DICK IN THE STATION-HOUSE.
Poor Dick! If Trinity Church spire had suddenly fallen to the ground, it
could scarcely have surprised and startled him more than his own arrest
for theft.
During the hard apprenticeship which he had served as a street boy, he
had not been without his share of faults and errors; but he had never,
even under the severest pressure, taken what did not belong to him.
Of religious and moral instruction he had then received none; but
something told him that it was mean to steal, and he was true to this
instinctive feeling. Yet, if he had been arrested a year before, it
would have brought him less shame and humiliation than now. Now he was
beginning to enjoy the feeling of respectability, which he had compassed
by his own earnest efforts. He felt he was regarded with favor by those
whose good opinion was worth having, and his heart swelled within him as
he thought that they might be led to believe him guilty. He had never
felt so down-hearted as when he walked in company with the policeman to
the station-house, to be locked up for examination the next morning.
"You wasn't sharp enough this time, young fellow," said the policeman.
"Do you think I stole the pocket-book?" asked Dick, looking up in the
officer's face.
"Oh, no, of course not! You wouldn't do anything of that kind," said the
policeman, ironically.
"No, I wouldn't," said Dick, emphatically. "I've been poor enough and
hungry enough sometimes, but I never stole. It's mean."
"What is your name?" said the officer. "I think I have seen you before."
"I used to black boots. Then my name was Ragged Dick. I know you. Your
name is Jones."
"Ragged Dick! Yes, yes, I remember. You used to be pretty well out at
elbows, if I remember rightly."
"My clothes used to be pretty well ventilated," said Dick, smiling
faintly. "That was what made me so healthy, I expect. But did you ever
know me to steal?"
"No," said the officer, "I can't say I have."
"I lived about the streets for more then eight years," said Dick, "and
this is the first time I was ever arrested."
"What do you do now?"
"I'm in a store on Pearl Street."
"What wages do you get?"
"Ten dollars a week."
"Do you expect me to believe that story?"
"It's true."
"I don't believe there's a boy of your age in the city that gets such
wages. You can't earn that amount."
"I jumped into the water, and saved the life of Mr. Rockwell's little
boy. That's why he pays me so much."
"Where did you get that watch and chain? Are they gold?"
"Yes, Mrs. Rockwell gave them to me."
"It seems to me you're in luck."
"I wasn't very lucky to fall in with you," said Dick. "Don't you see
what a fool I should be to begin to pick pockets now when I am so well
off?"
"That's true," said the officer, who began to be shaken in his previous
conviction of Dick's guilt.
"If I'd been going into that business, I would have tried it when I was
poor and ragged. I should not have waited till now."
"If you didn't take the pocket-book, then how came it in your pocket?"
"I was looking in at a shop window, when I felt it thrust into my
pocket. I suppose it was the thief who did it, to get out of the scrape
himself."
"That might be. At any rate, I've known of such cases. If so, you are
unlucky, and I am sorry for you. I can't let you go, because appearances
are against you, but if there is anything I can do to help you I will."
"Thank you, Mr. Jones," said Dick, gratefully. "I did not want you to
think me guilty. Where is the man that lost the pocket-book?"
"Just behind us."
"I should like to speak to him a moment."
The red-faced man, who was a little behind, came up, and Dick asked,
quietly, "What makes you think I took your pocket-book, sir?"
"Wasn't it found in your pocket, you young rascal?" said the other,
irritably.
"Yes," said Dick.
"And isn't that enough?"
"Not if somebody else put it there," said Dick.
"That's a likely story."
"It's a true story."
"Can you identify this as the boy who robbed you, and whom you saw
running?"
"No," said the red-faced man, rather unwillingly. "My eyesight is not
very good, but I've no doubt this is the young rascal."
"Well, that must be decided. You must appear to-morrow morning to prefer
your complaint."
"Mind you don't let the rascal escape," said the other.
"I shall carry him to the station-house, where he will be safe."
"That's right, I'll make an example of him. He won't pick my pocket
again in a hurry."
"I hope the judge won't be so sure that I am guilty," said Dick. "If he
is, it'll go hard with me."
"Why don't you call your employer to testify to your good character?"
"That's a good idea. Can I write a note to him, and to another friend?"
"Yes; but perhaps the mail wouldn't carry them in time."
"I will send a messenger. Can I do so?"
"When we get to the station-house I will see that you have a chance to
send. Here we are."
Escorted by the officer, and followed by his accuser, Dick entered.
There was a railing at the upper end of the room, and behind it a desk
at which sat a captain of the squad.
The officer made his report, which, though fair and impartial, still was
sufficient to cause our hero's commitment for trial.
"What is your name?" questioned the captain.
