CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW.
"Boy, is this Canal Street?"
The speaker was evidently from the country. He was a tall man, withprominent features, and a face seamed and wrinkled by the passage ofnearly seventy years. He wore a rusty cloak, in the style of thirtyyears gone by, and his clothing generally was of a fashion seldom seenon Broadway.
The boy addressed was leaning against a lamppost, with both hands inhis pockets. His clothes were soiled and ragged, a soft hat, whichlooked as if it had served in its varied career as a foot-ball, wasthrust carelessly on his head. He looked like a genuine representativeof the "street Arab," with no thought for to-morrow and its needs, andcontented if he could only make sure of a square meal to-day. His facewas dirty, and marked by a mingled expression of fun and impudence;but the features were not unpleasing, and, had he been clean andneatly dressed, he would undoubtedly have been consideredgood-looking.
He turned quickly on being addressed, and started perceptibly, as hisglance met the inquiring look of the tall, stranger. He seemed atfirst disposed to run away, but this intention was succeeded by adesire to have some fun with the old man.
"Canal Street's about a mile off. I'll show yer the way for tencents."
"A mile off? That's strange," said the old man, puzzled. "They told meat the Astor House it was only about ten minutes walk, straight up."
"That's where you got sold, gov'nor. Give me ten cents, and you won'thave no more trouble."
"Are you sure you know Canal Street, yourself?" said the old man,perplexed. "They'd ought to know at the hotel."
"I'd ought to know too. That's where my store is."
"Your store!" ejaculated the old man, fixing his eyes upon his raggedcompanion, who certainly looked very little like a New York merchant.
"In course. Don't I keep a cigar store at No. 95?"
"I hope you don't smoke yourself," said the deacon (for he was adeacon), solemnly.
"Yes, I do. My constitushun requires it."
"My boy, you are doing a lasting injury to your health," said the oldman, impressively.
"Oh, I'm tough. I kin stand it. Better give me a dime, and let me showyer the way."
The deacon was in a hurry to get to Canal Street, and after somehesitation, for he was fond of money, he drew out ten cents, andhanded it to his ragged companion.
"There, my boy, show me the way. I should think you might have done itfor nothing."
"That aint the way we do business in the city, gov'nor."
"Well, go ahead, I'm in a hurry."
"You needn't be, for _this_ is Canal Street," said the boy, edging offa little.
"Then you've swindled me," said the deacon, wrathfully. "Give me backthat ten cents."
"Not if I know it," said the boy, mockingly. "That aint the way we dobusiness in the city. I'm goin to buy two five-cent cigars with thatmoney."
"You said you kept a cigar-store yourself," said the deacon, withsudden recollection.
"You mustn't believe all you hear, gov'nor," said the boy, laughingsaucily.
"Well now, if you aint a bad boy," said the old man.
"What's the odds as long as you're happy?" said the young Arab,carelessly.
Here was a good chance for a moral lesson, and the deacon felt that itwas his duty to point out to the young reprobate the error of hisways.
"My young friend," he said, "how can you expect to be happy when youlie and cheat? Such men are never happy."
"Aint they though? You bet I'll be happy when I'm smokin' the twocigars I'm goin to buy."
"Keep the money, but don't buy the cigars," said the deacon, religiongetting the better of his love of money. "Buy yourself some clothes.You appear to need them."
"Buy clo'es with ten cents!" repeated the boy, humorously.
"At any rate, devote the money to a useful purpose, and I shall notmind being cheated out of it. If you keep on this way, you'll end inthe gallus."
"That's comin' it rather strong, gov'nor. Hangin's played out in NewYork. I guess I'm all right."
"I'm afraid you're all wrong, my boy. You're travellin' todestruction."
"Let's change the subject," said the street boy. "You're gittin'personal, and I don't like personal remarks. What'll you bet I can'ttell your name?"
"Bet!" ejaculated the deacon, horrified.
"Yes, gov'nor. I'll bet you a quarter I kin tell your name."
"I never bet. It's wicked," said the old man, with emphasis.
"Well, we won't bet, then," said the boy. "Only, if I tell your nameright, you give me ten cents. If I don't get it right, I'll give backthis dime you gave me. Aint that fair?"
The deacon might have been led to suspect that there was not muchdifference between the boy's proposal, and the iniquity of a bet, buthis mind was rather possessed by the thought that here was a goodchance to recover the money out of which he had been so adroitlycheated. Surely there was no wrong in recovering that, as of course hewould do, for how could a ragged street boy tell the name of one wholived a hundred and fifty miles distant, in a small country town?
"I'll do it," said the deacon.
"You'll give me ten cents if I tell your name?"
"Yes, and you'll give me back the money I give you if you can'ttell."
"That's it, gov'nor."
"Then what's my name, my boy?" and the deacon extended his hand inreadiness to receive the forfeit of a wrong answer.
"Deacon John Hopkins," answered the boy, confidently.
The effect on the old man was startling. He was never more surprisedin his life. He stared at the boy open-mouthed, in bewilderment andwonder.
"Well, I declare!" he ejaculated. "I never heard of such a thing."
"Aint I right, gov'nor?"
"Yes, my boy, you're right; but how on earth did you find out?"
"Give me the money, and I'll tell you;" and the boy extended hishand.
The deacon drew the money from his vest-pocket, and handed it to theyoung Arab, without remonstrance.
"Now tell me, my boy, how you know'd me."
The boy edged off a few feet, then lifted his venerable hat so as todisplay the whole of his face.
"I'd ought to know you, deacon," he said; "I'm Sam Barker."
"By gracious, if it aint Sam!" ejaculated the old man. "Hallo! stop, Isay!"
But Sam was half-way across the street. The deacon hesitated aninstant, and then dashed after him, his long cloak floating in thewind, and his hat unconsciously pushed back on the top of his head.
"Stop, you Sam!" he shouted.
But Sam, with his head over his shoulder, already three rods inadvance, grinned provokingly, but appeared to have no intention ofstopping. The deacon was not used to running, nor did he make dueallowance for the difficulty of navigating the crowded streets of themetropolis. He dashed headlong into an apple-stand, and suffereddisastrous shipwreck. The apple-stand was overturned, the deacon's hatflew off, and he found himself sprawling on the sidewalk, with applesrolling in all directions around him, and an angry dame showeringmaledictions upon him, and demanding compensation for damages.
The deacon picked himself up, bruised and ashamed, recovered his hat,which had rolled into a mud-puddle, and was forced to pay the woman adollar before he could get away. When this matter was settled, helooked for Sam, but the boy was out of sight. In fact, he was justaround the corner, laughing as if he would split. He had seen hispursuer's discomfiture, and regarded it as a huge practical joke.
"I never had such fun in all my life," he ejaculated, with difficulty,and he went off into a fresh convulsion. "The old feller won't forgetme in a hurry."
The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the Streets Page 3