AN UNFASHIONABLE HOTEL.
Tom found at the end of the afternoon that her capital had increased
from twenty-five to fifty cents.
“Granny won’t get none of this,” she soliloquized, complacently. “It’s
all mine.”
Sitting on a doorstep she counted over the money with an entirely
different feeling from what she had experienced when it was to be
transferred to granny. Now it was all her own, and, though but fifty
cents, it made her feel rich.
“What shall I do with it?” thought Tom.
She had a square meal in the middle of the day; but several hours had
passed since then, and she felt hungry again; Tom did not see any
necessity for remaining hungry, with fifty cents in her possession. She
made her way, therefore, to another eating-house, where the prices were
the same with those at the one before mentioned, and partook of another
square meal, leaving out the pie. This reduced her capital to thirty
cents. She felt that she ought to save this, to start in business upon
in the morning. As a street-sweeper she required no capital except her
broom; but though Tom was not troubled with pride, she preferred to sell
papers, or take up some other street vocation. Besides, she knew that as
a street-sweeper on Broadway, she would be more likely to be discovered
by the old woman whom she was now anxious to avoid.
After eating supper Tom went out into the streets, not knowing exactly
how to spend her time. Usually, she had gone down into the court, or the
street, and played with the children of her own and neighboring tenement
houses. But now she did not care to venture back into the old locality.
So she strolled about the streets aimlessly, until she felt sleepy, and
began to consider whereabouts to bestow herself for the night. She might
have gone to the “Girls’ Lodging House,” if she had known of such an
institution; but she had never heard of it. Chance brought her to a
basement, on which was the sign,—
“LODGINGS—FIVE CENTS.”
This attracted Tom’s attention. If it had not been a cold night, she
would have been willing to sleep out, which would have been cheaper; but
it was a damp and chilly evening, and her dress was thin.
“Five cents won’t bust me!” thought Tom. “I’ll go in.”
She went down some steps, and opened a door into a room very
low-studded, and very dirty.
A stout woman, in a dirty calico loose-gown, was sitting in a chair,
with a fat, unhealthy-looking baby in her lap.
“What you want, little gal?” she asked.
“Where’s your lodgin’?” asked Tom.
“In back,” answered the woman, pointing to an inner room, partially
revealed through a half-open door. It was dark, having no windows, and
dirtier, if possible, than the front room. The floor was covered with
straw, for beds and bedsteads were looked upon as unnecessary luxuries
in this economical lodging-house.
“Is that the place?” asked Tom.
“Yes. Do you want to stop here to-night?”
Tom had not been accustomed to first-class hotels, still the
accommodations at granny’s were rather better than this. However, the
young Arab did not mind. She had no doubt she could sleep comfortably on
the straw, and intimated her intention of stopping.
“Where’s your money?” asked the woman.
The invariable rule in this establishment was payment in advance, and,
perhaps, considering the character of the customers, it was the safest
rule that could be adopted.
Tom took out her money, and counted out five cents into the woman’s
palm. She then put back the remainder in her pocket. If she had been
less sleepy, she might have noticed the woman’s covetous glance, and
been led to doubt the safety of her small fortune. But Tom was sleepy,
and her main idea was to go to bed as soon as possible.
“Lay down anywhere,” said the landlady, dropping the five cents into her
pocket.
Tom’s preparation for bed did not take long. No undressing was required,
for it was the custom here to sleep with the day’s clothes on. Tom
stowed herself away in a corner, and in five minutes was asleep.
It was but little after eight o’clock, and she was, at present, the only
lodger.
No sooner did her deep, regular breathing indicate slumber, than the
landlady began to indulge in various suspicious movements. She first put
down her baby, and then taking a lantern,—the only light which could
safely be carried into the lodging-room, on account of the straw upon
the floor,—crept quietly into the inner room.
“She’s fast asleep,” she muttered.
She approached Tom with cautious step. She need not have been afraid to
awaken her. Tom was a good sleeper, and not likely to wake up, unless
roughly awakened, until morning.
