Mark the Match Boy 10
"Yes, and a hard bed too; but there's a good many that are no better
off now. I always feel like doing something to help along those like
this little chap here."
"I wonder what he is,--a boot-black?"
"He hasn't got any brush or box with him. Perhaps he's a newsboy. I
think I'll give him a surprise."
"Wake him up, do you mean?"
"No, poor little chap! Let him sleep. I'll put fifty cents in his
pocket, and when he wakes up he won't know where it came from."
"That's a good idea, Dick. I'll do the same. All right."
"Here's the money. Put mine in with yours. Don't wake him up."
Dick walked softly up to the match boy, and gently inserted the
money--one dollar--in one of the pockets of his ragged vest.
Mark was so fast asleep that he was entirely unconscious of the
benevolent act.
"That'll make him open his eyes in the morning," he said.
"Unless somebody relieves him of the money during his sleep."
"Not much chance of that. Pickpockets won't be very apt to meddle with
such a ragged little chap as that, unless it's in a fit of temporary
aberration of mind."
"You're right, Dick. But we must hurry out now, or we shall be carried
back to Brooklyn."
"And so get more than our money's worth. I wouldn't want to cheat the
corporation so extensively as that."
So the two friends passed out of the boat, and left the match boy
asleep in the cabin, quite unconscious that good fortune had hovered
over him, and made him richer by a dollar, while he slept.
While we are waiting for him to awake, we may as well follow Richard
Hunter and his friend home.
Fosdick's good fortune, which we recorded in the earlier chapters
of this volume had made no particular change in their arrangements.
They were already living in better style than was usual among youths
situated as they were. There was this difference, however, that whereas
formerly Dick paid the greater part of the joint expense it was now
divided equally. It will be remembered that Fosdick's interest on the
twenty bank shares purchased in his name amounted to one hundred and
sixty dollars annually, and this just about enabled him to pay his own
way, though not leaving him a large surplus for clothing and incidental
expenses. It could not be long, however, before his pay would be
increased at the store, probably by two dollars a week. Until that time
he could economize a little; for upon one thing he had made up his
mind,--not to trench upon his principal except in case of sickness or
absolute necessity.
The boys had not forgotten or neglected the commission which they had
undertaken for Mr. Hiram Bates. They had visited, on the evening after
he left, the Newsboys' Lodging House, then located at the corner of
Fulton and Nassau Streets, in the upper part of the "Sun" building, and
had consulted Mr. O'Connor, the efficient superintendent, as to the boy
of whom they were in search. But he had no information to supply them
with. He promised to inquire among the boys who frequented the lodge,
as it was possible that there might be some among them who might have
fallen in with a boy named Talbot.
Richard Hunter also sought out some of his old acquaintances, who were
still engaged in blacking boots, or selling newspapers, and offered a
reward of five dollars for the discovery of a boy of ten, named Talbot,
or John Talbot.
As the result of this offer a red-haired boy was brought round to the
counting-room one day, who stoutly asserted that his name was John
Talbot, and his guide in consequence claimed the reward. Dick, however,
had considerable doubt as to the genuineness of this claim, and called
the errand-boy, known to the readers of earlier volumes, as Micky
Maguire.
"Micky," said Richard, "this boy says he is John Talbot. Do you know
him?"
"Know him!" repeated Micky; "I've knowed him ever since he was so high.
He's no more John Talbot than I am. His name is Tim Hogan, and I'll
defy him to say it isn't."
Tim looked guilty, and his companion gave up the attempt to obtain the
promised reward. He had hired Tim by the promise of a dollar to say he
was John Talbot, hoping by the means to clear four dollars for himself.
"That boy'll rise to a seat in the Common Council if he lives long
enough," said Dick. "He's an unusually promising specimen."
CHAPTER IX.
A PLEASANT DISCOVERY.
The night wore away, and still Mark, the match boy, continued to sleep
soundly in the corner of the cabin where he had established himself.
One of the boat hands passing through noticed him, and was on the point
of waking him, but, observing his weary look and thin attire, refrained
from an impulse of compassion. He had a boy of about the same age, and
the thought came to him that some time his boy might be placed in the
same situation, and this warmed his heart towards the little vagrant.
