Mark the Match Boy 24
"But I mean to have him come too," said Mr. Greyson. "Our table is a
large one, as you know, and we can accommodate three as well as two."
"Do come, Dick," said Ida Greyson.
Richard was seldom able to resist a request preferred by Ida, and
surrendered at discretion. So, as usual, Fosdick walked on with Mr.
Greyson, this time with Mark beside him, while Richard walked with Ida.
"Who is that little boy, Dick?" asked the young lady.
"That's my ward, Miss Ida," said Richard.
"You don't mean to say you are his guardian, Dick?"
"Yes, I believe I am."
"Why," said the lively young lady, "I always thought guardians were
old, and cross, and bald-headed."
"I don't know but that description will suit me after a while," said
Dick. "My hair has been coming out lately."
"Has it, really?" said Ida, who took this seriously. "I hope you won't
be bald. I don't think you would look well."
"But I might wear a wig."
"I don't like wigs," said the young lady, decidedly. "If you were a
lady now, you might wear a cap. How funny you'd look in a cap!" and she
burst out into a peal of merry laughter.
"I think a cap would be more becoming to you," said Richard.
"Do you ever scold your ward?" asked Ida.
"No, he's a pretty good boy. He don't need it."
"Where did you get acquainted with him? Have you known him long?"
"He was taken sick at the door of our office one day. So I had him
carried to my boarding-place, and took care of him till he got well."
"That was very good of you," said Ida, approvingly. "What did he use to
do?"
"He was a match boy."
"Does he sell matches now?"
"No; he has got a place in a bookstore."
"What did you say his name was?"
"Mark."
"That's a pretty good name, but I don't like it so well as Dick."
"Thank you," said Richard. "I am glad you like my name."
At this moment they were passing the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Standing on
the steps were two acquaintances of ours, Roswell Crawford and Ralph
Graham. They had cigars in their mouths, and there was a swaggering
air about them, which was not likely to prepossess any sensible person
in their favor. They had not been to church, but had spent the morning
in sauntering about the city, finally bringing up at the Fifth Avenue
Hotel, where, posting themselves conspicuously on the steps, they
watched the people passing by on their way from church.
Richard Hunter bowed to Roswell, as it was his rule never to be found
wanting in politeness. Roswell was ill-mannered enough not to return
the salutation.
"Who is that, Roswell?" asked Ralph Graham.
"It's a boot-black," said Roswell, sneeringly.
"What do you mean? I am speaking of that nice-looking young fellow that
bowed to you just now."
"His name is Hunter. He used to be a boot-black, as I told you; but
he's got up in the world, and now he's putting on airs."
"He seems to have got into good company, at any rate. He is walking
with the daughter of Mr. Greyson, a rich merchant down town."
"He's got impudence enough for anything," said Roswell, with a feeling
of bitter envy which he could not conceal. "It really makes me sick to
see him strutting about as if he were a gentleman's son."
"Like you," suggested Ralph, slyly; for he had already been informed by
Roswell, on various occasions, that he was "a gentleman's son."
"Yes," said Roswell, "I'm a gentleman's son, if I'm not so lucky as
some people. Did you see that small boy in front?"
"Walking with Mr. Greyson?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"What of him?"
"That's our errand boy."
"Is it?" asked Ralph, in some surprise. "He seems to be one of the
lucky kind too."
"He sold matches about the streets till a few weeks ago," said Roswell,
spitefully.
"He sold them to some purpose, it seems, for he's evidently going home
to dine with Mr. Greyson."
"Mr. Greyson seems to be very fond of low company. That's all I can
say."
"When you and I get to be as rich as he is, we can choose our own
company."
"I hope I shall choose better than he."
"Well, let's drop them," said Ralph, who was getting tired of the
subject. "I must be getting home to dinner."
"So must I."
"Come round to my room, after dinner, and we'll have another smoke."
"Yes, I'll come round. I suppose mother'll be wanting me to go to
church with her, but I've got tired of going to church."
CHAPTER XX.
THE MADISON CLUB.
Two days afterwards, when Roswell as usual met his friend Ralph, the
latter said, with an air of importance:--
"I've got news for you, Roswell."
"What is it?" inquired Roswell.
"You've been unanimously elected a member of our club."
"Your club?"
"Yes; didn't I ever mention it to you?"
"No."
"Well, I believe I didn't. You see I intended to propose your name as a
member, and not feeling certain whether you would be elected, I thought
I had better not mention it to you."
"What is the name of the club?" asked Roswell, eagerly.
"The Madison Club."
"What made you call it that?"
"Why, you see, there's one fellow in the club that lives on Madison
Avenue, and we thought that would be an aristocratic name, so we chose
it."
Roswell liked whatever was aristocratic, and the name pleased him.
"Did you say I was unanimously elected, Ralph?" he asked.
"Yes; I proposed your name at our meeting last night. It was on account
of that, that I couldn't meet you as usual. But hereafter we can go
together to the meetings."
"How many fellows belong?"
"Twenty. We don't mean to have more than twenty-five. We are quite
particular whom we elect."
"Of course," said Roswell, in a tone of importance. "You wouldn't want
a set of low fellows like that Dick Hunter."
"No. By the way, I've got somewhere your notification from the
secretary. Here it is."
He drew from his pocket a note adorned with a large and elaborate seal,
which Roswell, opening found read as follows:--
"MADISON CLUB.
"Mr. ROSWELL CRAWFORD.
"Sir:--I have the honor of informing you that at the last regular
meeting of the Madison Club you were unanimously elected a member.
"Yours respectfully,
"JAMES TRACY."
This document Roswell read with much satisfaction. It sounded well
to say that he was a member of the Madison Club, and his unanimous
election could only be regarded as a high compliment.
"I will join," he said, pompously. "When is the next meeting?"
"Next Tuesday evening."
"Where does the society meet?"
"In a room on Fourth Avenue. You can come round early, and we will go
together."
"All right. What do you do at the meetings?"
"Well, we smoke, and tell stories, and have a good time. Generally
there are some eatables provided. However, you'll know all about it,
when you join. Oh, by the way, there's one thing I forgot to tell you,"
added Ralph. "There's an initiation fee of five dollars."
"A fee of five dollars!" repeated Roswell, soberly.
"Yes."
"What is it for?"
"To defray expenses, of course. There's the rent, and lights, and
stationery, and the eatables. They always, I think, have an initiation
fee at clubs."
"Are there any other expenses?"
"Not much. There's only a dollar a month. That isn't much."
"I don't know how I'm going to raise the five dollars," said Roswell,
soberly. "I could manage the dollar a month afterwards."
"Oh, you'll think of some way," said Ralph.
"My mother wouldn't give it to me, so there's no use asking her."
"Why can't you pay it out of your extra wages?" said Ralph,
significantly.
"I shouldn't dare to take such a large sum," said Roswell. "They would
find me out."
"Not if you're careful."
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