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Rough and Ready OR Life Among the New York Newsboys

<h2>CHAPTER XXI. IN AN OYSTER SALOON.</h2> Rough and Ready had just laid in a supply of afternoon papers, and resumed his usual position in front of the "Times" office, when Ben Gibson came round the corner, just returned from his expedition to Brooklyn, the particulars of which are given in the last chapter. "What luck, Ben?" asked the newsboy, anxiously. "Tip-top," said Ben. "You don't mean to say you've found her?" said Rough and Ready, eagerly. "Yes, I have,—leastways I've found where she's kept." "Tell me about it. How did you manage?" "I followed your respected father down Spruce Street," said Ben. "He stopped to take a little something strong in Water Street, which made him rather top-heavy. I offered him my protection, which he thankfully accepted; so we went home together as intimate as brothers." "Did he suspect anything?" "Not a bit; I told him I know'd you, and owed you a lickin', which impressed his affectionate heart very favorably. When'll you take it?" "What?" "The lickin'." "Not at present," said Rough and Ready, laughing. "I guess it'll keep." "All right. Any time you want it, just let me know." "Go ahead. Where does he live?" "In Brooklyn. We went over Fulton Ferry, and then took the horse-cars a couple of miles. I paid the old chap's fare." "I'll make it right with you. Did you see Rose?" "No; but I'll remember the house." "Ben, you're a trump. I was afraid you wouldn't succeed. Now tell me when I had better go for her? Shall it be to-night?" "No," said Ben; "he'll be at home to-night. Besides, she won't be allowed to come out. If we go over to-morrow, we may meet her walkin' out somewhere. Then we can carry her off without any fuss." "I don't know but you're right," said the newsboy, thoughtfully; "but it is hard to wait. I'm afraid she won't be treated well, poor little Rose!" Rufus proposed to go over in the evening and reconnoitre, but it occurred to him that if he were seen and recognized by Mr. Martin, the latter would be on his guard, and perhaps remove her elsewhere, or keep her so strictly guarded that there would be no opportunity of reclaiming her. He was forced, therefore, to wait with what patience he might till the next morning. He went round to tell Miss Manning of his success. She sympathized heartily with him, for she had felt an anxiety nearly as great as his own as to the fate of the little girl whose presence had lighted up her now lonely room with sunshine. After spending a portion of the evening with her, he came out again into the streets. It was his usual time for going to the Lodging House; but he felt restless and wakeful, and preferred instead to wander about the streets. At ten o'clock he felt the promptings of appetite, and, passing an oyster saloon, determined to go in and order a stew. It was not a very fashionable place. There was a general air of dinginess and lack of neatness pervading the place. The apartment was small, and low-studded. On one side was a bar, on the other, two or three small compartments provided with tables, with curtains screening them from the main room. It was not a very inviting place, but the newsboy, though more particular than most of his class, reflected that the oysters might nevertheless be good. "Give us a stew," he said to a young man behind the counter, whose countenance was ornamented with pimples. "All right. Anything to drink?" "No sir," said our hero. Rufus entered the only one of the alcoves which was unoccupied. The curtains of the other two were drawn. The one which he selected was the middle one of three, so that what was going on in both was audible to him. The one in front appeared to have a solitary occupant, and nothing was heard from it but the clatter of a knife and fork. But there were evidently two persons in the other, for Rufus was able to make out a low conversation which was going on between them. The first words were heard with difficulty, but afterwards, either because they spoke louder or because his ear got more accustomed to the sounds, he made out everything. "You are sure about the money, Jim," said one. "Yes." "How do you know it?" "Never mind how I know it. It makes no odds as long as he's got it, and we are going to take it." "That's the main thing. Now tell me your plans." "He'll be going home about half-past eleven, somewhere from there to twelve, and we must lie in wait for him. It's a cool thousand, that'll be five hundred apiece." "I need it bad enough, for I'm dead broke." "So am I. Got down to my last dollar, and no chance of another, unless this little plan of ours works." "It's dangerous." "Of course there's a risk. There won't be any time to lose. The policeman's got a long beat. We must make the attack when he's out of the way. There'll be no time to parley." "If he resist—" "Knock him on the head. A minute'll be enough." There was some further conversation carried on in a low voice, from which the newsboy, who listened with attention, gathered full particulars of the meditated attack. It appears that the intended victim of the plot was a Wall Street broker, who was likely to be out late in the evening with a considerable sum of money about him. How the two desperadoes concerned in the plot had obtained this information did not appear. This, however, is not necessary to the comprehension of the story. Enough that they had intended to make criminal use of that knowledge. "What shall I do?" thought the newsboy, when by careful listening he arrived at a full comprehension of the plot in all its details. "There'll be robbery, and perhaps murder done unless I interfere." It required some courage to do anything. The men were not only his superiors in physical strength, but they were doubtless armed, and ready, if interfered with, to proceed to