Tom was lying on her side, with her face resting on one hand.
The woman stooped down, and began to look for the pocket in which she
kept her money; but it was in that part of her dress upon which she was
lying. This embarrassed the woman somewhat, but an idea occurred to her.
She took up a straw, and, bending over, gently tickled Tom’s ear. Tom
shook her head, as a cat would under similar circumstances, and on its
being repeated turned over, muttering, “Don’t, granny!”
This was what her dishonest landlady wanted. She thrust her hand into
Tom’s pocket, and drew out the poor girl’s entire worldly treasure. Tom,
unconscious of the robbery, slept on; and the woman went back to the
front room to wait for more lodgers. They began to come in about ten,
and by twelve the room was full. It was a motley collection, and would
have been a curious, though sad study, to any humane observer. They were
most of them in the last stages of ill-fortune, yet among them was more
than one who had once filled a respectable position in society. Here was
a man of thirty-five, who ten years before had filled a good place, with
a fair salary, in a city bank. But in an evil hour he helped himself to
some of the funds of the bank. He lost his situation, and, though he
escaped imprisonment, found his prospects blasted. So he had gone down
hill, until at length he found himself reduced to such a lodging-house
as this, fortunate if he could command the small sum needful to keep him
from a night in the streets.
[Illustration]
Next him was stretched a man who was deserving still more pity, since
his misfortunes sprang rather from a want of judgment than from his own
fault. He was a scholar, with a fair knowledge of Latin and Greek, and
some ability as a writer. He was an Englishman who had come to the city
in the hope of making his acquisitions available, but had met with very
poor encouragement. He found that both among teachers and writers the
demand exceeded the supply, at least for those of moderate
qualifications; and, having no influential friends, had sought for
employment almost in vain. His small stock of money dwindled, his suit
became shabby, until he found himself, to his deep mortification and
disgust, compelled to resort to such lodging-houses as this, where he
was obliged to herd with the lowest and most abandoned class.
Next to him lay a mechanic, once in profitable employment. But drink had
been his ruin; and now he was a vagabond, spending the little money he
earned, at rum-shops, except what was absolutely necessary for food.
There is no need of cataloguing the remainder of Meg Morely’s lodgers.
Her low rates generally secured her a room-full, and a dozen, sometimes
more, were usually packed away on the floor. On the whole she found it a
paying business, though her charges were low. Sixty cents a day was
quite a respectable addition to her income, and she had occupied the
same place for two years already. Tom’s experience will show that she
had other, and not quite so lawful, ways of swelling her receipts, but
she was cautious not to put them in practice, unless she considered it
prudent, as in the present instance.
It was seven o’clock when Tom awoke. She looked around her in
bewilderment, thinking at first she must be in granny’s room. But a
glance at the prostrate forms around her brought back the events of the
day before, and gave her a realizing sense of her present situation.
“I’ve had a good sleep,” said Tom to herself, stretching, by way of
relief from her constrained position. “I guess it’s time to get up.”
She rubbed her eyes, and shook back her hair, and then rising, went into
the front room. Her landlady was already up and getting breakfast.
“What time is it?” asked Tom.
“It’s just gone seven,” said Meg, looking sharply at Tom to see if she
had discovered the loss of her money. “How did you sleep?”
“Tip-top.”
“Come ag’in.”
“All right!” said Tom. “Maybe I will.”
She climbed up the basement stairs to the street above, and began to
think of what the day had in store for her. Her prospects were not
brilliant certainly; but Tom on the whole felt in good spirits. She had
thrown off the yoke of slavery. She was her own mistress now, and
granny’s power was broken. Tom felt that she could get along somehow.
She had confidence in herself, and was sure something would turn up for
her.
“Now, what’ll I do first?” thought Tom.
With twenty-five cents in her pocket, and a good appetite, breakfast
naturally suggested itself.
She dove her hand into her pocket, but the face of the little Arab
almost instantly expressed deep dismay.
Her money was gone!