MICKY MAGUIRE RETURNS FROM THE ISLAND.
For three months Micky Maguire was not seen in his accustomed haunts.
During his involuntary residence at the Island he often brooded over the
treachery of Gilbert, to whom his present misfortune was due. He felt
that he had been selfishly left to his fate by his equally guilty
confederate. It had certainly been a losing speculation for poor Micky.
He had received but a paltry dollar for his services, and in return he
was deprived of his liberty for three months.
The disgrace of being sent to the Island Micky did not feel as Dick
would have done. He had been there too many times to care for that. But
he did not like the restraints of the place, and he did like the free
and independent life of the streets from which for a time he was
debarred.
The result of Micky's brooding was a strong thirst for vengeance upon
the author of his misfortunes. He could do nothing at present, but only
bide his time.
Meanwhile things went on pretty much as usual at the establishment in
Pearl Street. Gilbert liked Dick no better than he had done. In fact, he
disliked him more, but, seeing the friendly relations between Dick and
his employer, found it prudent to treat him well whenever Mr. Rockwell
was by. At other times he indulged in sneers and fault-finding, which
Dick turned off good-humoredly, or returned some droll answer, which
blunted the edge of the sarcasm, and made the book-keeper chafe with the
feeling that he was no match for the boy he hated. Dick, by faithful
attention to his duties, and a ready comprehension of what was required
of him, steadily advanced in the good opinion of every one except
Gilbert.
"Keep on as you have begun, Richard," said Mr. Murdock to him, "and
you'll be a member of the firm some time."
"Do you really think so, Mr. Murdock?" asked Dick, with a flush of
gratification.
"I really do. You have excellent abilities, Mr. Rockwell likes you, and
you have only to continue steady and faithful, and you'll be sure to
rise."
"You know what I was, Mr. Murdock."
"You are none the worse for that, Richard. It is a great credit to a boy
to earn his own living when circumstances force it upon him. If his
employment is an honest one, it is an honorable one."
By such remarks as these Dick was encouraged, and he felt that Mr.
Murdock was a true friend to him. Meanwhile a way was opening for his
advancement.
One day Micky Maguire appeared in his old haunts. The second day he met
Gilbert in the street; but the book-keeper took not the slightest notice
of him. That touched Micky's pride, and confirmed him in his resolution.
He decided to make known to Mr. Rockwell Gilbert's share in the little
plot, thinking that this would probably be the best method of injuring
him.
He ascertained, by means of a directory, with some difficulty, for
Micky's education was rather slight, the residence of Mr. Rockwell, and
about eight o'clock in the evening ascended the steps and rang the bell.
He might have gone to his place of business, but Gilbert would be there,
and he preferred to see Mr. Rockwell at home.
The servant stared at the odd and not particularly prepossessing figure
before her.
"Is Mr. Rockwell at home?" asked Micky.
"Yes."
"I want to see him."
"Did he tell you to call?"
"It's on particular business," said Micky.
"Stop here and I'll tell him," said the girl.
"There's a boy at the door wants to see you, Mr. Rockwell," said the
girl.
"Did you ask him in?"
"No sir. He looks like a suspicious carakter," said Bridget, laying the
stress on the second syllable.
Mr. Rockwell rose, and went to the door.
"What is your business?" he asked.
"It's about Dick,--Ragged Dick we used to call him," said Micky.
"You mean Richard Hunter."
"Yes," said Micky. "He was took up for stealin' a gentleman's
pocket-book three months ago."
"But he was proved innocent," said Mr. Rockwell, "so, if you have
anything to say against him, your time is thrown away."
"I know he was innocent," said Micky; "another boy took it."
"Who was he?"
"I did it."
"Then you did a wicked thing in stealing the money, and a mean thing in
trying to get an innocent boy into trouble."
"I wouldn't have done it," said Micky, "if I hadn't been paid for it."
"Paid for stealing!" said Mr. Rockwell, astonished.
"Paid for tryin' to get Dick into trouble."