extremities. But the newsboy had one of those strong and hardy natures to which fear is a stranger,—at least so far as his own safety was concerned. This proceeded from his strength and physical vigor, and entire freedom from that nervousness which often accompanies a more fragile organization. "I'll stop it if I can," he decided, promptly, without a thought of the risk he might incur. One circumstance might interfere: they might leave the saloon before he was ready to do so, and thus he would lose track of them. Unfortunately, the place where the attack was to be made had not yet been mentioned. But he was relieved of this apprehension when he heard the curtain drawn aside, and a fresh order given to the waiter. At that moment his own stew was brought, and placed on the table before him. "I shall get through as soon as they do," thought Rufus. "There will be nothing to hinder my following them." After finishing his own oysters, he waited until his neighbors, who were more deliberate, were ready to go out. When he heard their departure, he also drew the curtain, and stepped into the room. He took care not to look too closely at them, but one quick glance daguerreotyped their features in his memory. One was a short, stout man, with a heavy face and lowering expression; the other was taller and slighter, with a face less repulsive. The former, in rushing into crime, appeared to be following the instincts of a brutal nature. The other looked as if he might have been capable of better things, had circumstances been different. The two exchanged a look when they saw the newsboy coming out of the compartment adjoining their own, as if to inquire whether he was likely to have heard any of their conversation. But Rufus assumed such an indifferent and unconcerned an expression, that their suspicions, if they had any, were dispelled, and they took no further notice of him. They settled for what they had eaten, and the newsboy, hastily throwing down the exact change for his oysters, followed them out. They turned up a side street, conversing still in a low tone. Rufus, though appearing indifferent, listened intently. At length he heard what he had been anxious to hear,—the scene of the intended attack. The information gave him this important advantage: He was no longer under the necessity of dogging the steps of the two men, which, if persisted in, would have been likely to attract their attention and arouse their suspicions. He was able now to leave them. All that would be necessary was to be on the spot at the time mentioned, or a little earlier. But what preparations should he make? For a boy to think of engaging single-handed with two ruffians was of course foolhardy. Yet it was desirable that he should have a weapon of some kind. Here, however, there was a difficulty, as there were no shops probably open at that hour, where he could provide himself with what he desired. While considering with some perplexity what he should do, he came across Tim Graves, a fellow newsboy, carrying in his hand a bat. "How are you, Tim?" he said. "I'm so's to be round. Where are you going?" "Up-town on an errand. Where'd you get that bat?" "I was up to the Park to see a base-ball match, and picked it up." "What'll you take for it?" "Want to buy?" "Yes." "I don't know," said Tim, hesitating. "It's worth a quarter." "All right. Give it here." "What do you want it for?" "Somebody might attack me for my money," said Rufus. "If they do, I'll give 'em a rap with this." The money was paid over, and the bat changed owners. It was heavy, and of hard wood, and in the hands even of a boy might prove a formidable weapon. <h2>CHAPTER XXII. A RESCUE.</h2> Armed with the bat, Rufus took his way up-town. As the distance was considerable, he jumped on board a horse-car. The conductor, noticing the bat, asked him whether he was going to play a game by moonlight. "Yes," said the newsboy. "I belong to a club called 'The Owls.' We can play best in the dark." He got out of the car at the point nearest to the place which he had heard mentioned as the probable scene of attack, and walked cautiously towards it. He had no doubt of being in full time, for it was not yet half-past eleven. But circumstances had hastened the attack; so that, as he turned the corner of a quiet side street, he was startled by seeing a gentleman struggling desperately in the hands of two ruffians. He saw at a glance that they were the same he had overheard in the oyster saloon. The gentleman appeared to be overpowered, for he was on the ground, with one man clutching his throat to prevent his giving the alarm, while the other was rifling his pockets. There was no time to lose. The newsboy darted forward, and before the villains were aware that their plans were menaced by defeat, he brought down the bat with force upon the back of the one who had his victim by the throat. The bat, wielded by the vigorous hand of Rough and Ready, fell with terrible emphasis upon the form of the bending ruffian. He released his hold with a sharp cry of pain, and fell back on the sidewalk. His companion looked up, but only in time to receive an equally forcible blow on his shoulder, which compelled him also to desist from his purpose. At the same time the voice of the newsboy rang out clear and loud on the night air: "Help! Police!" He sprang to the side of the prostrate gentleman, saying, "Get up at once, sir. We'll defeat these villains yet." The gentleman sprang to his feet, and prepared to do his part in resisting an attack; but none was apparently intended. The man, who had been struck in the back, was not in a position to do anything, but lay groaning with pain, while the other did not think it expedient to continue the attack under the changed aspect of affairs. Besides, the newsboy's cry for help was likely to bring the police, so that the only thing left was to