Andy Grant's Pluck 9

Andy Grant's Pluck 9

"I should like to see her."

 

"Who shall I tell her calls?"

 

"She won't know my name. Tell her it is some one with a letter from Mr.

Walter Gale."

 

"Won't you step in?"

 

She ushered Andy into a small reception room opening from the hall. It

was a very small room, provided with a sofa, one chair and a writing

desk. Just over the sofa hung an engraving of Washington crossing the

Delaware.

 

Andy sat down on the sofa and placed his gripsack in front of him. There

was nothing to occupy his mind, so he sat patiently, wondering what sort

of a looking woman the landlady might be.

 

Soon there was a rustle of garments, and a stout, pleasant-looking lady,

of perhaps fifty, wearing a small cap set off with red ribbons, entered

the room.

 

"Mrs. Norris?" said Andy, inquiringly, rising out of respect.

 

"Yes, I am Mrs. Norris. Eva told me you had a letter from Mr.--I didn't

catch the name."

 

"Mr. Walter Gale."

 

"Oh, yes, Mr. Gale. I know him very well."

 

"Did he ever board here?"

 

"No; he boarded at one of the hotels. Mr. Gale is a rich man."

 

She took the letter and read it.

 

"Mr. Gale asks if I can take you to board, and offers to pay your board.

He must be a great friend of yours?"

 

"He is. I hope the arrangement will be satisfactory."

 

"Quite so. I couldn't wish any better paymaster than Mr. Gale. Are you

going to work in the city?"

 

"Yes. I have a place in Mr. Flint's jewelry store on Union Square."

 

"Really? That is quite a high-toned place. I got my best spoons there."

 

"Have you got a room for me?" asked Andy, a little anxiously.

 

"Yes, I've got a small hall bedroom. I suppose you didn't expect a

square room?"

 

"It would be too expensive."

 

"It wouldn't be if you had a roommate. There's a gentleman on the third

floor front, a Mr. Warren. He is sickly, and writes for some of the

papers. He told me he would like a roommate; but perhaps you would

prefer a small room alone?"

 

"I should."

 

"Then I've a small room on the same floor. It was occupied till last

week by a music teacher, but he was three weeks behind in his rent and I

had to let him go. It's a trying business, keeping a boarding house,

Mr.--"

 

"Grant," suggested Andy.

 

"Yes. That's a good name. I suppose you're in nowise related to the

general?"

 

"No; I wish I was."

 

"If you will follow me upstairs I'll show you the room. You can bring

your valise."

 

Andy took it in his hand and followed the landlady up two flights of

stairs. She panted a little, being a stout lady, but Andy would have run

upstairs if he had been alone.

 

On the upper floor there were three rooms, the doors of all being open.

 

"That is Mr. Warren's room," said Mrs. Norris, pointing to the front

apartment.

 

It was a room of about fourteen feet square, and was neatly furnished.

It contained a double bed and the usual chamber furniture.

 

"It will accommodate two gentlemen nicely," said Mrs. Norris. "Perhaps,

after you get acquainted with Mr. Warren, you may strike up a bargain to

room with him."

 

"I don't think I should like to room with a sickly gentleman."

 

"Well, there is something in that. One night Mr. Warren had a fit--I

don't know what kind of one--and rolled onto the floor. I room just

underneath, and I was very much frightened."

 

"It would have frightened me, too, if I had roomed with him."

 

"Well, fits ain't very pleasant, I allow."

 

"Who rooms in the third room, next to mine?"

 

"A young man of eighteen, named Perkins. I don't rightly know what sort

of a place he is in. I think it's a neckwear store on Spring Street."

 

Andy was rather glad to learn that there was one boarder somewhere near

his own age.

 

He did not think he should enjoy the acquaintance of Mr. Warren. He was

prejudiced against him by the knowledge that he was sickly and had fits.

 

"There are other boarders on my second floor. You will make their

acquaintance at the table."

 

"What are your hours for meals, Mrs. Norris?"

 

"We have lunch from twelve to one. Breakfast is from seven to nine, and

we have dinner from six to seven, though in the case of a boarder who

is kept later by business we stretch a point, and try to accommodate

him. I hope that will suit you."

 

"Oh, I am sure it will."

 

"Shall you be at lunch to-day?"

 

"No, I don't think so. I am going to explore the city a little."

