FRANK THROWS UP HIS SITUATION.
Frank found his friend on Park Row, and made known his errand.
"So old Mills wants you to sell papers for his benefit, does he?"
"Yes, but I'd rather do it than to stay with him."
"How much has he agreed to pay you?"
"That isn't settled yet."
"You'd better bring him to the point, or he won't pay you anything
except board and lodging, and mighty mean both of them will be."
"I won't say anything about it the first day," said Frank. "What papers
shall I buy?"
"It's rather late. You'd better try for Telegrams."
Frank did so, and succeeded in selling half a dozen, yielding a profit
of six cents. It was not a brilliant beginning, but he was late in the
field, and most had purchased their evening papers. His papers sold,
Frank went home and announced the result.
"Umph!" muttered the blind man. "Give me the money."
"Here it is, sir."
"Have you given me all?" sharply demanded Mills.
"Of course I have," said Frank, indignantly.
"Don't you be impudent, or I will give you a flogging," said the blind
man, roughly.
"I am not used to be talked to in that way," said Frank, independently.
"You've always had your own way, I suppose," snarled Mills.
"No, I haven't; but I have been treated kindly."
"You are only a boy, and I won't allow you to talk back to me. Do you
hear?"
"Yes."
"Then take care to remember."
"You've got a sweet disposition," thought Frank. "I won't stay with you
any longer than I am obliged to."
Several days passed without bringing any incidents worth recording.
Frank took a daily walk with the blind man, sometimes in the morning,
sometimes in the afternoon. These walks were very distasteful to him.
The companion of a beggar, he felt as if he himself were begging. He
liked better the time he spent in selling papers, though he reaped no
benefit himself. In fact, his wages were poor enough. Thus far his fare
had consisted of dry bread with an occasional bun. He was a healthy,
vigorous boy, and he felt the need of meat, or some other hearty food,
and ventured to intimate as much to his employer.
"So you want meat, do you?" snarled Mills.
"Yes, sir; I haven't tasted any for a week."
"Perhaps you'd like to take your meals at Delmonico's?" sneered the
blind man.
Frank was so new to the city that this well-known name did not convey
any special idea to him, and he answered "Yes."
"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "You want to eat me
out of house and home."
"No, I don't; I only want enough food to keep up my strength."
"Well, you are getting it. I give you all I can afford."
Frank was inclined to doubt this. He estimated that what he ate did not
cost his employer over six or eight cents a day, and he generally earned
for him twenty to thirty cents on the sale of papers, besides helping
him to collect about a dollar daily from those who pitied his blindness.
He mentioned his grievance to his friend, Dick Rafferty.
"I'll tell you what to do," said Dick.
"I wish you would."
"Keep some of the money you make by selling papers, and buy a square
meal at an eatin' house."
"I don't like to do that; it wouldn't be honest."
"Why wouldn't it?"
"I am carrying on the business for Mr. Mills. He supplies the capital."
"Then you'd better carry it on for yourself."
"I wish I could."
"Why don't you?"
"I haven't any money."
"Has he paid you any wages?"
"No."
"Then make him."
Frank thought this a good suggestion. He had been with Mills a week, and
it seemed fair enough that he should receive some pay besides a wretched
bed and a little dry bread. Accordingly, returning to the room, he
broached the subject.
"What do you want wages for?" demanded Mills, displeased.
"I think I earn them," said Frank, boldly.
"You get board and lodging. You are better off than a good many boys."
"I shall want some clothes, some time," said Frank.
"Perhaps you'd like to have me pay you a dollar a day," said Mills.
"I know you can't afford to pay me that. I will be satisfied if you will
pay me ten cents a day," replied Frank.
Frank reflected that, though this was a very small sum, in ten days it
would give him a dollar, and then he would feel justified in setting up
a business on his own account, as a newsboy. He anxiously awaited an
answer.
"I will think of it," said the blind man evasively, and Frank did not
venture to say more.
The next day, when Mills, led by Frank, was on his round, the two
entered a cigar-store. Frank was much surprised when the cigar-vender
handed him a fifty-cent currency note. He thought there was some
mistake.
"Thank you, sir," he said; "but did you mean to give me fifty cents?"
"Yes," said the cigar-vender, laughing; "but I wouldn't have done it, if
it had been good."
"Isn't it good?"
"No, it's a counterfeit, and a pretty bad one. I might pass it, but it
would cost me too much time and trouble."
Frank was confounded. He mechanically handed the money to Mills, but did
not again thank the giver. When they returned to the tenement-house,
Mills requested Frank to go to the baker's for a loaf of bread.
"Yes, sir."
"Here is the money."
"But that is the counterfeit note," said Frank, scrutinizing the bill
given him.
"What if it is?" demanded Mills, sharply.
"It won't pass."
"Yes, it will, if you are sharp."
"Do you want me to pass counterfeit money, Mr. Mills?"
"Yes, I do; I took it, and I mean to get rid of it."
"But you didn't give anything for it."
"That's neither here nor there. Take it, and offer it to the baker. If
he won't take it, go to another baker with it."
"I would rather not do it," said Frank, firmly.
"Rather not!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "Do you pretend to dictate to
me?"
"No, I don't, but I don't mean to pass any counterfeit money for you or
any other man," said Frank, with spirit.
Mills half rose, with a threatening gesture, but thought better of it.
"You're a fool," said he. "I suppose you are afraid of being arrested;
but you have only to say that I gave it to you, and that I am blind, and
couldn't tell it from good money."
"But you know that it is bad money, Mr. Mills."
"What if I do? No one can prove it. Take the money, and come back as
quick as you can."
"You must excuse me," said Frank, quietly, but firmly.
"Do you refuse to do as I bid you?" demanded Mills, furiously.
"I refuse to pass counterfeit money."
"Then, by Heaven, I'll flog you!"
Mills rose and advanced directly towards Frank, with his eyes wide open.
Fortunately our hero was near the door, and, quickly opening it, darted
from the room, pursued by Mills, his face flaming with wrath. It
flashed upon Frank that no blind man could have done this. He decided
that the man was a humbug, and could see a little, at all events. His
blindness was no doubt assumed to enable him to appeal more effectively
to the sympathizing public. This revelation disgusted Frank. He could
not respect a man who lived by fraud. Counterfeit or no counterfeit, he
decided to withdraw at once and forever from the service of Mr. Mills.
His employer gave up the pursuit before he reached the street. Frank
found himself on the sidewalk, free and emancipated, no richer than when
he entered the service of the blind man, except in experience.
"I haven't got a cent," he said to himself, "but I'll get along
somehow."