"That does not seem to be a very likely story," said Mr. Rockwell. "Who
would pay you money for doing such a thing?"
"Mr. Gilbert."
"My book-keeper?"
"Yes," said Micky, vindictively.
"I can hardly believe this," said Mr. Rockwell.
"He paid me only a dollar for what I did," said Micky, in an injured
tone. "He'd ought to have given me five dollars. He's a reg'lar mean
feller."
"And is this why you betray him now?"
"No," said Micky; "it isn't the money, though it's mean to expect a
feller to run the risk of bein' nabbed for a dollar; but when the 'copp'
had got hold of me I met him, and he said I was a young scamp, and he
didn't know anything about me."
"Is this true?" asked Mr. Rockwell, looking keenly at Micky.
Micky confirmed his statement by an oath.
"I don't want you to swear. I shall not believe you the sooner for that.
Can you explain why Mr. Gilbert should engage in such a base
conspiracy?"
"He told me that he hated Dick," said Micky.
"Do you like him?"
"No, I don't," said Micky, honestly; "but I hate Mr. Gilbert worse."
"Why do you hate Richard?"
"Because he puts on airs."
"I suppose," said Mr. Rockwell, smiling, "that means that he wears good
clothes, and keeps his face and hands clean."
"He wasn't nothin' but a boot-black," said Micky, in an injured tone.
"What are you?"
"I'm a boot-black too; but I don't put on airs."
"Do you mean to be a boot-black all your life?"
"I dunna," said Micky; "there aint anything else to do."
"Tell me truly, wouldn't you rather wear good clothes than poor ones,
and keep yourself clean and neat?"
"Yes, I should," said Micky, after a slight hesitation.
"Then why do you blame Dick for preferring to do the same?"
"He licked me once," said Micky, rather reluctantly, shifting his
ground.
"What for?"
"I fired a stone at him."
"You can't blame him much for that, can you?"
"No," said Micky, slowly, "I dunno as I can."
"For my own part I have a very good opinion of Richard," said Mr.
Rockwell. "He wants to raise himself in the world, and I am glad to help
him. If that is putting on airs, I should be glad to see you doing the
same."
"There aint no chance for me," said Micky.
"Why not?"
"I aint lucky as Dick is."
"Dick may have been lucky," said Mr. Rockwell, "but I generally find
that luck comes oftenest to those who deserve it. If you will try to
raise yourself I will help you."
"Will you?" asked Micky, in surprise.
The fact was, he had been an Ishmaelite from his earliest years, and
while he had been surrounded by fellows like Limpy Jim, who were ready
to encourage and abet him in schemes of mischief, he had never had any
friends who deserved the name. That a gentleman like Mr. Rockwell should
voluntarily offer to assist him was indeed surprising.
"How old are you?" asked Mr. Rockwell.
"Seventeen," said Micky.
"How long have you blacked boots?"
"Ever since I was eight or nine."
"I think it is time for you to do something else."
"What will I do?"
"We must think of that. I must also think of the information you have
given me in regard to Mr. Gilbert. You are certain you are telling the
truth."
"Yes," said Micky; "it's the truth."
Micky did not swear this time, and Mr. Rockwell believed him.
"Let me see," he said, reflecting; "can you be at my store to-morrow
morning at ten o'clock?"
"I can," said Micky, promptly.
"What is your name?"
"Micky Maguire."
"Good-night, Michael."
"Good-night, sir," said Micky, respectfully.
He walked away with a crowd of new thoughts and new aspirations kindling
in his breast. A gentleman had actually offered to help him on in the
world. Nobody had ever taken any interest in him before. Life to him had
been a struggle and a conflict, with very little hope of better things.
He had supposed he should leave off blacking boots some time, but no
prospect seemed open before him.
"Why shouldn't I get up in the world?" he thought, with new ambition.
He half confessed to himself that he had led a bad life, and vague
thoughts of amendment came to him. Somebody was going to take an
interest in him. That was the secret of his better thoughts and
purposes.
On the whole, I begin to think there is hope for Micky.