SCENES AT THE NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE.
It will be unnecessary to give in detail the record of Ben's sales. He
succeeded, because he was in earnest, and he was in earnest, because his
own experience in the early part of the day had revealed to him how
uncomfortable it was to be without money or friends in a large city. At
seven o'clock, on counting over his money, he found that he had a dollar
and twelve cents. Of this sum he had received half a dollar from the
friendly reporter, to start him in business. This left sixty-two cents
as his net profits for the afternoon's work. Ben felt proud of it, for
it was the first money he had ever earned. His confidence came back to
him, and he thought he saw his way clear to earning his own living.
Although the reporter had not exacted repayment, Ben determined to lay
aside fifty cents for that purpose. Of the remaining sixty-two, a part
must be saved as a fund for the purchase of papers the next morning.
Probably thirty cents would be sufficient for this, as, after selling
out those first purchased, he would have money for a new supply. This
would leave him thirty-two cents to pay for his supper, lodging, and
breakfast. Ben would not have seen his way to accomplish all this for so
small a sum, if he had not been told that at the Newsboys' Lodge the
regular charge was six cents for each meal, and the same for lodging.
This would make but eighteen cents, leaving him a surplus of fourteen.
On inquiry, however, he ascertained that it was already past the hour
for supper at the Lodge, and therefore went into the restaurant, on
Fulton Street, where he ordered a cup of coffee, and a plate of
tea-biscuit. These cost ten cents. Finding his appetite still
unsatisfied, he ordered another plate of biscuit, which carried up the
expense of his supper to fifteen cents. This left seventeen cents for
lodging and breakfast.
After supper, he went out into the street once more, and walked about
for some time, until he began to feel tired, when he turned his steps
towards the Newsboys' Lodge. This institution occupied at that time the
two upper stories of the building at the corner of Nassau and Fulton
Streets. On the first floor was the office of the "Daily Sun." The
entrance to the Lodge was on Fulton Street. Ben went up a steep and
narrow staircase, and kept mounting up until he reached the sixth floor.
Here to the left he saw a door partially opened, through which he could
see a considerable number of boys, whose appearance indicated that they
belonged to the class known as street boys. He pushed the door open and
entered. He found himself in a spacious, but low-studded apartment,
abundantly lighted by rows of windows on two sides. At the end nearest
the door was a raised platform, on which stood a small melodeon, which
was used at the Sunday-evening meetings. There were rows of benches in
the centre of the apartment for the boys.
A stout, pleasant-looking man, who proved to be Mr. O'Connor, the
superintendent, advanced to meet Ben, whom he at once recognized as a
new-comer.
"Is this the Newsboys' Lodge?" asked Ben.
"Yes," said the superintendent; "do you wish to stop with us?"
"I should like to sleep here to-night," said Ben.
"You are quite welcome."
"How much do you charge?"
"Our charge is six cents."
"Here is the money," said Ben, drawing it from his vest-pocket.
"What is your name?"
"Benjamin."
"And your other name?"
"Brandon," answered Ben, with some hesitation.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I am selling papers."
"Well, we will assign you a bed."
"Where are the beds?" asked Ben, looking about him.
"They are on the floor below. Any of the boys will go down and show you
when you get ready to retire."
"Can I get breakfast here in the morning?" inquired Ben.
"Certainly. We charge the same as for lodging."
Ben handed over six cents additional, and congratulated himself that he
was not as badly off as the night before, being sure of a comfortable
bed, and a breakfast in the morning.
"What are those for?" he asked, pointing to a row of drawers or lockers
on the sides of the apartment near the floor.
"Boys who have any extra clothing, or any articles which they value, are
allowed to use them. Here they are safe, as they can be locked. We will
assign you one if you wish."
"I have nothing to put away," said Ben. "I had a little bundle of
clothes; but they were stolen from me while I was lying asleep on a
bench in the City Hall Park."
"I suppose you don't know who took them?"
"No," said Ben; "but I think it was some of the boys that were blacking
boots near me.--That boy's got one of them on," he said, suddenly, in an
excited tone, pointing out Mike, the younger of the two boys who had
appropriated his bundle. Mike had locked up his own shirt, which was
considerably the worse for wear, and put on Ben's, which gave him a
decidedly neater appearance than before. He had thought himself
perfectly safe in doing so, not dreaming that he would be brought face
to face with the true owner in the Lodge.
"What makes you think it is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor.
"It is cut like mine," said Ben. "Besides I remember getting a large
spot of ink on one of the sleeves, which would not wash out. There it
is, on the left arm."
As Ben had said, there was a faint bluish spot on the sleeve of the
shirt. This made Ben's story a plausible one, though not conclusive. The
superintendent decided to inquire of Mike about the matter, and see what
explanation he could give.
"Mike Rafferty," he said, in a tone of authority, "come here; I want
you."
Mike came forward, but when he saw Ben, whom he recognized, he felt a
little taken aback. But he had not been brought up in the streets for
nothing. His embarrassment was only momentary. He determined to brazen
it out, and swear, if anything was said about the shirt, that it was his
own lawful property.
"I see you've got a new shirt on, Mike," said Mr. O'Connor.
