The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the Streets
Page 17
CHAPTER XV.
ANY WAY TO MAKE A LIVING.
Boys who have a good home are apt to undervalue it. They do notrealize the comfort of having their daily wants provided for withoutany anxiety on their part. They are apt to fancy that they would liketo go out into the great world to seek their fortunes. Sometimes itmay be necessary and expedient to leave the safe anchorage of home,and brave the dangers of the unknown sea; but no boy should do thiswithout his parents' consent, nor then, without making up his mindthat he will need all his courage and all his resolution to obtainsuccess.
Sam found himself penniless in a great city, and with no way open,that he could think of, to earn money. Even the business of theboot-black, humble as it is, required a small capital to buy a brushand box of blacking. So, too, a newsboy must pay for his papers whenhe gets them, unless he is well known. So Sam, sitting on thedoor-step, felt that he was in a tight place. Where was he to get hisdinner from? He did not care to repeat his operation of the morning,for it was not pleasant to be "bounced."
"I wonder if I couldn't get a chance in a store," he thought. "Thatwouldn't need any money. There seems to be a lot of stores in thecity. I guess there must be a place for me somewhere."
This thought encouraged Sam. He rose from his lowly seat, anddetermined to look about for a place. Presently he came to areal-estate office. Sam did not understand very well what kind of abusiness that was, but on the window a piece of paper was pasted, onwhich was written, "A Boy Wanted."
"I guess I'll go in," thought Sam. "Maybe they'll take me."
There were three boys ahead of him; but they were not veryeligible-looking specimens. So they were dismissed with smallceremony, and Sam was beckoned to the desk.
"I suppose you have come about the place," said a man with blackwhiskers, and a pen behind his ear.
"Yes," answered Sam.
"How old are you?"
"Twelve."
"Rather young. Still you are large of your age."
"I am pretty strong," said Sam, anxious to succeed in hisapplication.
"There isn't any work to be done that requires strength," said theblack-whiskered man. "How is your education?"
"Pretty good," said Sam, with hesitation.
"Do you live in the city?"
"Yes, sir."
"With your parents?"
"No, sir. They are dead."
"That is an objection. Perhaps, however, you live with an aunt oruncle. That will answer as well."
"Yes," said Sam, determined to obviate this objection. "I live with myuncle."
"Where does he live?"
"In New York," answered Sam.
"Don't you understand me? I mean to ask the street and number."
Sam was posed. He could not at the moment think of the name of anystreet except Broadway. But it would not do to hesitate. So he saidpromptly, "He lives at No. 656 Broadway."
"What is his business?" inquired the black-whiskered man.
"He keeps a store," answered Sam, feeling that he was getting deeperand deeper into the mire.
"What sort of a store?"
"A grocery store."
"What, at 656 Broadway?" demanded the other, in surprise. "I didn'tknow there was a grocery store in that neighborhood."
"Oh, murder!" thought Sam. "I'm found out."
He made no answer, because he could not think of any.
"Why don't your father give you a place in his own store?" asked thereal-estate agent, with some suspicion in his tone.
"He's got all the help he wants," said Sam, quickly.
Here another boy entered the office, a boy neatly dressed, andintelligent in appearance.
"Sit down a moment," said the agent to Sam, "while I speak with thisother lad."
Sam took a seat, and listened to the conversation with the other boy.The conclusion of the matter was, that the other boy was engaged andSam was obliged to go out to offer his services in some otherquarter.
"What a lot of lies I had to tell!" he reflected. "What's the use oftheir asking so many questions? I don't see. I'll have to trysomewhere else."
As Sam was sauntering along he was accosted by a tall man, evidentlyfrom the country.
"Boy, can you direct me to the 'Tribune' office?"
"Yes, sir," said Sam, "but it's some ways from here. It'll be worthten cents to lead you there."
The gentleman hesitated.
"Well," he said after a pause, "I'll give it to you."
"Will you give it to me now?" asked Sam.
"I will pay you when you have done your work."
"The reason I asked was, because I showed a man the other day, andthen he wouldn't pay me."
"That was mean," said the stranger. "I hope you don't think I wouldserve you so."
"Oh, no, sir. You're a gentleman," said Sam. "You wouldn't cheat apoor boy that hasn't had any breakfast this mornin'."
"Dear me! you don't say so?" ejaculated the compassionate stranger,shocked at Sam's fiction. "Here, take this twenty-five cents. Do youoften have to go without your breakfast?"
"Often, sir," said Sam, unblushingly. "It's hard times for poor boyslike me."
"There's another quarter," said the stranger, his compassion stillmore deeply moved.
Sam did feel some compunction now, for he was about to make a verypoor return for the kindness of his new acquaintance. The fact was, hehad not the slightest idea where the "Tribune" office was, and he hadtherefore undertaken what he was unable to perform. But he had gonetoo far to recede. Besides, he did not feel prepared to give up themoney which he had obtained through false pretences. So counterfeitinga confidence which he did not feel he led the way up Centre street,saying, "This way, sir. I'll lead you right to the office."
"I never was at the office," said the stranger, "though I've been asubscriber to the weekly 'Tribune' for ten years."
"That's a good while," said Sam.
"It is indeed, my boy. I live in Illinois, more than a thousand milesfrom this city. Indeed, I have never been in New York before."
"Haven't you?"
"No; now you, I suppose, my young friend, know your way all about thecity."
"Of course I do," said Sam, in an off-hand manner.
"If I had more time, I would get you to guide me round the city," saidthe stranger.
"Wouldn't I lead you a wild-goose chase, old gentleman?" thought Sam."You'd be pretty well taken in, I guess."
"I am obliged to go away to-night," continued the old gentleman, "butI thought I would renew my subscription to the 'Tribune' before Iwent."
"All right, sir; it's a nice paper," said Sam, who had never read aline in the "Tribune."
"So I think. Are we almost at the office?"
"Almost," said Sam. "If you don't mind waiting I'll run over and speakto my cousin a minute."
There was a boot-black on the opposite side of the street. It struckSam, who did not like to deceive so generous a patron, that he couldobtain the information he needed of this boy.
"Can you tell me where the 'Tribune' office is?" he asked hurriedly.
The boot-black had no more scruples about lying than Sam, andanswered, glibly, pointing to the Tombs prison, a little farther on,"Do you see that big stone buildin'?"
"Yes," said Sam.
"That's it."
"Thank you," said Sam, feeling relieved, and never doubting thecorrectness of this statement.
He returned to the stranger, and said, cheerfully, "We're almostthere."
"Is that boy your cousin?" asked his acquaintance.
"Yes," said Sam.
"He blacks boots for a living."
"Yes, sir."
"Does he do well at it?"
"Pretty well."
"Did you ever black boots?"
"No, sir," answered Sam, telling the truth by way of variety.
"That's the Tribune office," said Sam, a moment later, pointing to thegloomy-looking prison.
"Is it?" echoed the stranger, in surprise. "Really, it's a verym
assive structure."
"Yes," said Sam, mistaking the word employed, "it's very _massy._"
"It doesn't look much like a newspaper office."
For the first time Sam began to suspect that he had been deceived, andhe naturally felt in a hurry to get away.
"You go right in," he said, confidently, "and they'll attend to youinside. Now I'll go and get some breakfast."
"To be sure. You must be hungry."
The stranger walked up the massive steps, and Sam hurried away.
"I wonder what place that is, anyhow," he said to himself. "Now I'vegot money enough for dinner."
For a country boy Sam was getting along fast.