AT FRENCH’S HOTEL.
“Clear out of here!” said a waiter, arresting Tom’s progress, and
pointing to the steps by which she had descended from the sidewalk.
If Tom had been alone, she would have felt bound to obey the summons;
but being under the protection of Captain Barnes, who, she reflected,
looked a good deal stronger than the waiter, she stood her ground.
“Did you hear what I said?” demanded the waiter angrily, about to take
Tom by the shoulder.
“Avast there!” put in the captain, who thought it time to interfere; “is
that the way you treat your customers?”
“She aint no customer.”
“She is going to take breakfast here, my friend, and I should like to
know what you have got to say about it.”
The waiter seemed taken aback by this unexpected championship of one
whom he had supposed to be an unprotected street girl.
“I didn’t know she was with you,” he stammered.
“Well, you know it now. Come, child, you can sit down here.”
Tom enjoyed her triumph over the waiter, and showed it in a
characteristic manner, by putting her thumb to her nose.
Captain Barnes sat down on one side of a table at one of the windows,
and motioned Tom to sit opposite.
“I don’t think you told me your name,” he said.
“Tom.”
“Then, Tom, let me suggest that you take off your cap. It’s usual in the
best society.”
“I never was there,” said Tom; but she removed her cap. This revealed a
mop of hair, tangled it is true, but of a beautiful brown shade. Her
black eyes sparkled from beneath, giving a bright, keen look to her
face, browned by exposure to all weathers. I regret to say that the face
was by no means clean. If it had been, and the whole expression had not
been so wild and untamed, Tom would certainly have been considered
pretty. As it was, probably no one would have wasted a second glance
upon the little street girl.
“What will you have, sir, you and the young _lady_?” asked the waiter,
emphasizing the last word, with a grin at Tom.
“What will you have, Tom?” asked the captain.
“Beefsteak, cup o’ coffee, and bread-and-butter,” said Tom, glibly.
Her knowledge of dishes was limited; but she had tried these and liked
them, and this guided her in the selection.
“Very good,” said Captain Barnes; “the same for me, with fried potatoes
and an omelet.”
Tom stared at this munificent order. She fixed her black eyes
meditatively upon her entertainer, and wondered whether he always
indulged in such a superlatively square meal.
“What are you thinking about, Tom?” questioned the captain.
“You must be awful rich,” said Tom.
Captain Barnes laughed.
“What makes you think so?”
“It’ll cost you a lot for breakfast.”
“But you know I don’t always have company to breakfast.”
“Do you call me company?”
“Of course I do.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d want to have me eat with you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a gentleman.”
“And you’re a young lady. Didn’t you hear the waiter call you so?”
“He was chaffin’.”
“You may be a lady some time.”
“’Taint likely,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t got no good clothes to wear, nor don’t know nothin’.”
“Can you read?”
“A little, but I don’t like to. It’s too hard work.”
“Makes your head ache, eh?”
“Yes,” said Tom, seriously.
Captain Barnes looked attentively at the odd little creature opposite
him. He wondered what would be her fate. She was quick, sharp, pretty,
but withal an untamed Arab of the streets. The chances seemed very much
against her in the warfare of life. Society seemed leagued against her,
and she was likely to be at war with it.
“I’ll make an effort to save her,” he thought. But of this he did not
speak to Tom at present, more especially as the waiter was seen
advancing with the breakfast ordered.
He deposited the various dishes, some before Tom, and the remainder
before the captain.
Tom was not used to restaurants of the better class, and did not see the
necessity of an empty plate in addition to the dish which contained the
meat. Such ceremony was not in vogue at the ten-cent restaurants which
she had hitherto patronized. She fixed her eyes eagerly upon the
beefsteak, which emitted a very savory odor.
“Pass your plate, Tom, and I will give you some meat.”
Tom passed her plate, nothing loath, and the captain transferred to it a
liberal supply of meat.
Tom waited for no ceremony, but, seizing her knife, attacked the meat
vigorously.