"Yes, sir," said Mike.
"Where did you get it?"
"Where would I get it?" said Mike. "I bought it yesterday."
"Where did you buy it?"
"Round in Baxter Street," said Mike, confidently.
"It is a pretty good shirt for Baxter Street," remarked Mr. O'Connor.
"How much did you pay for it?"
"Fifty cents," answered Mike, glibly.
"This may all be true, Mike," said the superintendent; "but I am not
certain about it. This boy here says it is his shirt, and he thinks that
you stole it from him while he was lying asleep in City Hall Park
yesterday."
"It's a lie he's tellin', sir," said Mike. "I never seed him afore."
Here seemed to be a conflict of evidence. Of the two Ben seemed the more
likely to tell the truth. Still it was possible that he might be
mistaken, and Mike might be right after all.
"Have you any other proof that the shirt is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor,
turning to Ben.
"Yes," said Ben, "my name is marked on the shirt, just below the waist."
"We can settle the matter quickly then. Mike, pull out the shirt, so
that we can see it."
Mike made some objection, which was quickly overruled. The shirt, being
examined, bore the name of "Benj. Brandon," just as Ben had said.
"The shirt is yours," said the superintendent to Ben.
"Now, Mike, what did you mean by telling me that lie? It was bad enough
to steal, without adding a lie besides."
"I bought the shirt in Baxter Street," persisted Mike, unblushingly.
"Then how do you account for his name on it?"
"Maybe he sold it to the man I bought it of."
"I didn't sell it at all," said Ben.
"Was that all you had taken?"
"No," said Ben. "There was another shirt besides."
"Do you know anything about it, Mike?"
"No, I don't," said Mike.
"I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not," said the
superintendent; "but at any rate you must take this off, and give it to
the right owner."
"And will he pay me the fifty cents?" asked Mike.
"I don't think you bought it at all; but if you did, you can prove it by
the man you bought it of. If you can do that, I will see that the money
is refunded to you."
There was one strong reason for discrediting Mike's story. These
Baxter-Street shops are often the receptacles of stolen goods. As their
identification might bring the dealers into trouble, they are very
careful, as soon as an article comes into their possession, to
obliterate all the marks of former ownership. It was hardly likely that
they would suffer a shirt to go out of their hands so plainly marked as
was the case in the present instance. Mr. O'Connor, of course, knew
this, and accordingly had very little fear that he was doing injustice
to Mike in ordering him to make restitution to Ben.
Mike was forced, considerably against his will, to take off the new
shirt, and put on his old ragged one. But the former was no longer as
clean as formerly.
"Where can I get it washed?" asked Ben.
"You can wash it yourself, in the wash-room, or you can carry it to a
laundry, as some of the boys do, if you are willing to pay for it."
"I think I would rather carry it to a laundry," said Ben, who doubted
strongly his ability to wash the shirt so as to improve its appearance.
The superintendent accordingly gave him the direction to one of these
establishments.
Opposite the room which he had entered was a smaller room used by the
boys as a gymnasium. Ben looked into it, and determined to use it on
some future occasion. He next went into the wash-room. Here he saw two
or three boys, stripped to the waist, engaged in washing out their
shirts. Being provided with but a single one each, they left them to dry
over night while they were in bed, and could dispense with them. Ben
wondered how they managed about ironing them; but he soon found that
with these amateur laundresses ironing was not considered necessary.
They are put on rough-dry in the morning, and so worn until they are
considered dirty enough for another purification.
Ben looked about him with interest. The boys were chatting in an
animated manner, detailing their experiences during the day, or
"chaffing" each other in a style peculiar to themselves.
"Say, Jim," said one, "didn't I see you at the Grand Opera last night?"
"Yes, of course you did," said Jim. "I was in a private box along with
the mayor. I had a di'mond pin in the bosom of my shirt."
"Yes, I seed you through my opera-glass. What have you done with your
di'mond pin?"
"Do you think I'd bring it here to be stole? No, I keep it in my safe,
along of my other valooables."
Ben listened in amusement, and thought that Jim would have cut rather a
singular figure in the mayor's box.
Several boys, who had gone barefoot, were washing their feet, that being
required previous to going to bed. This is necessary; otherwise the
clean bed-clothes would be so soiled as to require daily washing.
The boys seemed to be having a good time, and then, though he was
unacquainted with any of them, felt that it was much pleasanter to be
here, in a social atmosphere, than wandering around by himself in the
dark and lonely streets. He observed one thing with surprise, that the
boys refrained from profane or vulgar speech, though they were by no
means so particular in the street during the day. This is, however, a
rule strictly enforced by the superintendent, and, if not complied with,
the offender is denied the privilege of the Lodging House.
After a while Ben expressed a desire to go to bed, and in company with
one of the boys descended to a room equally large, in the story below,
where over a hundred single beds were arranged in tiers, in a manner
very similar to the berths of a steamboat. Ben was agreeably surprised
by the neat and comfortable appearance of these beds. He felt that he
should be nearly as well provided for as at home. Quickly undressing
himself, he jumped into the bed assigned him, and in a few minutes was
fast asleep.