Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter, Jr. Horatio Alger [classic books for 12 year olds txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter, Jr. Horatio Alger [classic books for 12 year olds txt] 📗». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
Micky exulted not a little at the success of his cunning, and smoked the cigar—an expensive one, by the way—with not a little satisfaction. He recounted the story to a group of admiring friends who had not been fortunate enough to witness it.
"It's you that's got the cheek, Micky," said Teddy Donovan.
"You did it neat," said another. "Maybe I'll try that same, some day."
"You'd better not. The copp might get hold of you."
"Was it a good cigar, Micky?"
"Wasn't it, just! I wish I'd got another. Stand treat, Teddy."
"I would if I had the stamps. I'm savin' up my money to go to the Old Bowery to-night."
The boys were standing in a little group, and in the interest of their discussion did not observe the approach of James Gilbert, who was now visiting the park with a special object in view. With an expression of satisfaction he recognized the boy who had served him a trick the day before. Indeed, it was not easy to mistake Micky. The blue coat with brass buttons and the faded overalls would have betrayed him, even if his superior height had not distinguished him from his comrades.
Had Micky been aware of Gilbert's approach he would have thought it prudent to "change his base;" but, his back being turned, he was taken by surprise. His attention was drawn by a tap on the shoulder, and, looking round, he recognized his enemy, as he regarded him. He started to run, but was withheld by a strong grasp.
"Leave me alone, will yer?" he said, ducking his head as if he expected a blow.
"I believe you are fond of smoking," said Gilbert, continuing to hold him tight.
Micky maintained silence.
"And sometimes exchange a poor cigar for a good one?" continued his captor.
"It was a mistake," said Micky.
"What did you run for, then?"
"What you going to do about it, mister?" asked one boy, curiously.
"So it was a mistake,—was it?" said Gilbert.
"Yes, sir," said Micky, glibly.
"Take care you don't make the mistake again, then. Now you may black my boots."
Not only the boys who were standing by, but Micky himself, were considerably surprised at this unexpected turn. They confidently expected that Micky would "get a lickin'," and instead of that, he had found a customer. Their respect for Gilbert was considerably diminished for failing to exact punishment, and, their interest in the affair being over, they withdrew.
Micky laid down his box, and commenced operations.
"How long have you been a boot-black?" asked Gilbert.
"Five years—goin' on six," said Micky.
"Can you earn much?"
"No," said Micky. "Business aint very good now."
"You manage to dress well," said Gilbert, with an amused look at Micky's habiliments.
"Yes," said Micky, with a glance at the brass buttons; "but I had to borrer the money to buy my clo'es."
"There used to be a boy around here that was called Dick. Did you know him?"
"There be a good many Dicks. Which did you mean?"
"This boy was nearly your size. I believe they called him 'Ragged Dick.'"
"I know'd him," said Micky, shortly, with a scowl.
"Was he a friend of yours?"
"No, he wasn't. I give him a lickin' once."
The fact happened to be the other way; but Micky was not very scrupulous as to the strict truth of his statements.
"You don't like him, then? Where is he now?"
"He's in a store, and swells round with good clothes."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"No, an' I don't want to."
"He wears a gold watch now. I suppose he wouldn't have anything to say to you."
"Maybe not," said Mickey.
"It would be a good joke if he should lose his place and have to go back to boot-blacking again."
"I wish he would," said Micky, fervently. "It 'ould cure him of puttin' on airs."
"If, for example, his employer should be convinced that he was a thief, he would discharge him."
"Do you know him, mister?" asked Micky, looking up suddenly.
"Yes."
"Is he a friend of yours?"
"I like him about as well as you do," said Gilbert.
"Done!" said Micky, releasing the second foot.
"Suppose you brush the other boot again. I'll pay you double. I want to talk to you a little."
"All right!" said Micky, and he resumed operations.
The conversation that followed we do not propose to chronicle. The results will appear hereafter. Enough that Gilbert and Micky departed mutually satisfied, the latter the richer by five times his usual fee.
CHAPTER XII. DICK FALLS INTO A TRAP.One evening, when Dick and Fosdick returned from their respective stores, a surprise awaited them.
"The postman left some letters for you," said the servant, as she opened the door to admit them.
"Maybe they're from the tax-collectors," said Dick. "That's the misfortun' of being men of property. What was your tax last year, Fosdick?"
"I don't remember such trifles," said Fosdick.
"I don't think they was taxes," said the girl, seriously; "they looked as if they was from a young lady."
"Very likely they are from Fosdick's wife," said Dick. "She's rusticatin' in the country for the benefit of her health."
"Maybe they're from yours, Mr. Hunter," said the girl, laughing.
"No," said Dick, gravely, "I'm a disconsolate widower, which accounts for my low spirits most of the time, and my poor appetite. Where are the letters?"
"I left them on the bureau in your room," said the servant. "They come this afternoon at three o'clock."
Both Fosdick and Dick felt not a little curious as to who could have written them letters, and hastened upstairs. Entering their chamber, they saw two very neat little notes, in perfumed French envelopes, and with the initial G in colors on the back. On opening them they read the following in a neat, feminine, fine handwriting. As both were alike, it will be sufficient to give Dick's.
"Miss Ida Greyson presents her compliments to Mr. Richard Hunter, and solicits the pleasure of his company on Thursday evening next, at a little birthday party.
"No. — West Twenty-Fourth Street."
"We're getting fashionable," said Dick. "I didn't use to attend many parties when we lived in Mott Street and blacked boots for a livin'. I'm afraid I shan't know how to behave."