"I suppose I ought to wake him up," he reflected, "but he isn't doing
any harm there, and he may as well have his sleep out."
So Mark slept on,--a merciful sleep, in which he forgot his poverty
and friendless condition; a sleep which brought new strength and
refreshment to his limbs.
When he woke up it was six o'clock in the morning. But it was quite
dark still, for it was in December, and, so far as appearances went,
it might have been midnight. But already sleepy men and boys were on
their way to the great city to their daily work. Some were employed a
considerable distance up town, and must be at their posts at seven.
Others were employed in the markets and must be stirring at an early
hour. There were keepers of street-stands, who liked to be ready
for the first wave in the tide of daily travel that was to sweep
without interruption through the city streets until late at night.
So, altogether, even at this early hour there was quite a number of
passengers.
Mark rubbed his eyes, not quite sure where he was, or how he got there.
He half expected to hear the harsh voice of Mother Watson, which
usually aroused him to his daily toil. But there was no Mother Watson
to be seen, only sleepy, gaping men and boys, clad in working dresses.
Mark sat up and looked around him.
"Well, young chap, you've had a nap, haven't you?" said a man at his
side, who appeared, from a strong smell of paint about his clothes, to
be a journeyman painter.
"Yes," said Mark. "Is it morning?"
"To be sure it is. What did you expect it was?"
"Then I've been sleeping all night," said the match boy, in surprise.
"Where?"
"Here."
"In that corner?" asked the painter.
"Yes," said Mark; "I came aboard last night, and fell asleep, and
that's the last I remember."
"It must be rather hard to the bones," said the painter. "I think that
I should prefer a regular bed."
"I do feel rather sore," said the match boy; "but I slept bully."
"A little chap like you can curl up anywhere. I don't think I could
sleep very well on these seats. Haven't you got any home?"
"Yes," said Mark, "a sort of a home."
"Then why didn't you sleep at home?"
"I knew I should get a beating if I went home without twenty-five
cents."
"Well, that's hard luck. I wonder how I should feel," he continued,
laughing, "if my wife gave me a beating when I came home short of
funds."
But here the usual bump indicated the arrival of the boat at the slip,
and all the passengers, the painter included, rose, and hurried to the
edge of the boat.
With the rest went Mark. He had no particular object in going thus
early; but his sleep was over, and there was no inducement to remain
longer in the boat.
The rain was over also. The streets were still wet from the effects of
the quantity that had fallen, but there was no prospect of any more.
Mark's wet clothes had dried in the warm, dry atmosphere of the cabin,
and he felt considerably better than on the evening previous.
Now, however, he could not help wondering what Mother Watson had
thought of his absence.
"She'll be mad, I know," he thought. "I suppose she'll whip me when I
get back."
This certainly was not a pleasant thought. The leather strap was an
old enemy of his, which he dreaded, and with good reason. He was afraid
that he would get a more severe beating, for not having returned the
night before, at the hands of the angry old woman.
"I wish I didn't live with Mother Watson," he thought.
Straight upon this thought came another. "Why should he?"
Mother Watson had no claim upon him. Upon his mother's death she had
assumed the charge of him, but, as it turned out, rather for her own
advantage than his. She had taken all his earnings, and given him in
return a share of her miserable apartment, a crust of bread or two,
daily seasoned with occasional assaults with the leather strap. It had
never occurred to Mark before, but now for the first time it dawned
upon him that he had the worst of the bargain. He could live more
comfortably by retaining his earnings, and spending them upon himself.
Mark was rather a timid, mild-mannered boy, or he would sooner have
rebelled against the tyranny and abuse of Mother Watson. But he had
had little confidence in himself, and wanted somebody to lean on. In
selecting the old woman, who had acted thus far as his guardian, he
had leaned upon a broken reed. The last night's experience gave him
a little courage. He reflected that he could sleep in the Newsboys'
Lodging House for five cents, or on the ferry-boat again for two, while
the fare at his old home was hardly so sumptuous but that he could obtain the same without very large expense.
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