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Rough and Ready OR Life Among the New York Newsboys

<h2>CHAPTER VII. THE NEWSBOY AND HIS STEPFATHER.</h2> Rough and Ready passed the night at the Lodging House, as he had previously determined. The bed which he obtained there was considerably better than the one he had usually rested upon in the room in Leonard Street. He slept soundly, and only awoke when the summons came to all the boys to get up. As our hero lifted up his head, and saw the rows of beds, with boys sitting up and rubbing their eyes, the thought of his freedom from the sway of his stepfather recurred to his mind, and he jumped up in very good spirits. He breakfasted at the Lodge, paying only six cents for the meal, and then hastened to the offices of the morning papers to secure a supply of merchandise. He began to estimate his probable weekly expenses. He had agreed to pay Miss Manning four dollars a week for Rose's board and his own supper. His expenses at the Lodging House would be seventy-two cents a week. His dinner would perhaps amount to a dollar more. This would be five dollars and seventy-two cents, which he must earn at any rate. But, besides this, both Rose and himself would need clothes. Probably these would cost annually fifty dollars apiece, averaging, for the two, two dollars per week. Thus his entire expenses footed up seven dollars and seventy-two cents, or about one dollar and twenty-nine cents per working day. "That is considerable," thought the newsboy. "I wonder if I can do it." Some boys might have been frightened at this estimate. But Rough and Ready had good courage. He felt that his sister and he could not live comfortably for less, and he resolved that if he could not make it all by selling papers, he would get a chance to do errands, or manage in some other way to eke out the necessary amount. But he resolved to make his newspaper trade pay as much of it as possible. He went to work, therefore, with a good deal of energy, and the pile of morning papers, with which he started, melted away fast. At last he had but one left. Looking out for a purchaser for that, he saw advancing towards him an old woman, dressed in quaint, old-fashioned costume. "Won't you let me look at that paper of yourn?" asked the old lady. "Certainly, ma'am," said Rough and Ready; "it's made to be looked at." "Wait a minute. I dunno as I've got my specs," said she, diving her hand into a pocket of great depth, and bringing up first a snuff-box, and next a red cotton handkerchief. "There, I know'd I'd mislaid 'em," she said, in a tone of disappointment. "Can you read, boy?" "More or less," said Rough and Ready. "What is it you wanted?" "Why, you see I live to Danbury when I'm at home, and I heerd tell that Roxanna Jane Pinkham was married, and I want to know ef it's true. Maybe you'll find it in the marriages." "All right, ma'am," said Rough and Ready, glancing over the paper till he came to the list of marriages. "Is this it, ma'am?" asked the newsboy, reading, "In Danbury, Miss Roxanna Jane Pinkham to Pompey Smith, a very respectable colored man from New York." "Massy sakes!" ejaculated the old lady. "Has Roxanna married a nigger? Well, she must have been put to't for a husband. Thank you, boy. I'd buy your paper, but I only wanted to know for certain if Roxanna was married. That does beat me,—her marryin' a colored person!" "That's a profitable customer," thought the newsboy. "I guess she won't find that marriage in any of the other papers. This one has got it exclusive." Immediately upon her return, the old lady spread the news of Roxanna Pinkham's strange marriage, and wrote comments upon it to her daughter in Danbury. When the report was indignantly denied by the lady most interested, and she threatened to sue the old lady for circulating a slanderous report, the latter stoutly asserted that she heard it read from a New York paper, and she had no doubt there was something in it, or it wouldn't have got into print. This trick was hardly justifiable in the newsboy; but he was often troubled by people who wanted to look at his papers, but were not willing to buy them, and he repaid himself by some imaginary news of a startling description. After disposing of his last paper, he procured a fresh supply, and was engaged in selling these, when, on looking up, he saw advancing towards him James Martin, his stepfather. Before chronicling the incidents of the interview between them, we must go back to the time of Martin's awaking in the room in Leonard Street. He remembered, at once, the visit of the landlord's agent the day previous, and felt that the time for action had arrived. He knew that the scanty furniture in the room was liable to seizure for rent, and this he resolved the landlord should not get hold of. Accordingly, dressing hastily, he went round to Baxter Street, and accosted the proprietor of a general second-hand establishment, with whom he had previously had some dealings. "I've got some furniture to sell," he said. "Do you want to buy?" "I don't know," said the other. "Trade is very dull. I don't sell a dollar's worth in a day." "Come, you shall have them cheap," said Martin. "What have you got?" "Come and see." "Where