Mark the Match Boy 14

Mark the Match Boy 14

"Then you don't want to go back with her?"

 

"No, I'm going to take care of myself."

 

"Is there anybody that will prove the truth of what you say?"

 

"Yes," said Mark, "I'll call Mrs. Flanagan."

 

"Who is she?"

 

"She lives in the same house with us."

 

"Shall he call her, or will you give him up?" asked the officer. "By

the way, I think you're the same woman I saw drunk in the street last

week."

 

Mother Watson took alarm at this remark, and, muttering that it was

hard upon a poor widder woman to take her only nephew from her,

shuffled off, leaving Mark and Ben in full possession of the field,

with the terrible strap thrown in as a trophy of the victory they had

won.

 

"I know her of old," said the policeman. "I guess you'll do as well

without her as with her."

 

Satisfied that there would be no more trouble, he resumed his walk, and

Mark felt that now in truth he was free and independent.

 

As Mother Watson will not reappear in this story, it may be said that

only a fortnight later she was arrested for an assault upon her sister,

the proprietor of the apple-stand, from whom she had endeavored in

vain to extort a loan, and was sentenced to the island for a period of

three months, during which she ceased to grace metropolitan society.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII.

 

THE NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE.

 

 

When Mother Watson had turned the corner, Mark breathed a sigh of

relief.

 

"Don't you think she'll come back again?" he asked anxiously of Ben

Gibson.

 

"No," said Ben, "she's scared of the copp. If she ever catches you

alone, and tries to come any of her games, just call a copp, and she'll

be in a hurry to leave."

 

"Well," said Mark, "I guess I'll try to sell the rest of my matches. I

haven't got but a few."

 

"All right; I'll try for another shine, and then we'll go and have some

dinner. I'd like to get hold of another greeny."

 

Mark started with his few remaining matches. The feeling that he was

his own master, and had a little hoard of money for present expenses,

gave him courage, and he was no longer deterred by his usual timidity.

In an hour he had succeeded in getting rid of all his matches, and he

was now the possessor of two dollars and seventy-five cents, including

the money Ben Gibson owed him. Ben also was lucky enough to get two

ten-cent customers, which helped his receipts by twenty cents. Ben,

it may be remarked, was not an advocate of the one-price system.

He blacked boots for five cents when he could get no more. When he

thought there was a reasonable prospect of getting ten cents, that was

his price. Sometimes, as in the case of the young man from the rural

districts, he advanced his fee to twenty-five cents. I don't approve

Ben's system for my part. I think it savors considerably of sharp

practice, and that fair prices in the long run are the best for all

parties.

 

The boys met again at one o'clock, and adjourned to a cheap underground

restaurant on Nassau Street, where they obtained what seemed to them a

luxurious meal of beefsteak, with a potato, a small plate of bread, and

a cup of what went by the name of coffee. The steak was not quite up

to the same article at Delmonico's, and there might be some reasonable

doubts as to whether the coffee was a genuine article; but as neither

of the boys knew the difference, we may quote Ben's familiar phrase,

and say, "What's the odds?"

 

Indeed, the free and easy manner in which Ben threw himself back in his

chair, and the condescending manner in which he assured the waiter that

the steak was "a prime article," could hardly have been surpassed in

the most aristocratic circles.

 

"Well, Mark, have you had enough?" asked Ben.

 

"Yes," said Mark.

 

"Well, I haven't," said Ben. "I guess I'll have some puddin'. Look

here, Johnny," to the colored waiter, "just bring a feller a plate of

apple dump with both kinds of sauce."

 

After giving this liberal order Ben tilted his chair back, and began to

pick his teeth with his fork. He devoted himself with assiduity to the

consumption of the pudding, and concluded his expensive repast by the

purchase of a two-cent cigar, with which he ascended to the street.

 

"Better have a cigar, Mark," he said.

 

"No, thank you," said the match boy. "I think I'd rather not."

 

"Oh, you're feared of being sick. You'll come to it in time. All

business men smoke."

 

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the events of the afternoon. Mark was

satisfied with the result of his morning's work, and waited about with

Ben till the close of the afternoon, when the question came up, as to

where the night should be passed.

 

"I guess we'd better go to the Lodge," said Ben. "Were you ever there?"

 

"No," said Mark.

 

"Well, come along. They'll give us a jolly bed, all for six cents, and

there's a good, warm room to stay in. Then we can get breakfast in the

mornin' for six cents more."

 

"All right," said Mark. "We'll go."

 

The down-town Newsboys' Lodging House was at that time located at

the corner of Fulton and Nassau Streets. It occupied the fifth and

sixth stories of the building then known as the "Sun" building, owned

by Moses S. Beach, the publisher of that journal. In the year 1868

circumstances rendered it expedient to remove the Lodge to a building

in Park Place. It is to be hoped that at some day not far distant the

Children's Aid Society, who carry on this beneficent institution, will

be able to erect a building of their own in some eligible locality,

which can be permanently devoted to a purpose so praiseworthy.

 

Ben and Mark soon reached the entrance to the Lodge on Fulton Street.

They ascended several flights of narrow stairs till they reached the

top story. Then, opening a door at the left, they found themselves in

the main room of the Lodge. It was a low-studded room of considerable

dimensions, amply supplied with windows, looking out on Fulton and

Nassau Streets. At the side nearest the door was a low platform,

separated from the rest of the room by a railing. On this platform

were a table and two or three chairs. This was the place for the

superintendent, and for gentlemen who from time to time address the

boys.

 

The superintendent at that time was Mr. Charles O'Connor, who still

retains the office. Probably no one could be found better adapted to

the difficult task of managing the class of boys who avail themselves

of the good offices of the Newsboys' Home. His mild yet firm manner,

and more than all the conviction that he is their friend, and feels a

hearty interest in their welfare, secure a degree of decorum and good

behavior which could hardly be anticipated. Oaths and vulgar speech,

however common in the street, are rarely heard here, or, if heard, meet

with instant rebuke.

 

The superintendent was in the room when Ben and Mark entered.

 

"Well, Ben, what luck have you had to-day?" said Mr. O'Connor.

 

"Pretty good," said Ben.

 

"And who is that with you?"

 

"Mother Watson's nephew," said Ben, with a grimace.

 

"He's only joking, sir," said Mark. "My name is Mark Manton."

 

"I am glad to see you, Mark," said the superintendent. "What is your

business?"

 

"I sell matches, sir."

 

"Have you parents living?"

 

"No, sir; they are both dead."

 

"Where have you been living?"

 

"In Vandewater Street."

 

"With any one?"

 

"Yes, with a woman they call Mother Watson."

 

"Is she a relation of yours?"

 

"No, sir," said Mark, hastily.

 

"What sort of a woman is she?"

 

"Bad enough, sir. She gets drunk about every day and used to beat me

with a strap when I did not bring home as much money as she expected."

 

"So you have left her?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Have you ever been up here before?"