IN NEW YORK CITY
"Will he live, mamma?"
"I think so, Rose. But he has been badly misused."
"Bill Hosker ought to be locked up for it."
"Nobody will lock Bill up. He has too much influence with the
politicians," answered the woman.
She was bending over Randy, who was still unconscious. Mother and
daughter had carried our hero from the yard to their room in the rear
of the tenement. Nobody else had been around. The girl had witnessed
Bill Hosker's nefarious deed and had at once summoned her parent.
Mrs. Clare was a poor widow lady who supported herself by sewing. Rose
was her only child and did what she could to help her mother. Sewing
did not pay well, and the Clares had all they could do to make both
ends meet.
But Mrs. Clare had a warm heart and so had Rose, and it pained them
greatly to see Randy so mistreated. They carried him into their one
room and placed him on their bed and did what they could for him.
At last he opened his eyes and stared around him. Then he sat up
slowly.
"Where am I?" he asked, faintly.
"We brought you into the house--mother and I," answered Rose. "Don't
you remember, Bill Hosker struck you down?"
"Oh, yes; I remember that now." Randy took a deep breath and put his
hand to his head. "He hit me pretty hard, didn't he?"
"I am afraid he did," answered Mrs. Clare. "It was a shame, too."
"Where is he now?"
"He ran away."
"He stole eighty cents from me."
"Perhaps he took more," said Rose. "He went through your pockets after
he knocked you down. I saw him do it."
With his head still aching, our hero felt in first one pocket and then
another. He gave something like a groan.
"Every cent is gone!"
"How much did you have?"
"Between four and five dollars."
"I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Clare. "But I am afraid you will never
see your money again."
"Does that rascal live around here?"
"Sometimes. He comes and goes to suit himself. I suppose he will stay
away now for a while."
"Is there any use of my reporting this to the police, do you think?"
"I don't think so. He once took my pocket-book from the table here--I
am sure of it--but when I reported it to the police nothing was done.
They said his word was as good as mine."
"How long have I been here?"
"About half an hour."
"Then he has had a good chance to get away. Did you bring me here?"
"Yes."
"You are very kind, Mrs. ----"
"I am Mrs. Clare and this is my daughter Rose."
"And I am Randy Thompson, a deckhand on the Hudson River steamboat
_Helen Shalley_."
"Oh!" Mrs. Clare paused for a moment. "Do you know Mr. Polk, the
purser?"
"Yes, but not very well. I just got the job as a deckhand to-day."
"Mr. Polk is a relative of mine by marriage."
"I see."
"We--that is--well, we are not very good friends," went on Mrs. Clare.
"Mamma thinks Mr. Polk hasn't been honest with us," put in Rose,
quickly. "I don't think so either."
"Rose, you must not talk so!"
"But it is true, isn't it?" returned the daughter.
"I may be misjudging Cousin Peter," said Mrs. Clare. "You see," she
added, by way of an explanation, "my cousin Peter Polk had the
settlement of my husband's affairs when he died, and I have always
imagined that--well, that Rose and I did not get exactly what was
coming to us."
"Mamma thought the account was three hundred dollars short," said Rose,
who was inclined to be blunt.
"Couldn't you get a clear statement?" questioned Randy, with interest.
"We got a statement, but it was not clear to me," answered Mrs. Clare.
As soon as he felt able to do so, Randy got on his feet. He felt rather
dizzy and he had a large lump over his left ear, where he had been
struck by the club.
"See here," he said, when he was ready to depart, "I am much obliged to
you for what you have done. But I'd like you to do more, if you will.
As soon as this Bill Hosker comes back to this neighborhood let me
know. You'll always find me on board of the _Helen Shalley_."
"I'll let you know," answered Rose. "But don't let Bill Hosker know who
told you, or he'll want to kill me."
When Randy got back to the steamboat he felt so weak he could scarcely
walk on board. Jones came forward to meet him.
"Say, you ain't been drinking, have you?" he demanded, as he saw our
hero stagger.
"No, I don't drink," answered Randy. "I've been knocked down and
robbed."
And sitting down on a bench he told his story to the other deckhand,
and let Jones feel of the lump on his head.
"I was going to warn you when you went ashore, but I thought you'd be
wise enough to keep out of trouble. It's a shame."
"They told me it wouldn't do any good to tell the police."
"I am afraid not. Such things happen pretty often in that kind of a
neighborhood."
Randy was glad enough to turn in. He bathed the lump with cold water
and put on some witch-hazel, which made it feel better. Despite the
adventure he slept soundly until it was time to turn out in the
morning.
"I suppose you'll want some money," said Jones. "I can lend you a
dollar till pay day, if you wish."
"Thank you," returned Randy. "You are kind, and I'll accept the loan.
I'll pay you back just as soon as I get my pay. I hate to be without a
cent in my pocket."
"I have been there myself and know just how it feels," answered Jones.
He had, in his rough way, taken a fancy to our hero, which feeling was
reciprocated.
There was plenty to do before the steamboat left the dock at New York
City, and Randy's arms ached when the command came to cast off the
lines. He had done his full share of the labor, and Pat Malloy nodded
approvingly.
"Kape it up an' you'll be all roight," said the head deckhand.
The trip to Albany that day had much of novelty in it for Randy. There
was a good deal of work, of which he had not dreamed before, yet there
were also times when he could look at the scenery as the big craft
glided along. At the newsstand on board there was a big folding map of
the river, showing the different towns and points of interest, and this
the standkeeper loaned him for a couple of hours. He studied the map
closely and was soon able to recognize certain points as they appeared.
Several days slipped by and Randy felt quite at home on board. He had
been supplied with the regulation deckhand's outfit; dark blue shirt
and trousers, and a cap to match, and looked very well when thus
attired. He was getting acquainted with the work and could handle a
trunk, or a box or barrel almost as well as Jones or Malloy.
"How does the boy do?" asked Captain Hadley of Malloy.
"It's the new broom as swapes clane," answered the head deckhand. "I
ain't braggin' yit, captain."
"But he is doing all right so far?"
"Aye, aye, sur--very well indade."
"I am glad to hear it. Mr. Shalley told me the boy needed the job. His
father is on the sick list, and he has got to do what he can to help
support his parents."
"I reckon he'll be all right," answered Pat Malloy. "He's better than
thim foreigners, anyway." To him, the only foreigners were Italians and
Germans. He did not think himself one, although he had come from the
"ould sod" less than six years before.