is it?" "In Leonard Street, just round the corner." The dealer, always ready for a bargain, was induced to climb up to the attic room, and take a look at the cheap wooden bedstead, with its scanty bedding, and the two chairs, which were about all the furniture the room contained. "It's not worth much," he said. "Well, I suppose it's worth something," said Martin. "What'll you take for it?" "Three dollars." "I'll give you one dollar." "That's too bad. You ought to give me two dollars, at any rate." At length, after considerable chaffering, the dealer agreed to give a dollar and a quarter, which Martin pocketed with satisfaction. Just as he had effected the sale, the landlord's agent appeared. "Have you got your rent ready?" he asked of Martin. "No, I haven't," said Martin. "Then you must move out." "I'm just moving." "But I shall seize the furniture," said the agent. "I can't allow you to move that." "Take it, if you want to," said Martin, in a coarse laugh. "I've just sold it to this man here." "I don't believe it," said the agent, angrily. "Oh, well, it's nothing to me. Settle it between you," said Martin, carelessly, going downstairs, leaving the dealer and the agent to an animated and angry dispute over the broken-down bedstead. "That was neatly done," thought Martin, laughing to himself. "I don't care which gets it. I suppose they'll have a fight about it. Now I must have a good breakfast, and then for a talk with that young rebel. He thinks he's cheated me cleverly, but I'm not through with him yet." Martin strayed into a restaurant at the lower end of Chatham Street, where he made a satisfactory breakfast, with as little regard to expense as if his resources were ample. Indeed, he felt little trouble about the future, being fully determined that in the future, as in the past, Rufus should support him. "Aint I entitled to his earnings, I'd like to know till he comes of age?" thought Martin. So he convinced himself readily that law and right were on his side, and it was with no misgivings as to the result that he approached the newsboy whom, from some distance away, he saw actively engaged in plying his business. "'Herald,' 'Tribune,' 'Times,' 'World'!" cried Rough and Ready, looking about him for possible customers. "So I've found you at last," said James Martin, grimly addressing the newsboy. "I haven't been lost that I know of," said Rough and Ready, coolly. "Where were you last night?" "At the Newsboys' Lodge." "What made you leave home?" "I didn't like staying there." "You're a mighty independent young man. How old do you pretend to be?" "Fifteen, as near as I can remember," said the newsboy. "I didn't know but you were twenty-one, as you claim to be your own master," sneered Martin. "I don't see why I shouldn't be my own master," said Rough and Ready, "as long as I have to support myself." "Aint I your father?" "No, you aint," said the newsboy, bitterly. "You married my mother, and killed her with your ill-treatment. I don't want to have anything more to do with you." "Oh, you're mighty smart. What have you done with your sister?" "She's safe," said the newsboy, shortly. "What business had you to take her away from her home?" demanded Martin, angrily. "I've got the care of her." "She's my child, and you must bring her back again." "Your child!" said Rufus, contemptuously. "You did not give a cent towards supporting her. What little you earned you spent for rum. I had to pay all the expenses, and when I bought my sister some new clothes, you were mean enough to carry them off and sell them. If it hadn't been for that, I would have left her a little while longer. But that was more than I could stand, and I've carried her where you won't find her." "Tell me, instantly, where you have carried her," said James Martin, stung by the newsboy's reproaches, and doggedly resolved to get the little girl back, at all hazards. "I don't mean to tell you," said Rough and Ready. "Why not?" "Because she is in a good place, where she will be taken care of, and I don't mean that you shall get hold of her again." "You'd better take care what you say," said Martin, his red nose growing redder still, in his angry excitement. "I'm not afraid of your threats," said the newsboy, quietly. "I've a great mind to give you a flogging on the spot." "I wouldn't advise you to try it, unless you want me to call a copp." James Martin had no great love for the police, with whom he had before now got into difficulty. Besides, he knew that Rufus, though not as strong as himself, was strong enough to make a very troublesome resistance to any violence, and that the disturbance would inevitably attract the attention of the police. So he forbore to attack him, though he found it hard to resist the impulse. But he shook his fist menacingly at Rufus, and said, "Some day I'll get hold of your sister, you may be sure of that, and when I do, I'll put her where you'll never set eyes on her again. Just remember that!" He went off muttering, leaving Rufus a little troubled. He knew that his stepfather had an ugly spirit, and he feared that he would keep on the watch for Rose, and some day might get hold of her. The very thought was enough to make him tremble. He determined to warn Miss Manning of the danger which threatened his little sister, and request her to be very careful of her, keeping her continually under her eye. <h2>CHAPTER VIII. ROSE IN HER NEW HOME.