 

"Very few of my boarders are present at lunch. Still there is a bite for

them, if they do come."

 

"I would like to wash, if you will send up some water and a towel."

 

"Eva will bring them right up. Have you soap of your own?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Gentlemen often prefer providing their own. If you will give me your

name in full, I will enter it on my books."

 

"My name is Andrew Grant."

 

"Very well."

 

"What is your rate of board? Mr. Gale will pay it, but I should like to

know what it is."

 

"Five dollars a week for your room. Mr. Warren pays seven, but he has a

large room to himself. If you should decide to room with him, I shall

charge you five dollars apiece."

 

"Thank you; I don't think we shall come to any agreement."

 

She went downstairs, and Andy surveyed his room with interest.

 

It was certainly small--quite the narrowest room he had ever seen. There

was one window from which he had a view of the back yard, rather a

forlorn-looking space. There was a cat perched on the high, board fence

separating the yard from that of the adjoining house.

 

Andy liked cats, and called out "Pussy." The cat looked up, and mewed

her recognition and acknowledgment of the friendly overture. Then Eva

came up with a pitcher of water and a towel.

 

"Will one do you?" she asked. "The rest are in the wash, and I'll bring

you another this evening."

 

"One will be sufficient for the present."

 

"So you're comin' here to live?" she said, sociably.

 

"Yes, Eva."

 

"I hope you don't have fits, like Mr. Warren."

 

"I don't think I ever had one yet," answered Andy, with a smile.

 

"I'm glad of that. I'm afraid of gentlemen that have fits."

 

Eva went downstairs, and Andy proceeded to make his ablutions. It was a

dusty day, and the water was refreshing.

 

After he had washed his face and hands he opened his gripsack and took

out his brush and comb, which he placed on a tiny bureau in one corner

of the room. It contained two drawers, and in one of them he put away

the contents of the valise.

 

By this time it was half-past ten, and he put on his hat and went

downstairs. He went out into the street, and after a moment of

indecision walked to Broadway. He thought he could not do better than to

walk down this wonderful thoroughfare, of which he had heard so much.

 

It did occur to him that he might report at the jewelry store, but he

would see enough of that hereafter and he preferred to take a little

walk about the city.

 

Andy used his eyes to good advantage. He looked in at the shop windows,

and watched the human tide that swept by him.

 

Finally he found himself accosted by one of the passersby.

 

"My young friend, could you oblige me with a quarter to take me to

Newark? My pocket has been picked, and--"

 

All this seemed familiar. Andy looked up and recognized at once the

stranger whom he had relieved in front of the Grand Central Depot.

 

"When did you get back from Yonkers?" he asked, abruptly.

 

"I never was in Yonkers."

 

"I gave you a quarter only an hour or two ago to get to your sick sister

in Yonkers."

 

Muttering that there was some mistake, the man hurried away, looking

confused.

 

"I wonder if I shall ever meet him again?" thought Andy.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV.

 

ANDY'S OPPOSITE NEIGHBOR.

 

 

Andy walked about the city, using his eyes industriously. At one o'clock

he went into a restaurant on Park Row, where he got a fair lunch for

twenty-five cents.

 

This was more than he intended to pay usually, but on this first day in

the city he did not care to go back to the boarding house.

 

After lunch he made his way to the entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge, and

got into one of the cars. He enjoyed the prospect visible from the

windows, and felt that this alone would pay him for visiting New York.

 

Just before they reached the other end there was a cry of alarm from a

stout German woman who sat on the other side of the car.

 

"I've been robbed!" she exclaimed. "My purse is gone!"

 

Of course this attracted general attention.

 

"Was there much in the purse, madam?" asked a kind-looking, elderly man.

 

"Yes, there was six dollars--it was a great deal to me."

 

"Are you sure you had it when you entered the car?"

 

"Yes; I took it out of my pocket when I paid for a ticket."

 

"I think your pocket must have been picked."

 

Sitting next to the woman was a man who seemed absorbed in reading a

morning newspaper; even the woman's complaint did not appear to excite

his attention.

 

This led Andy to move his head to get a nearer view of him. He started

in surprise. It was the adventurer, whom he had already met twice that

morning. He had little doubt that he was the thief.

 

It was perhaps somewhat rash to hazard a charge without proof, but he

felt indignant and could not resist the impulse.

