PAUL AS AN ARTIST
Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would
have had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had
been empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot
passengers that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. He kept up
pretty well, however, until, in turning a street corner, he ran at full
speed into a very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was quite knocked
out of him by the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but could not
at first obtain breath enough to speak.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Paul, who, in spite of his desire to
overtake Mike, felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an apology.
“What do you mean, sir,” exploded the fat man, at last, “by tearing
through the streets like a locomotive? You've nearly killed me.”
“I am very sorry, sir.”
“You ought to be. Don't you know better than to run at such speed? You
ought to be indicted as a public nuisance.
“I was trying to catch a thief,” said Paul.
“Trying to catch a thief? How's that?” asked the stout gentleman, his
indignation giving way to curiosity.
“I was selling packages in front of the post office when he and another
boy came up and stole my basket.”
“Indeed! What were you selling?”
“Prize packages, sir.”
“What was in them?”
“Candy.”
“Could you make much that way?”
“About a dollar a day.”
“I'd rather have given you a dollar than had you run against me with
such violence. I feel it yet.”
“Indeed, sir, I'm very sorry.”
“Well, I'll forgive you, under the circumstances. What's your name?”
“Paul Hoffman.”
“Well, I hope you'll get back your basket. Some time, if you see me in
the street, come up and let me know. Would you know me again?”
“I think I should, sir.”
“Well, good-morning. I hope you'll catch the thief.”
“I thank you, sir.”
They parted company, but Paul did not continue the pursuit. The
conversation in which he had taken part had lasted so long that Mike
had had plenty of time to find a refuge, and there would be no use in
following him.
So Paul went home.
“You are home early, Paul,” said his mother. “Surely you haven't sold
out by this time.”
“No, but all my packages are gone.”
“How is that?”
“They were stolen.”
“Tell me about it.”
So Paul told the story.
“That Mike was awful mean,” said Jimmy, indignantly. “I'd like to hit
him.”
“I don't think you would hurt him much, Jimmy,” said Paul, amused at his
little brother's vehemence.
“Then I wish I was a big, strong boy,” said Jimmy.
“I hope you will be, some time.”
“How much was your loss, Paul?” asked his mother.
“There were nearly forty packages. They cost me about a dollar, but if
I had sold them all they would have brought me in twice as much. I had
only sold ten packages.”
“Shall you make some more?”
“No, I think not,” said Paul. “I've got tired of the business. It's
getting poorer every day. I'll go out after dinner, and see if I can't
find something else to do.”
“You ain't going out now, Paul?” said Jimmy.
“No, I'll stop and see you draw a little while.”
“That's bully. I'm going to try these oxen.”
“That's a hard picture. I don't think you can draw it, Jimmy.”
“Yes, I can,” said the little boy, confidently. “Just see if I don't.”
“Jimmy has improved a good deal,” said his mother.
“You'll be a great artist one of these days, Jimmy,” said Paul.
“I'm going to try, Paul,” said the little boy. “I like it so much.”
Little Jimmy had indeed made surprising progress in drawing. With no
instruction whatever, he had succeeded in a very close and accurate
imitation of the sketches in the drawing books Paul had purchased for
him. It was a great delight to the little boy to draw, and hour after
hour, as his mother sat at her work, he sat up to the table, and worked
at his drawing, scarcely speaking a word unless spoken to, so absorbed
was he in his fascinating employment.
Paul watched him attentively.
“You'll make a bully artist, Jimmy,” he said, at length, really
surprised at his little brother's proficiency. “If you keep on a little
longer, you'll beat me.”
“I wish you'd draw something, Paul,” said Jimmy. “I never saw any of
your drawings.”
“I am afraid, if you saw mine, it would discourage you,” said Paul. “You
know, I'm older and ought to draw better.”
His face was serious, but there was a merry twinkle of fun in his eyes.
“Of course, I know you draw better,” said Jimmy, seriously.
“What shall I draw?” asked Paul.
“Try this horse, Paul.”
“All right!” said Paul. “But you must go away; I don't want you to see
it till it is done.”
Jimmy left the table, and Paul commenced his attempt. Now, though Paul
is the hero of my story, I am bound to confess that he had not the
slightest talent for drawing, though Jimmy did not know it. It was only
to afford his little brother amusement that he now undertook the task.
Paul worked away for about five minutes.
“It's done,” he said.
“So quick?” exclaimed Jimmy, in surprise. “How fast you work!”
He drew near and inspected Paul's drawing. He had no sooner inspected
it than he burst into a fit of laughter. Paul's drawing was a very rough
one, and such a horse as he had drawn will never probably be seen until
the race has greatly degenerated.
“What's the matter, Jimmy?” asked Paul. “Don't you like it?”
“It's awful, Paul,” said the little boy, almost choking with mirth.
“I see how it is,” said Paul, with feigned resentment. “You're jealous of
me because you can't draw as well.”
“Oh, Paul, you'll kill me!” and Jimmy again burst into a fit of
merriment. “Can't you really draw any better?”
“No, Jimmy,” said Paul, joining in the laugh. “I can't draw any better
than an old cow. You've got all the talent in the family in that line.”
“But you're smart in other ways, Paul,” said Jimmy, who had a great
admiration of Paul, notwithstanding the discovery of his artistic
inferiority.
“I'm glad there's one that thinks so, Jimmy,” said Paul. “I'll refer to
you when I want a recommendation.”
Jimmy resumed his drawing, and was proud of the praises which Paul
freely bestowed upon him.
“I'll get you a harder drawing book when you've got through with these,”
said Paul; “that is, if I don't get reduced to poverty by having my
stock in trade stolen again.”
After a while came dinner. This meal in Mrs. Hoffman's household usually
came at twelve o'clock. It was a plain, frugal meal always, but on
Sunday they usually managed to have something a little better, as they
had been accustomed to do when Mr. Hoffman was alive.
Paul was soon through.
He took his hat from the bureau, and prepared to go out.
“I'm going out to try my luck, mother,” he said. “I'll see if I can't
get into something I like a little better than the prize-package
business.”
“I hope you'll succeed, Paul.”
“Better than I did in drawing horses, eh, Jimmy?”
“Yes, I hope so, Paul,” said the little boy.
“Don't you show that horse to visitors and pretend it's yours, Jimmy.”
“No danger, Paul.”
Paul went downstairs and into the street. He had no definite plan in
his head, but was ready for anything that might turn up. He did not feel
anxious, for he knew there were plenty of ways in which he could earn
something. He had never tried blacking boots, but still he could do it
in case of emergency. He had sold papers, and succeeded fairly in that
line, and knew he could again. He had pitted himself against other boys,
and the result had been to give him a certain confidence in his own
powers and business abilities. When he had first gone into the street
to try his chances there, it had been with a degree of diffidence. But
knocking about the streets soon gives a boy confidence, sometimes too
much of it; and Paul had learned to rely upon himself; but the influence
of a good, though humble home, and a judicious mother, had kept him
aloof from the bad habits into which many street boys are led.
So Paul, though his stock in trade had been stolen, and he was obliged
to seek a new kind of business, was by no means disheartened. He walked
a little way downtown, and then, crossing the City Hall Park, found
himself on Broadway.
A little below the Astor House he came to the stand of a
sidewalk-merchant, who dealt in neckties. Upon an upright framework hung
a great variety of ties of different colors, most of which were sold at
the uniform price of twenty-five cents each.
Paul was acquainted with the proprietor of the stand, and, having
nothing else to do, determined to stop and speak to him.