Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter, Jr. Horatio Alger [classic books for 12 year olds txt] 📗

who were playing there.

"Hallo, Roswell!" said one of his acquaintances, coming up by chance. "How do you happen to be here?"

"Why shouldn't I be here?"

"I thought you were in a store somewhere on Sixth Avenue."

"Well, I was, but I have left it."

"When did you leave it?"

"To-day."

"Got sacked, hey?"

"Sacked," in the New York vernacular, means discharged from a place. The idea of having it supposed that he had been "sacked" was not pleasing to Roswell's pride. He accordingly answered, "I never was 'sacked' in my life. Besides, it's a low word, and I never use it."

"Well, you know what I mean. Did they turn you off?"

"No, they didn't. They would have been glad to have me stay."

"Why didn't you then?"

"I didn't like the business."

"Dry goods,—wasn't it?"

"Yes, a retail dry-goods store. If I ever go into that line again, it'll be in a wholesale store. There's a chance there for a man to rise."

"You don't call yourself a man yet,—do you?"

"I call myself a gentleman," said Roswell, shortly.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm in no hurry about a new place. I shall look round a little."

"Well, success to you. I must be getting back to the shop."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm learning a trade."

"Oh!" said Roswell, turning up his nose slightly, which was quite easy for him to do, as nature had given that organ an upward turn. He thought all trades low, and resolved hereafter to hold as little communication as possible with the boy who had so far demeaned himself as to be learning one. That was worse than being in a dry-goods store, and carrying around bundles.

Towards six o'clock Roswell rose from his seat, and sauntered towards Clinton Place, which was nearly a mile distant. He entered the house a little before dinner.

"Are you not earlier than usual, Roswell?" asked his mother.

"I've left the store," he said, abruptly.

"Left the store!" echoed his mother, in some dismay. "Why?"

"Because they don't know how to treat me. It's no fit place for a gentleman's son."

"I am sorry, Roswell," said Mrs. Crawford, who, like her son, was "poor and proud," and found the four dollars he earned weekly of advantage. "I'm afraid you have been foolish."

"Listen, mother, and I'll tell you all about it," he said.

Roswell gave his explanation, which, it need hardly be said, was very favorable to himself, and Mrs. Crawford was finally brought to believe that Hall & Turner were low people, with whom it was not suitable for one of her son's gentlemanly tastes to be placed. His vindication was scarcely over, when the bell rang, and his Cousin Gilbert was admitted.

Mr. Gilbert entered briskly, and with a smiling face. He felt unusually complaisant, having succeeded in his designs against our hero.

"Well, James," said Mrs. Crawford, "you look in better spirits than I feel."

"What's happened amiss?"

"Roswell has given up his place."

"Been discharged, you mean."

"No," said Roswell, "I left the place of my own accord."

"What for?"

"I don't like the firm, nor the business. I wish I were in Mr. Rockwell's."

"Well," said Gilbert, "perhaps I can get you in there."

"Has the boot-black left?"

"He's found another place," said Gilbert, smiling at what he regarded as a good joke.

"You don't mean to say he has left a place where he was earning ten dollars a week?" said Mrs. Crawford, in surprise. "Where is this new place that you speak of?"

"In the station-house."

"Is he in the station-house?" asked Roswell, eagerly.

"That is what I hear."

"What's he been doing?"

"Charged with picking a pocket."

"Well, I do hope Mr. Rockwell will now see his folly in engaging a boy from the streets," said Mrs. Crawford, charitably concluding that there was no doubt of our hero's guilt.

"What'll be done with him, Cousin James?" asked Roswell.

"He'll be sent to the Island, I suppose."

"He may get clear."

"I think not. Circumstances are very much against him, I hear."

"And will you try to get me in, Cousin James?"

"I'll do what I can. Perhaps it may be well for you to drop in to-morrow about ten o'clock."

"All right,—I'll do it."

Both Mrs. Crawford's and Roswell's spirits revived wonderfully, and Mr. Gilbert, too, seemed unusually lively. And all because poor Dick had got into difficulties, and seemed in danger of losing both his place and his good name.

"It's lucky I left Hall & Turner's just as I did!" thought Roswell, complacently. "May be they'd like to engage the boot-black when he gets out of prison. But I guess he'll have to go back to blacking boots. That's what he's most fit for."

CHAPTER XVII. DICK'S ACQUITTAL.

After his interview with Mr. Murdock and Henry Fosdick, Dick felt considerably relieved. He not only saw that his friends were convinced of his innocence, but, through Tim Ryan's testimony, he saw that there was a reasonable chance of getting clear. He had begun to set a high value on respectability, and he felt that now he had a character to sustain.

The night wore away at last. The pallet on which he lay was rather hard; but Dick had so often slept in places less comfortable that he cared little for that. When he woke up, he did not at first remember where he was, but he very soon recalled the circumstances, and that his trial was close at hand.

"I hope Mr. Murdock won't oversleep himself," thought our hero. "If he does, it'll be a gone case with me."

At an early hour the attendant of the police station went the rounds, and Dick was informed that he was wanted. Brief space was given for the arrangement of the toilet. In fact, those who avail themselves of the free lodgings provided at the station-house rarely pay very great attention to their dress or personal appearance. Dick, however, had a comb in his pocket, and carefully combed his hair. He also brushed off his coat as well as he could; he also critically inspected his shoes, not forgetting his old professional habits.

"I wish I had a brush and some blackin'," he said to himself. "My shoes would look all the better for a good shine."