</h2> At the close of the afternoon the newsboy, counting up his gains, found that he had made a dollar and a half by selling papers, and twenty-five cents besides, by an errand which he had done for a shopkeeper whose boy was sick. If he could keep up this rate of wages every day, he would be able to get along very well. But, in the first place, it was not often that he made as much as a dollar and a half by selling papers, nor was there a chance to do errands every day. When it was rainy his sales of papers fell off, as there were not so many people about Rufus began to feel like a family man, with the responsibility of supporting a family on his hands. He was determined that his little sister should not be obliged to go out into the street to earn anything, though there are many girls, no older than she, who are sent out with matches, or papers, or perhaps to beg. But Rufus was too proud to permit that. "A stout boy like me ought to earn money enough to take care of two persons," he said to himself. About half-past five he started for Franklin Street, for it will be remembered that he had arranged to take supper with his sister and Miss Manning. Rose had been listening for his step, and as soon as she heard it on the stairs, she ran out on the landing, and called out, joyfully, "Is that you, Rufie?" "Yes, Rosie," said the newsboy. "What have you been doing to-day?" "I've had such a nice time, Rufie," said the little girl, clinging to her brother's arm. "Miss Manning began to teach me my letters to-day." "How does she get along, Miss Manning?" asked Rough and Ready, who by this time had entered the room. "Famously," said Miss Manning. "She's very quick. I think she'll be able to read in three months, if she keeps on doing as well as to-day." "That's good," said the newsboy, with satisfaction. "I've always been afraid that she would grow up ignorant, and I shouldn't like that." "I'm no great scholar," said Miss Manning, modestly; "but I shall be glad to teach Rose all I can." "I am afraid it will be a good deal of trouble for you." "No, it is very little. Rose sits beside me, learning, while I am sewing." "But you have to leave off to hear her." "Leaving off now and then rests me. Besides, as you pay part of my rent, I do not need to work so steadily as I used to do." "I've a great mind to ask you to teach me a little, too, Miss Manning," said the newsboy. "I'll do it with pleasure, as far as I am capable. How much do you know?" "Precious little," said Rufus. "I can read some, but when I get out of easy reading I can't do much." "Can you write?" "A little, but not much." "I will help you all I can." "Then I'll bring a writing book to-morrow evening, and a book to read out of." Rough and Ready, though not as ignorant as many in his situation in life, had long deplored his ignorance, and wished that he knew more. But he had been obliged to work early and late, and his stepfather was not one to give him assistance, or take any interest in his improvement. So he had grown up ignorant, though possessed of excellent abilities, because he saw no way of obtaining the knowledge he desired. Now, however, he thought, with Miss Manning's help, he might enter upon a career of improvement. "Have you seen father yet, Rufie?" asked Rose, uneasily. "I saw Mr. Martin this morning," said the newsboy, emphasizing the name, for he would not recognize any relationship between them. "I mean Mr. Martin," said Rose. "What did he say?" "He wanted to know where you were." "Did he?" asked Rose, looking frightened. "Don't be afraid, Rosie," said her brother, putting his arm round his little sister's neck. "He doesn't know, and I shan't let him find out." <div class='figcenter id001'> <ANTIMG src='images/i_094.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> Rose and her Enemy. </div> </div> "But if he should find out," said Rose, in terror. "You won't let him carry me off." "No, I won't. Don't be frightened. Do you like this better than Leonard Street, Rosie?" "Oh, ever so much." Rufus looked pleased. He felt that he had made the best arrangement in his power for his sister's comfort and happiness, and that he had been very lucky to find so suitable a person as Miss Manning to place her with. While he was talking with Rose, the seamstress had been moving about quietly, and by this time the little table was neatly spread in the centre of the room. On it were placed knives, forks, and plates for three. The teakettle had boiled, and, taking out her little teapot, the seamstress put it on the stove for the tea to steep. "Do you like toast, Rufus?" she asked. "Yes, Miss Manning; but I don't want you to take too much trouble." "It's very little trouble. I think Rose would like toast too. I've got a little meat too." She took from the cupboard about half a pound of steak, which she put on the coals to broil. "I'm afraid you're giving us too good a supper," said the newsboy. "Beefsteak costs considerable. I don't want you to lose money by Rose and me." "There is no danger of that," said Miss Manning. "It