"I shall feel a little bashful," said Fosdick; "but I suppose we've got to begin some time."
"Of course," said Dick. "The important position we hold in society makes it necessary. How'll I be able to hold levees when I'm mayor, if I don't go into society now?"
"Very true," said Fosdick; "I don't expect to occupy any such position; but we ought to go in acknowledgment of Mr. Greyson's kindness."
Mr. Greyson was the teacher of the Sunday-school class of which both Dick and Fosdick were members. His recommendation had procured Fosdick his present place, and he had manifested his kindness in various ways. Those who have read "Ragged Dick" will remember that he had a very sprightly and engaging daughter of ten years of age, who seemed to have taken an especial fancy to Dick. Being wealthy, his kindness had been of great service to both boys, inspiring them with self-respect, and encouraging them to persevere in their efforts to raise themselves to a higher position.
The dinner-bell rang just as the boys had finished their discussion, and they went down and took places at the table.
Soon Miss Peyton came sailing in, shaking her ringlets coquettishly. She was proud of these ringlets, and was never tired of trying their fascinations upon gentlemen. But somehow they had not succeeded in winning a husband.
"Good-evening, Mr. Hunter," said she. "You look as if you had had good news."
"Do I?" said Dick. "Perhaps you can tell what it is."
"I know how it came," said Miss Peyton, significantly.
"Then I hope you won't keep me in suspense any longer than you can help."
"Perhaps you'd rather I wouldn't mention before company."
"Never mind," said Dick. "Don't have any regard to my feelin's. They're tough, and can stand a good deal."
"How do you like the letter G?" asked Miss Peyton, slyly.
"Very much," said Dick, "as long as it behaves itself. What is your favorite letter?"
"Don't think I'm going to tell you, Mr. Hunter. That was a pretty little note, and in a young lady's hand too."
"Yes," said Dick. "Perhaps you'd like to see it."
"You wouldn't show it to me on any account, I know."
"You may see it if you like," said Dick.
"May I, really? I should like to very much; but would the young lady like it?"
"I don't think she'd mind. She's written one to my friend Fosdick just like it."
Dick passed the invitation across the table.
"It's very pretty indeed," said Miss Peyton. "And is Miss Ida Greyson very handsome?"
"I'm no judge of beauty," said Dick.
"So she lives in West Twenty-Fourth Street. Is her father rich?"
"I don't know how rich," said Dick; "but my impression is that his taxes last year were more than mine."
"I know now what your favorite letters are," said Miss Peyton. "They are I. G."
"I. G. are very well as long as you don't put P. before them," said Dick. "Thank you for another cup of tea, Mrs. Browning."
"I should think you'd need some tea after such a brilliant effort, Hunter," said Mr. Clifton, from across the table.
"Yes," said Dick. "I find my brain gets exhausted every now and then by my intellectual efforts. Aint you troubled that way?"
"Can't say I am. Don't you want to go out and try a game of billiards this evening?"
"No, thank you. I've got to study."
"I expect to see you a college professor some of these days."
"I haven't made up my mind yet," said Dick. "I'm open to an offer, as the oyster remarked when he was placed on the table. If I can serve my fellow-men best by bein' a college professor, and gettin' a big salary, I'm willin' to sacrifice my private feelin's for the public good."
"Do you agree with your friend, Mr. Fosdick?" said Miss Peyton. "Won't you favor us with your views?"
"I have none worth mentioning," said Fosdick. "I leave my friend to do the talking, while I attend to the eating."
"Mr. Hunter's remarks are very entertaining," said Miss Peyton.
"Thank you," said Dick; "but my friend prefers a different kind of entertainment."
The boys rose from the table, and went up to their room to look over the evening's lessons. They were quite pleased with their new teacher, whom they found not only competent for his task, but interested in promoting their progress. He was able to help them readily out of their difficulties, and encouraged them to persevere. So they came to look forward to their evening lessons not as tasks, but as pleasant exercises.
"It's strange," said Dick, one evening after the teacher had left them; "I used to enjoy goin' to the Old Bowery so much. I went two or three times a week sometimes. Now I would a good deal rather stay at home and study."
"Then you didn't have a home, and the lighted theatre must have been much pleasanter than the cold and cheerless streets."
"Yes, that was it. I used to get so tired sometimes of having no home to go to, and nobody to speak to that I cared about."
"You'd hardly like to go back to the old life, Dick?"
"No, it would come pretty hard to me now. I didn't seem to mind it so much then."
"Because you had never known anything better."
"No. It was a lucky day when I met you, Fosdick. I'd never have had the patience to learn. Readin', or tryin' to read, always gave me the headache."
"You always leave off the last letter in such words as 'reading,' Dick. You should be more careful, now that you associate with educated persons."
"I know it, Fosdick, but I'm so used to droppin'—I mean dropping—the g that it comes natural. I will try to remember it. But about this party,—shall we have to get new clothes?"
"No, we have each a nice suit, and we shan't be expected to dress in the height of the fashion."
"I wish it was over. I dread it."
"So do I a little; but I think we shall enjoy it. Ida is a nice girl."
"That's so. If I had a sister I'd like her to be like Ida."
"Perhaps she'd like a brother like you. I notice she seems to fancy your company."
"I hope you're not jealous, Fosdick. You can be a brother to Miss Peyton, you know."
Fosdick laughed. "There's no chance for me there either," he said. "She evidently prefers you."
"I'll adopt her for my aunt if it'll be gratifying to her feelings," said Dick; "but I aint partial to ringlets as a general thing."
It is well
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