But time was up, and, under the escort of a policeman, Dick was conveyed to the Tombs. Probably all my readers have heard of this building. It is a large stone building, with massive columns, broad on the ground, but low. It is not only used for a prison, but there are two rooms on the first floor used for the holding of courts. Into the larger one of these Dick was carried. He looked around him anxiously, and to his great joy perceived that not only Mr. Murdock was on hand, but honest Tim Ryan, whose testimony was so important to his defence. Dick was taken forward to the place provided for those awaiting trial, and was obliged to await his turn. One or two cases, about which there was no doubt, including the colored woman arrested for drunkenness, were summarily disposed of, and the next case was called. The policeman who had arrested Dick presented himself with our hero.

Dick was so neatly dressed, and looked so modest and self-possessed, that the judge surveyed him with some surprise.

"What is this lad charged with?" he demanded.

"With taking a wallet from a gentleman's pocket," said the policeman.

"Did you arrest him?"

"I did."

"Did you take him in the act?"

"No; I did not see him take it."

"What have you to say, prisoner? Are you guilty or not guilty?" said the judge, turning to Dick.

"Not guilty," said Dick, quietly.

"State why you made the arrest," said the judge.

"I saw him with the wallet in his hand."

"Is the gentleman who had his pocket picked, present?"

"He is."

"Summon him."

The red-faced man came forward, and gave his testimony. He stated that he was standing on the sidewalk, when he felt a hand thrust into his pocket, and forcibly withdrawn. He immediately felt for his wallet, and found it gone. Turning, he saw a boy running, and immediately gave chase.

"Was the boy you saw running the prisoner?"

"I suppose it was."

"You suppose? Don't you know?"

"Of course it was, or he would not have been found with the wallet in his hand."

"But you cannot identify him from personal observation?"

The red-faced man admitted with some reluctance that his eyesight was very poor, and he did not catch sight of the boy till he was too far off to be identified.

"This is not so clear as it might be," said the judge. "Still, appearances are against the prisoner, and as the wallet was found in his possession, he must be found guilty, unless that fact can be satisfactorily explained."

"I have a witness who can explain it," said Dick.

"Where is he?"

Tim Ryan, who understood that his evidence was now wanted, came forward.

After being sworn, the judge asked, "What is your name?"

"Tim Ryan, sir."

"Where do you live?"

"In Mulberry Street."

"Tell what you know of this case."

"I was standing in Chatham Street, when I saw the ould gintleman with the red face (here the prosecutor scowled at Tim, not relishing the description which was given of him) standing at the corner of Pearl Street. A boy came up, and put his hand into his pocket, and then run away as fast as his legs could carry him, wid the wallet in his hand."

"Who was this boy? Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell his name."

"It was Micky Maguire," said Tim, reluctantly.

"And who is Micky Maguire?"

"He blacks boots."

"Then if this Micky Maguire took the wallet, how happened it that it was found in this boy's possession?"

"I can tell that," said Tim. "I ran after Micky to see if he'd get off wid the wallet. He hadn't gone but a little way when I saw him slip it into Dick's pocket."

"I suppose you mean by Dick, the prisoner at the bar?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what became of this Micky?"

"He stopped runnin' after he'd got rid of the pocket-book, and a minute after, up came the 'copp,' and took Dick."

"Why didn't you come forward, and explain the mistake?"

"I was afraid Micky'd beat me."

"Do you know this Micky Maguire?" said the judge, turning to the officer.

"I do."

"What is his reputation?"

"Bad. He's been at the Island three or four times already."

"Did you see him anywhere about when you made the arrest?"

"I did."

"Do you know this boy who has just testified?"

"Yes. He is a good boy."

"The case seems a clear one. The prisoner is discharged from custody. Arrest Micky Maguire on the same charge as early as possible."

The next case was called, and Dick was free.

Mr. Murdock came forward, and took him by the hand, which he shook heartily.

"I congratulate you on your acquittal," he said.

"I feel a little better than I did," said Dick. "Tim, you're a good fellow," he said, clasping Tim's hand. "I wouldn't have got off, if it hadn't been for you."

"I ought to do that much for you, Dick, when you've been so kind to me."

"How are you getting along now, Tim?"

"Pretty well. Mother's got so she can work and we're doin' well. When she was sick, it was pretty hard."

"Here's something to help you along," said Dick, and he drew a bill from his pocket.

"Five dollars!" said Tim, in surprise.

"You can buy some new clothes, Tim."

"I ought not to take so much as that, Dick."

"It's all right, Tim. There's some more where that comes from."

They were in Centre Street by this time. Fosdick came up hurriedly.

"Have you got off, Dick?" he asked, eagerly.

"Yes, Fosdick. There's no chance of my being entertained at the expense of the city."

"I didn't expect the trial was coming off so early. Tell me all about it."

"What did they say at the house at my being away?" asked Dick.

"Miss Peyton inquired particularly after you. I said, as you directed me, that you were detained by important business."

"What did she say then?"

Dick was so particular in his inquiries, fearing lest any suspicion should have been formed of the real cause which had detained him. There was no reason for it; but it had always been a matter of pride with him in his vagabond days that he had never been arrested on any charge, and it troubled him that he should even have been suspected of theft.

"You are fishing for compliments, Dick," said Fosdick.

"How do you make that out?"

"You want to know what Miss Peyton said. I believe you are getting interested in her."

"When I am, just send me to a lunatic asylum," said Dick.

"I am afraid you are getting sarcastic, Dick. However, not to keep you in suspense, Miss Peyton said that you were one of the wittiest young men she knew of, and you were quite the life of the house."

"I suppose I ought to blush," said Dick; "but I'm a prey to hunger just now,