is a chape hotel, isn't it?"
"You're a smart boy, an' I always said it, Jimmy. Let me open it," and
the old woman, with considerable alacrity, rose to her feet and came to
Jim's side.
"I'll open it myself, mother, that is, I if I had a kay. Haven't you got
one?"
"I have that same. I picked up a bunch of kays in the strate last
week."
She fumbled in her pocket, and drew out half a dozen keys of different
sizes, attached to a steel ring.
"Bully for you, old woman!" said Jim. "Give 'em here."
"Let me open the bag," said Mrs. Malone, persuasively.
"No, you don't," said her dutiful son. "'Tain't none of yours. It's
mine."
"The kays is mine," said his mother, "and I'll kape 'em."
"Give 'em here," said Jim, finding a compromise necessary, "and I'll
give you fifty cents out of what I get."
"That's the way to talk, darlint," said his mother, approvingly. "You
wouldn't have the heart to chate your ould mother out of her share?"
"It's better I did," said Jim; "you'll only get drunk on the money."
"Shure a little drink will do me no harm," said Mrs. Malone.
Meanwhile the young Arab had tried key after key until he found one that
fitted--the bag flew open, and Robert's humble stock of clothing lay
exposed to view. There was a woolen suit, four shirts, half a dozen
collars, some stockings and handkerchiefs. Besides these there was the
little Bible which Robert had had given him by his father just before he
went on his last voyage. It was the only book our hero had room for, but
in the adventurous career upon which he had entered, exposed to perils
of the sea and land, he felt that he would need this as his constant
guide.
"Them shirts'll fit me," said Jim. "I guess I'll kape 'em, and the close
besides."
"Then where'll you git the money for me?" asked his mother.
"I'll sell the handkerchiefs and stockings. I don't nade them," said
Jim, whose ideas of full dress fell considerably short of the ordinary
standard. "I won't nade the collars either."
"You don't nade all the shirts," said his mother.
"I'll kape two," said Jim. "It'll make me look respectable. Maybe I'll
kape two collars, so I can sit up for a gentleman of fashion."
"You'll be too proud to walk with your ould mother," said Mrs. Malone.
"Maybe I will," said Jim, surveying his mother critically. "You aint
much of a beauty, ould woman."
"I was a purty gal, once," said Mrs. Malone, "but hard work and bad luck
has wore on me."
"The whisky's had something to do with it," said Jim. "Hard work didn't
make your face so red."
"Is it my own boy talks to me like that?" said the old woman, wiping her
eyes on her dress.
But her sorrow was quickly succeeded by a different emotion, as the door
opened suddenly, and Robert Rushton entered the room.