doesn't cost as much as you think for. The steak only cost me twelve cents." "But there's the tea and the toast," suggested Rough and Ready. "Toast costs no more than bread, and six cents pays for all the bread we eat at night. Then I only need a spoonful or two of tea, and that, and the sugar and butter altogether, don't cost more than eighteen cents." "Do you mean that we can live like this for thirty cents a meal?" asked the newsboy, incredulously. "Why, I have about as much as that to pay for my dinner at the eating-house, and the meat isn't as good as this, I am sure." "Yes, they charge considerable for the cooking and the profits," said Miss Manning. "I do the cooking myself, and save all that." By this time dinner, as we may call it, was ready, and the three sat down to the table. It was, to be sure, an humble meal; but it looked very attractive and inviting for all that, with the steak on a plate in the centre, the well-browned toast on one side, and the little plate of butter on the other, while the little teapot steamed with its fragrant beverage. It was so different from the way in which they had lived in Leonard Street, that it seemed very pleasant to the two children. "Isn't it nice, Rufie?" said Rose. "Yes," said the newsboy. "It's what I call reg'larly jolly. Besides, it cost so little money, I can't get over that. I'm sure we're much obliged to Miss Manning." "But," said the seamstress, "you must remember that if it's better for you, it's better and pleasanter for me too. You mustn't think I used to live like this before Rose came to me. I couldn't afford to. Sometimes I had a little tea, but not often, and it was very seldom that I ate any meat. The rent came hard for me to pay, and I had to work so steadily that I didn't feel as if I could afford time to cook anything, even if I had the money to buy it with." "What did you have for supper, Miss Manning?" inquired Rose. "Generally I didn't get anything but dry bread, without butter or tea." "But I should think you would have felt hungry for something else." "I didn't have much appetite. I sat so steadily at my work, without a chance to breathe the fresh air, that I cared very little about eating. My appetite is beginning to come now." "I think you and Rose had better take a walk every day," said Rufus. "You both need to breathe the fresh air. That is, if you think you can spare the time." "Oh, yes, I can spare the time, now that I get paid so well for my boarder," said the seamstress, playfully. "An hour or two of my time is worth very little. How much do you think I earn when I sit over my work all day,—about fourteen hours?" "I don't know," said Rufus. "I think you ought to earn as much as a dollar." Miss Manning shook her head, with a smile. "I see you know very little about the wages paid to us poor seamstresses," she said. "If I were paid a dollar for my day's work I should feel as if I were worth a fortune." "But you earn near that," said the newsboy, "don't you?" "When I work steadily, I earn about three shillings," said Miss Manning. I must here remind my New England reader, who is accustomed to consider a shilling about seventeen cents, that in New York eight shillings are reckoned to the dollar, and a shilling, therefore, only represents twelve and a half cents; Miss Manning's day's work thus brought her thirty-seven and a half cents. "Three shillings!" repeated Rough and Ready, in surprise. "That's very poor pay. I think I do very poorly if I don't make as much as a dollar. Won't they pay you any more?" "No, they find plenty who are ready to take their work at the price they are willing to pay. If anybody complains, they take away their work and employ somebody else." "How much do you think I made to day?" asked the newsboy. "A dollar and a quarter?" "I made a dollar and seventy-five cents," said Rough and Ready, with satisfaction. "Rufie's real smart," said Rose, who was proud of her brother, in whom she felt implicit confidence. "You mustn't believe all she says, Miss Manning," said the newsboy, laughing. "Rose thinks more of me than anybody else does. But what were we talking about? Oh, about going out for a walk every day. If you think you can spare the time to go out with Rose, I think it will do you both good." "We can come round and see you sell papers sometimes, Rufie," said his little sister. "No," said the newsboy, hastily, "I don't want you to do that." "Why not?" said Rose, surprised. "Because Mr. Martin is on the lookout for Rose, and will very likely be prowling round somewhere near me, ready to pounce on Rose if he happens to see her. So I'd rather you'd keep on the west side with her Miss Manning. If you go on Broadway, let it be somewhere above Chamber Street, where you won't be seen from the Park. In that way Martin won't be likely to meet you." "It is best to be prudent, no doubt," said Miss Manning. "I will remember your wishes." The next evening, Rufus began to study, under the guidance and direction of Miss Manning. He generally left the room about nine o'clock, and made his way to the Newsboys' Lodge, where he now passed his nights regularly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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