Mark the Match Boy 21

Mark the Match Boy 21

"Baker hired a new boy to-day, and who do you think he turns out to be?"

 

"Not that boy, Ragged Dick?"

 

"No, you don't think he would give up Cousin James' place, where he

gets a thousand dollars a year, to go into Baker's as boy?"

 

"Who was it, then?"

 

"He used to be a ragged match boy about the streets. Dick Hunter picked

him up somewhere, and got him a situation in our store, on purpose to

spite me, I expect."

 

As the reader is aware, Roswell was mistaken in his supposition, as

Mark obtained the place on his own responsibility.

 

"The boot-black seems to be putting on airs," said Mrs. Crawford.

 

"Yes, he pretends to be the guardian of this match boy."

 

"What's the boy's name?"

 

"Mark Manton."

 

"If I were Mr. Baker," said Mrs. Crawford, "I should be afraid to take

a street boy into my employ. Very likely he isn't honest."

 

"I wish he would steal something," said Roswell, not very charitably.

"Then we could get rid of him, and the boot-black would be pretty well

mortified about it."

 

"He'll be found out sooner or later," said Mrs. Crawford. "You may

depend on that. You'd better keep a sharp lookout for him, Roswell. If

you catch him in stealing, it will help you with Mr. Baker, or ought

to."

 

This would have comforted Roswell more, but that he was privately of

opinion that Mark was honest, and would not be likely to give him any

chance of detecting him in stealing. Still, by a little management

on his part, he might cause him to fall under suspicion. It would of

course be miserably mean on his part to implicate a little boy in a

false charge; but Roswell _was_ a mean boy, and he was not scrupulous

where his dislike was concerned. He privately decided to think over

this new plan for getting Mark into trouble.

 

"Isn't dinner ready, mother?" he asked, rather impatiently.

 

"It will be in about ten minutes."

 

"I'm as hungry as a bear."

 

"You can always do your part at the table," said his cousin

unpleasantly.

 

"I don't know why I shouldn't. I have to work hard enough."

 

"You are always talking about your hard work. My belief is that you

don't earn your wages."

 

"I should think it was a pity if I didn't earn six dollars a week,"

said Roswell.

 

"Come, James, you're always hard on Roswell," said Mrs. Crawford. "I am

sure he has hard times enough without his own relations turning against

him."

 

James Gilbert did not reply. He was naturally of a sarcastic turn,

and, seeing Roswell's faults, was not inclined to spare them. He might

have pointed them out, however, in a kindly manner, and then his young

cousin might possibly been benefited; but Gilbert felt very little

interest in Roswell.

 

Immediately after dinner Roswell took up his cap. His mother observed

this, and inquired, "Where are you going, Roswell?"

 

"I'm going out to walk."

 

"Why don't you go with your cousin?"

 

James Gilbert had also taken his hat.

 

"He don't want to be bothered with me," said Roswell, and this

statement Gilbert did not take the trouble to contradict.

 

"Why can't you stay in and read?"

 

"I haven't got anything to read. Besides I've been cooped up in the

store all day, and I want to breathe a little fresh air."

 

There was reason in this, and his mother did not gainsay it, but still

she felt that it was not quite safe for a boy to spend his evenings out

in a large city, without any one to look after him.

 

Roswell crossed Broadway, and, proceeding down Eighth Street, met a boy

of about his own age in front of the Cooper Institute.

 

"How long have you been waiting, Ralph?" he asked.

 

"Not long. I only just came up."

 

"I couldn't get away as soon as I expected. Dinner was rather late."

 

"Have a cigar, Roswell?" asked Ralph.

 

"Yes," said Roswell, "I don't mind."

 

"You'll find these cigars pretty good. I paid ten cents apiece."

 

"I don't see how you can afford it," said Roswell. "Your cigars must

cost you considerable."

 

"I don't always buy ten-centers. Generally I pay only five cents."

 

"Well, that mounts up when you smoke three or four in a day. Let me

see, what wages do you get?"

 

"Seven dollars a week."

 

"That's only a dollar more than I get," said Roswell.

 

"I know one thing, it's miserably small," said Ralph. "We ought to get

twice what we do."

 

"These shop-keepers are awfully mean," said Roswell, beginning to puff

away at his cigar.

 

"That's so."

 

"But still you always seem to have plenty of money. That's what puzzles

me," said Roswell. "I'm always pinched. I have to pay my mother all

my wages but a dollar a week. And what's a dollar?" he repeated,

scornfully.

 

"Well," said Ralph, "my board costs me all but a dollar. So we are

about even there."

 

"Do you pay your board out of your earnings?"

 

"I have to. My governor won't foot the bills, so I have to."

 

"Still you seem to have plenty of money," persisted Roswell.

 

"Yes, I look out for that," said Ralph Graham, significantly.

 

"But I don't see how you manage. I might look out all day, and I

wouldn't be any the better off."

 

"Perhaps you don't go the right way to work," said his companion,

taking the cigar from his mouth, and knocking off the ashes.

 

"Then I wish you'd tell me the right way."

 

"Why, the fact is," said Ralph, slowly, "I make my employer pay me

higher wages than he thinks he does."

 

"I don't see how you can do that," said Roswell, who didn't yet

understand.

 

Ralph took the cigar, now nearly smoked out, from his mouth, and threw

it on the pavement. He bent towards Roswell, and whispered something in

his ear. Roswell started and turned pale.

 

"But," he said, "that's dishonest."

 

"Hush!" said Ralph, "don't speak so loud. Oughtn't employers to pay

fair wages,--tell me that?"

 

"Certainly."

 

"But if they don't and won't, what then?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Well, I do. We must help ourselves, that is all."

 

"But," said Roswell, "what would be thought of you if it were found

out?"

 

"There's plenty of clerks that do it. Bless you, it's expected. I heard

a man say once that he expected to lose about so much by his clerks."

 

"But I think it would be better to pay good wages."

 

"So do I, only you see they won't do it."

 

"How much do you--do you make outside of your salary?" asked Roswell.

 

"From three to five dollars a week."

 

"I should think they'd find you out."

 

"I don't let them. I'm pretty careful. Well, what shall we do this

evening? There's a pretty good play at Niblo's. Suppose we go there."

 

"I haven't got money enough," said Roswell.

 

"Well, I'll pay for both to-night. You can pay another time."

 

"All right!" said Roswell, though he did not know when he should have

money enough to return the favor. They crossed to Broadway, and walked

leisurely to Niblo's Garden. The performance lasted till late, and it

was after eleven when Roswell Crawford got into bed