Dick thought it best to be straightforward, and, though he winced at the
idea of his name appearing in the daily papers, answered in a manly
tone, "Richard Hunter."
"Of what nation?"
"American."
"Where were you born?"
"In this city."
"What is your age?"
"Sixteen years."
These answers were recorded, and, as Dick expressed a desire to
communicate with his friends before trial, permission was given him to
write to them, and the trial was appointed for the next morning at the
Tombs. The red-faced man certified that his wallet contained nine
dollars and sixty-two cents, which was found to be correct. He agreed to
be present the next morning to prefer his charge, and with such manifest
pleasure that he was not retained, as it sometimes happens, to insure
his appearance.
"I will find a messenger to carry your notes," said the friendly
officer.
"Thank you," said Dick. "I will take care that you are paid for your
trouble."
"I require no pay except what I have to pay the messenger."
Dick was escorted to a cell for safe-keeping. He quickly dashed off a
letter to Mr. Murdock, fearing that Mr. Rockwell might not be in the
store. It was as follows:--
"MR. MURDOCK,--What will you think when I tell you that I
have been unlucky enough to be arrested on suspicion of picking a
man's pocket? The real thief slipped the wallet into my pocket as I
was looking into a shop window, and it was found on me. I couldn't
prove my innocence, so here I am at the station-house. They will
think strange at the store because I am absent. Will you tell Mr.
Rockwell privately what has detained me; but don't tell Mr.
Gilbert. He don't like me any too well, and would believe me guilty
at once, or pretend he did. I am sure _you_ won't believe I would
do such a thing, or Mr. Rockwell either. Will you come and see me
to-night? I am to be tried to-morrow morning. I aint very proud of
the hotel where I am stopping, but they didn't give me much choice
in the matter.
"RICHARD HUNTER."
"_Station-House, Franklin Street._"
The other letter was to Fosdick; here it is:--
"DEAR FOSDICK,--I didn't much think when I left you this
morning that I should be writing to you from the station-house
before night. I'll tell you how it happened." [Here follows a
detailed account, which is omitted, as the reader is already
acquainted with all the circumstances.] "Of course they will wonder
at the boarding-house where I am. If Miss Peyton or Mr. Clifton
inquires after me to-night, you can say that I am detained by
business of importance. That's true enough. I wish it wasn't. As
soon as dinner is over, I wish you'd come and see me. I don't know
if you can, not being acquainted with the rules of this hotel. I
shan't stop here again very soon, if I can help it. There's a woman
in the next cell, who was arrested for fighting. She is swearing
frightfully. It almost makes me sick to be in such a place. It's
pretty hard to have this happen to me just when I was getting along
so well. But I hope it'll all come out right. Your true friend,
"DICK.
"P.S.--I've given my watch and chain to the officer to keep for me.
Gold watches aint fashionable here, and I didn't want them to think
me putting on airs.
"_Station-House, Franklin Street._"
After Dick had written these letters he was left to himself. His
reflections, as may readily be supposed, were not the most pleasant.
What would they think at the boarding-house, if they should find what
kind of business it was that had detained him! Even if he was acquitted,
some might suppose that he was really guilty. But there was a worse
contingency. He might be unable to prove his innocence, and might be
found guilty. In that case he would be sent to the Island. Dick
shuddered at the thought. Just when he began to feel himself
respectable, it was certainly bad to meet with such hard luck. What,
too, would Mr. Greyson and Ida think? He had been so constant at the
Sunday school that his absence would be sure to be noticed, and he knew
that his former mode of life would make his guilt more readily believed
in the present instance.
"If Ida should think me a pick-pocket!" thought poor Dick, and the
thought made him miserable enough. The fact was, that Ida, by her
vivacity and lively manners, and her evident partiality for his society,
had quite won upon Dick, who considered her by all odds the nicest girl
he had ever seen. I don't mean to say that Dick was in love,--at least
not yet. Both he and Ida were too young for that; but he was certainly
quite an admirer of the young lady. Again, if he were convicted, he
would have to give up the party to which he had been invited, and he
could never hope to get another invitation.
All these reflections helped to increase Dick's unhappiness. I doubt if
he had ever felt so unhappy in all his life. But it never once occurred
to him that his arrest was brought about by the machinations of his
enemies. He hadn't chanced to see Micky Maguire, and had no suspicion
that it was he who dropped the wallet into his pocket. Still less did he
suspect that Gilbert's hostility had led him so far as to conspire with
such a boy as Micky against him. It was lucky that he did not know this,
or he would have felt still more unhappy.
But it is now time to turn to Micky Maguire and Mr. Gilbert, whose joint
scheme had met with so much success.