“How is it?” asked her companion, amused.
“Bully!” said Tom, too busy to raise her eyes from her plate.
“Let me help you to a little of the omelet.”
Tom extended her plate, and a portion of the omelet was placed upon it.
Tom raised a little to her lips, cautiously, for it was a new dish to
her, and she did not know whether she would like it. It seemed to be
satisfactory, however, none being left upon her plate when she had
finished eating.
Not much conversation went on during the meal. Tom’s entire energies
were given to disposing of the squarest meal in which she had ever
indulged, and the captain’s attention was divided between his breakfast
and the young waif upon whom he was bestowing perfect bliss.
At length Tom’s efforts relaxed. She laid down her knife and fork, and
heaved a sigh of exquisite enjoyment.
“Well,” said the captain, “would you like some more?”
“No,” said Tom, “I’m full.”
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“Didn’t I, just?” and Tom’s tone spoke volumes.
“I’m glad of that. I think it’s very good myself.”
“You’re a brick!” said Tom, in a tone of grateful acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” said Captain Barnes, his eyes twinkling a little; “I try to
be.”
“I wonder what granny would say if she knowed where I was,” soliloquized
Tom, aloud.
“She’d be glad you had enjoyed your breakfast.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d be mad.”
“You don’t give your grandmother a very good character. Doesn’t she like
you?”
“No; she hates me, and I hate her. She takes all my money, and then
licks me.”
“That’s unpleasant, to be sure. Then you don’t want to go back to her?”
“Not for Joe!” said Tom, shaking her head very decidedly.
“Then you expect to take care of yourself? Do you think you can?”
Tom nodded confidently.
“What are you going to do this morning, for instance?”
“Buy some papers with the money you give me.”
“What a self-reliant spirit the little chit has!” thought Captain
Barnes. “I’ve known plenty of young men, who had less faith in their
ability to cope with the world, and gain a livelihood, than she. Yet she
has next to no clothes, and her entire capital consists of twenty-five
cents. There is a lesson for the timid and despondent in her
philosophy.”
Tom had no idea of what was passing in the mind of her companion. If she
had been able to read his thoughts, it is not likely she would have
understood them. Her own thoughts had become practical. She had had a
good breakfast,—thanks to the kindness of her new friend,—but for dinner
she must depend upon herself. She felt that it was quite time to enter
upon the business of the day.
She put on her cap and rose to her feet.
“I’m goin’,” she said, abruptly.
“Where are you going?”
“To buy some papers. Thank you for my breakfast.”
It was probably the first time Tom ever thanked anybody for anything. I
am not quite sure whether anybody before this had given her any cause
for gratitude. Certainly, not granny, who had bestowed far less than she
had received from the child, upon whom she had not been ashamed to be a
selfish dependent. There was something, possibly, in her present
companionship with a kind-hearted gentleman, something, perhaps, in her
present more respectable surroundings, which had taught Tom this first
lesson in good manners. She was almost surprised herself at the
expression of gratitude to which she had given utterance.
“Stop a minute, Tom!” said the captain.
Tom had got half way to the door, but she stopped short on being called
back.
“You haven’t asked me whether I have got through with you.”
Tom looked surprised. She knew of no further service in which she could
make herself useful to her companion.
“Haven’t you got through with me?” she asked.
“Not quite. I’m not going to stop here, you know,—I am going to my
sister’s.”
“Where does she live?”
“In Sixteenth Street.”
“Do you want me to carry your carpet-bag?” asked Tom.
“Well, no; I think you couldn’t manage that. But you can carry the
bundle.”
“All right!” said Tom.
It was all one to her whether she sold papers, or carried bundles. The
main thing was to earn the small amount of money necessary to defray her
daily expenses. Of the two she would rather go up to Sixteenth Street;
for as she had seldom found occasion to go up town, the expedition
promised a little novelty.
Captain Barnes paid his bill, and left the restaurant, with Tom at his
heels.