 

"I think that man has your purse," he said, pointing to the individual

behind the newspaper.

 

"This is an outrage!" exclaimed the latter, with assumed anger. "I am a

Boston merchant."

 

He was respectably dressed, and the charge did not seem very plausible.

 

"My boy, you should be careful how you make such charges," said his next

neighbor, reprovingly.

 

But Andy was not abashed.

 

"I know something of that man," he said, quietly. "I have met him twice

this morning."

 

"Has he robbed you?"

 

"No; but he asked me to give him a quarter to take him to his sick

sister in Yonkers. This was at the Grand Central Depot; an hour or two

later I met him on Broadway, and he wanted money to take him to Newark."

 

"The boy is entirely mistaken," said the adventurer.

 

At the same instant, under cover of the newspaper, he adroitly let the

stolen purse drop to the floor at his feet.

 

By this time the cars had reached the Brooklyn end of the bridge.

 

"Why, there is your purse," exclaimed the adventurer, with a sudden

glance downward. "You must have dropped it."

 

"Oh, thank you, sir!" said the poor woman, overjoyed.

 

"I hope you won't suspect a gentleman again," said the thief, in lofty

indignation.

 

"No, I won't, sir. I was sure you didn't take it."

 

Andy, who had seen the trick, smiled, but he was satisfied with the

recovery of the purse.

 

The passengers looked puzzled. They had not made up their minds as to

the guilt or innocence of the man charge with the theft.

 

"You see, young man," said Andy's neighbor, in a tone of reproof, "you

were mistaken."

 

Andy smiled again.

 

"I saw him drop the purse on the floor," he answered, quietly.

 

"Bless my soul! Are you sure?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

The passengers left the car, Andy and the thief among them.

 

Andy lost track of his acquaintance till, as they reached Fulton Street,

he heard some one hissing in his ear:

 

"Boy, you are too fresh! I'll get even with you yet!"

 

Then the thief, passing him rapidly, got into a Myrtle Avenue car, and

this was the last he saw of him for that day.

 

Andy walked about the streets of Brooklyn for a while and returned by

Fulton Ferry. Then he went back to his boarding place, arriving there

between three and four o'clock.

 

As he went up to his room he noticed that the door of the large room

opposite was open. A young man, of about thirty, was sitting in a

rocking-chair, reading.

 

He was of medium height and sallow complexion. He wore his hair long,

and had a high, narrow forehead.

 

"I suppose that is the man who has fits," thought Andy.

 

The young man had noticed Andy's entrance into his own room, and, rising

from the rocking-chair, crossed the hall and knocked lightly at the

door.

 

"Come in," said Andy.

 

"I suppose this is Mr. Grant," began the young man, bowing. "I am Mr.

Warren, and live in the room opposite."

 

"Won't you come in and sit down?" asked Andy, with a glance at the only

chair the room contained.

 

"Don't let me take your only chair. I'll sit on the bed, if you don't

mind."

 

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Warren," said Andy, with easy cordiality.

 

"So you know my name?"

 

"Mrs. Norris spoke to me of you."

 

"Did she? What did she say?" asked the young man, showing some

curiosity.

 

"I think she said you were literary--that you wrote for some of the

magazines."

 

"Yes; I am very fond of writing. Do you write?"

 

"Not for publication."

 

"Ah, yes, I see. You would be rather young for an author."

 

"Are you connected with any particular magazine?"

 

"No. I am a free lance. I contribute to several. I have just sent an

article to the _Century_."

 

Andy was rather surprised, for he knew that the _Century_ held high rank

among contemporary magazines. It did not occur to him that any one might

send an article to that magazine, but that to have it accepted and

published would be a different matter.

 

"I suppose you enjoy writing?"

 

"Yes; there is nothing I like so well."

 

"Perhaps you will show me some of your articles."

 

"I can show you a poem which appeared last week in the village paper at

home."

 

"Thank you, I should like to see it."

 

Mr. Warren went up to his room, and speedily returned with a small

weekly paper.

 

On the front page, at the head of the first column, was a short poem by

G. Byron Warren. This was the first stanza, which Mr. Warren volunteered

to read aloud:

 

"'I'd like to be a robin,

And flit from bough to bough;

I'd pour sweet music on the air

If God would teach me how.'"