Mark the Match Boy 15
"No, sir."
"I suppose you know the rules of the place."
"Yes, sir; Ben has told me."
"You had better go and wash. We shall have supper pretty quick. Have
you any money?"
"Yes, sir."
Mark took out his hoard of money, and showed it to the superintendent,
who was surprised at the amount.
"How did you get so much?" he asked.
"Part of it was given me," said Mark.
"What are you going to do with it? You don't need it all?"
"Will you keep it for me, sir?"
"I will put as much of it as you can spare into the bank for you. This
is our bank."
He pointed to a table beside the railing on the outside. The top of
it was pierced with narrow slits, each having a number attached. Each
compartment was assigned to any boy who desired it, and his daily
earnings were dropped in at the end of the day. Once a month the bank
was opened, and the depositor was at liberty to withdraw his savings if
he desired it. This is an excellent arrangement, as it has a tendency
to teach frugal habits to the young patrons of the Lodge. Extravagance
is one of their besetting sins. Many average a dollar and over as
daily earnings, yet are always ragged and out at elbows, and often are
unsupplied with the small price of a night's lodging at the Home. The
money is squandered on gambling, cigars, and theatre-going, while the
same sum would make them comfortable and independent of charity. The
disposition to save is generally the first encouraging symptom in a
street boy, and shows that he has really a desire to rise above his
circumstances, and gain a respectable position in the world.
Ben, who had long frequented the Lodging House off and on, led the
way to the washing-room, where Mark, to his satisfaction, was able to
cleanse himself from the dust and impurity of the street. At Mother
Watson's he had had no accommodations of the kind, as the old lady was
not partial to water either internally or externally. He was forced to
snatch such opportunities as he could find.
"Now," said Ben, "we'll go into the gymnasium."
A room opposite the main room had been fitted up with a few of the
principal appliances of a gymnasium, and these were already in use by
quite a number of boys.
Mark looked on, but did not participate, partly from bashfulness, and
partly because he did not very well understand the use of the different
appliances.
"How do you like it?" asked Ben.
"Very much," said Mark, with satisfaction. "I'm glad you brought me
here."
"I'll show you the beds by and by," said Ben.
The rooms on the floor below were used for lodging. Tiers of neat beds,
some like those in a steamboat or a hospital, filled a large room.
They were very neat in appearance, and looked comfortable. In order to
insure their continuing neat, the superintendent requires such as need
it to wash their feet before retiring to bed.
The supper was of course plain, but of good quality and sufficient
quantity.
About nine o'clock Mark got into the neat bed which was assigned
him, and felt that it was more satisfactory even than the cabin of a
Brooklyn ferry-boat. He slept peacefully except towards morning, when
he dreamed that his old persecutor, Mother Watson, was about to apply
the dreaded strap. He woke up terrified, but soon realized with deep
satisfaction that he was no longer in her clutches.
CHAPTER XIII.
WHAT BEFELL THE MATCH BOY.
During the next three months Mark made his home at the Lodging House.
He was easily able to meet the small charges of the Lodge for bed and
breakfast, and saved up ten dollars besides in the bank. Ben Gibson
began to look upon him as quite a capitalist.
"I don't see how you save up so much money, Mark," he said. "You don't
earn more'n half as much as I do."
"It's because you spend so much, Ben. It costs you considerable for
cigars and such things, you know, and then you go to the Old Bowery
pretty often."
"A feller must have some fun," said Ben. "They've got a tearin' old
play at the Bowery now. You'd better come to-night."
Mark shook his head.
"I feel pretty tired when it comes night," he said. "I'd rather stay at
home."
"You aint so tough as I am," said Ben.
"No," said Mark, "I don't feel very strong. I think something's the
matter with me."
"Nothin' aint ever the matter with me," said Ben, complacently; "but
you're a puny little chap, that look as if you might blow away some
day."
It was now April, and the weather was of that mild character that saps
the strength and produces a feeling of weakness and debility. Mark had
been exposed during the winter to the severity of stormy weather, and
more than once got thoroughly drenched. It was an exposure that Ben
would only have laughed at, but Mark was slightly built, without much
strength of constitution, and he had been feeling very languid for a
few days, so that it was with an effort that he dragged himself round
during the day with his little bundle of matches.
This conversation with Ben took place in the morning just as both boys
were going to work.
They separated at the City Hall Park, Ben finding a customer in front
of the "Times" building, while Mark, after a little deliberation,
decided to go on to Pearl Street with his matches. He had visited the
offices in most of the lower streets, but this was a new region to him,
and he thought he might meet with better success there. So he kept on
his way.
The warm sun and the sluggish air made his head ache, and he felt
little disposition to offer his wares for sale. He called at one or two
offices, but effected no sales. At length he reached a large warehouse
with these names displayed on the sign over the door:--
"ROCKWELL & COOPER."
This, as the reader will remember, was the establishment in which
Richard Hunter, formerly Ragged Dick, was now book-keeper.
At this point a sudden faintness came over Mark, and he sank to the
ground insensible.
A moment before Richard Hunter handed a couple of letters to the office
boy,--known to the readers of the earlier volumes in this series as
Micky Maguire,--and said, "Michael, I should like to have you carry
these at once to the post-office. On the way you may stop at Trescott
& Wayne's, and get this bill cashed, if possible."
"All right, Mr. Hunter," said Michael, respectfully.
Richard Hunter and Micky Maguire had been boot-blacks together, and
had had more than one contest for the supremacy. They had been sworn
enemies, and Micky had done his utmost to injure Richard, but the
latter, by his magnanimity, had finally wholly overcome the antipathy
of his former foe, and, when opportunity offered, had lifted him to a
position in the office where he was himself employed. In return, Micky
had become an enthusiastic admirer of Richard, and, so far from taking
advantage of their former relations, had voluntarily taken up the habit
of addressing him as Mr. Hunter.
Michael went out on his errand, but just outside the door came near
stepping upon the prostrate form of the little match boy.
"Get up here!" he said, roughly, supposing at first that Mark had
thrown himself down out of laziness and gone to sleep.
Mark didn't answer, and Micky, bending over, saw his fixed __EXPRESSION__
and waxen pallor.
"Maybe the little chap's dead," he thought, startled, and, without
more ado, took him up in his strong arms and carried him into the
counting-room.
"Who have you got there, Michael?" asked Richard Hunter, turning round
in surprise.
"A little match boy that was lyin' just outside the door. He looks as
if he might be dead."
Richard jumped at once from his stool, and, approaching the boy, looked
earnestly in his face.
"He has fainted away," he said, after a pause. "Bring some water,
quick!"
Micky brought a glass of water, which was thrown in the face of Mark.
The match boy gave a little shiver, and, opening his eyes, fixed them
upon Richard Hunter.
"Where am I?" he asked, vacantly.
"You are with friends," said Richard, gently. "You were found at our
door faint. Do you feel sick?"
"I feel weak," said Mark.
"Have you been well lately?""No, I've felt tired and weak.""Are you a match boy?""Yes.""Have you parents living?"
"No," said Mark.
"Poor fellow!" said Richard. "I know how to pity you. I have no parents either."
"But you have got money," said Mark. "You don't have to live in the street."
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