Mark the Match Boy 17

Mark the Match Boy 17

"So it does to me. Perhaps I've seen him about the streets somewhere."

 

"I have it," said Fosdick, suddenly; "don't you remember the boy we saw

sleeping in the cabin of the Fulton Ferry-boat?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I think he is the one. Mark," he continued, turning to the match boy,

"didn't you sleep one night on a Brooklyn ferry-boat about three months

ago?"

 

"Yes," said Mark.

 

"And did you find anything in your vest-pocket in the morning?"

 

"Yes," said the match boy with interest. "I found a dollar, and didn't

know where it came from. Was it you that put it in?"

 

"He had a hand in it," said Fosdick, pointing with a smile to his

room-mate.

 

"I was very glad to get it," said Mark. "I only had eight cents

besides, and that gave me enough to buy some matches. That was at the

time I ran away."

 

"Who did you run away from?"

 

"From Mother Watson."

 

"Mother Watson?" repeated Dick. "I wonder if I don't know her. She is a

very handsome old lady, with a fine red complexion, particularly about

the nose."

 

"Yes," said Mark, with a smile.

 

"And she takes whiskey when she can get it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"How did you fall in with her?"

 

"She promised to take care of me when my mother died, but instead of

that she wanted me to earn money for her."

 

"Yes, she was always a very disinterested old lady. So it appears you

didn't like her as a guardian?"

 

"No."

 

"Then suppose you take me. Would you like to be my ward?"

 

"I think I would, but I don't know what it means," said Mark.

 

"It means that I'm to look after you," said Dick, "just as if I was

your uncle or grandfather. You may call me grandfather if you want to."

 

"Oh, you're too young," said Mark, amused in spite of his weakness.

 

"Then we won't decide just at present about the name. But I forgot all

about your being hungry."

 

"I'm not very hungry."

 

"At any rate you haven't had anything to eat since morning, and need

something. I'll go down and see Mrs. Wilson about it."

 

Richard Hunter soon explained matters to Mrs. Wilson, to whom he

offered to pay an extra weekly sum for Mark, and arranged that a small

single bed should be placed in one corner of the room temporarily in

which the match boy should sleep. He speedily reappeared with a bowl of

broth, a cup of tea, and some dry toast. The sight of these caused the

match boy's eyes to brighten, and he was able to do very good justice

to all.

 

"Now," said Richard Hunter, "I will call in a doctor, and find out what

is the matter with my little ward."

 

In the course of the evening Dr. Pemberton, a young dispensary

physician, whose acquaintance Richard had casually made, called at his

request and looked at the patient.

 

"He is not seriously sick," he pronounced. "It is chiefly debility that

troubles him, brought on probably by exposure, and over-exertion in

this languid spring weather."

 

"Then you don't think he is going to have a fever?" said Dick.

 

"No, not if he remains under your care. Had he continued in the street,

I think he would not have escaped one."

 

"What shall we do for him?"

 

"Rest is most important of all. That, with nourishing food and freedom

from exposure, will soon bring him round again."

 

"He shall have all these."

 

"I suppose you know him, as you take so much interest in him?"

 

"No, I never saw him but once before to-day, but I am able to befriend

him, and he has no other friends."

 

"There are not many young men who would take all this trouble about a

poor match boy," said the doctor.

 

"It's because they don't know how hard it is to be friendless and

neglected," said Dick. "I've known that feeling, and it makes me pity

those who are in the same condition I once was."

 

"I wish there were more like you, Mr. Hunter," said Dr. Pemberton.

"There would be less suffering in the world. As to our little patient

here, I have no doubt he will do well, and soon be on his legs again."

 

Indeed Mark was already looking better and feeling better. The rest

which he had obtained during the day, and the refreshment he had just

taken, were precisely what he needed. He soon fell asleep, and Richard

and Fosdick, lighting the gas lamp on the centre-table, sat down to

their evening studies.

 

In a few days Mark was decidedly better, but it was thought best that

he should still keep the room. He liked it very well in the evening

when Dick and Fosdick were at home, but he felt rather lonesome in the

daytime. Richard Hunter thought of this one day, and said, "Can you

read, Mark?"

 

"Yes," said the match boy.

 

"Who taught you? Not Mother Watson, surely."

 

"No, she couldn't read herself. It was my mother who taught me."

 

"I think I must get you two or three books of stories to read while we

are away in the daytime."

 

"You are spending too much money for me, Mr Hunter."

 

"Remember I am your guardian, and it is my duty to take care of you."

 

The next morning on his way down town, Richard Hunter stepped into a

retail bookstore on Broadway. As he entered, a boy, if indeed it be

allowable to apply such a term to a personage so consequential in his

manners, came forward.

 

"What, Roswell Crawford, are you here?" asked Richard Hunter, in

surprise.

 

Roswell, who has already been mentioned in this story, and who figured

considerably in previous volumes of this series, answered rather

stiffly to this salutation.

 

"Yes," he said. "I am here for a short time. I came in to oblige Mr.

Baker."

 

"You were always very obliging, Roswell," said Richard, good-humoredly.

 

Roswell did not appear to appreciate this compliment. He probably

thought it savored of irony.

 

"Do you want to buy anything this morning?" he said, shortly.

 

"Yes; I would like to look at some books of fairy stories."

 

"For your own reading, I suppose," said Roswell.

 

"I may read them, but I am getting them for my ward."

 

"Is he a boot-black?" sneered Roswell, who knew all about Dick's early

career.

 

"No," said Richard, "he's a match boy; so if you've got any books that

you can warrant to be just the thing for match boys, I should like to

see them."

 

"We don't have many customers of that class," said Roswell,

unpleasantly. "They generally go to cheaper establishments, when they

are able to read."

 

"Do they?" said Dick. "I'm glad you've got into a place where you

only meet the cream of society," and Dick glanced significantly at a

red-nosed man who came in to buy a couple of sheets of notepaper.

 

Roswell colored.

 

"There are some exceptions," he said, and glanced pointedly at Richard Hunter himself.