effect an immediate escape. He paused but an instant before making his decision; but that instant nearly destroyed his chance. The policeman, who had heard the cry for help, turned the corner hastily, and at once made chase. But by exerting all his strength the fellow managed to escape. The policeman returned, and began to inquire into the circumstances of the attack. "How did this happen, Mr. Turner?" he inquired of the gentleman, whom he recognized. "Those two villains attacked me," said the gentleman, "just as I turned the corner. They must have learned that I was likely to have a considerable sum of money about me, and were planning to secure it. Their attack was so sudden and unexpected that they would have accomplished their object but for this brave boy." "Curse him!" said the prostrate burglar, who was the shorter of the two."I saw him in the oyster saloon. He must have heard what I and my pal were saying, and followed us." "Did you know anything of this intended robbery?" asked the policeman. "Yes," said Rough and Ready, "the man is right. I did overhear him and the other man planning it. We were in an oyster saloon in the lower part of the city. I was in one of the little rooms, and they in the other. They were talking it over in a low voice; but I overheard the whole. As soon as I heard it, I determined to stop it if I could. I had no weapon with me, but was lucky enough to buy this bat of a boy I met, and came up at once. I came near not being in time." "Let me see the bat," said the policeman. "It's a tough customer," he said, weighing it in his hand; "you settled one of the parties, at any rate." "Curse him!" muttered the burglar once more. "Come, my man," said the policeman, "you must go with me. The city provides accommodations for such as you." "I can't get up," he groaned. "I guess you can if you try. You can't lie here, you know." After some delay the man rose sullenly, groaning meanwhile. "My back is broken," he said. "I hope not," said the newsboy, who was moved with pity for the burglar, bad as he was. "Don't pity him too much," said the policeman; "he deserves what he's got." "I'll pay you off some time, boy, curse you!" said the injured man, with a vindictive glance at Rufus. "I'll give you as good as you gave." "It'll be some time before you get a chance," said the policeman. "You'll get a five years in Sing Sing for this job." He marched off with the culprit, and Rough and Ready was left alone with Mr. Turner. "I don't know how to thank you, my brave boy, for your timely assistance," he said, grasping the hand of the newsboy. "I don't need any thanks, sir," said Rufus. "You may not need any, but you deserve them richly. Are you far from home?" "Yes, sir; but I can take the horse-cars." "Where do you live?" "At the Newsboys' Lodging House." "Are you a newsboy?" asked Mr. Turner, with interest. "Yes, sir." "Have you parents living?" "No, sir, except a stepfather; but he's a drunkard, and I don't live with him." "Have you any brothers or sisters?" "A little sister, about seven years old." "Does she live with your stepfather?" "I took her away, but Mr. Martin found out where I had placed her, and he managed to get hold of her. I found out to-day where he carried her, and to-morrow I shall try to get her back. He isn't a fit man to have the charge of her." "And can you support your little sister, and yourself too?" "Yes, sir." "You are a good brother, and I believe you are a good boy. I want to know more of you. It is too late to go to the Newsboys' Lodging House to-night. I live close by, and will take you home with me." "Thank you, sir," said Rough and Ready, bashfully, "but I don't want to trouble you so much." "There will be no trouble, and I owe something to a boy who has rendered me such a service. Besides, Mrs. Turner will want to see you." The newsboy knew not what further objections to make, and, indeed, Mr. Turner gave him no time to think of any, for, placing his arm in his, he drew him along. His home was in the next block. As Rufus ascended the steps, he saw that it was of fine appearance, and a new fit of bashfulness seized him. He wished himself in his accustomed bed at the Newsboys' Lodging House. There he would be under no constraint. Now he was about to enter a home where customs prevailed of which he knew nothing. But, whatever his feelings were, there was no chance to draw back. Besides, the alternative was between accepting Mr. Turner's invitation, and sleeping in the streets, for punctually at twelve o'clock the Lodging House closes, and it would be later than this before he could reach there. Mr. Turner drew out a night-key, and opened the front door. The hall was dimly lighted, for the gas was partially shut off. Still the newsboy could see that it was handsomely furnished. How it compared with other houses up-town he could not tell, for this was the first he had entered. "The servants have gone to bed," said Mr. Turner; "I never require them to sit up after eleven. I will myself show you the room where you are to sleep. Your hat you may leave here." According to directions, Rufus hung up his hat on the hat-stand. He congratulated himself, as he did so, that he had only bought it the week before, so that its appearance would do him no discredit Indeed his whole suit, though coarse, was whole, and not soiled, for he paid greater attention to dress than most boys in his line of business. This was due partly to a natural instinct of neatness, but partly also to the training he had received from his mother, who had been a neat woman. "Now come upstairs with me, Rufus," said Mr. Turner, who had made himself acquainted with our hero's name. "I will ask you to step softly, that we may wake no one." The thick carpet which covered the stairs rendered it easy to follow this direction. "One more flight," said Mr. Turner, at the first landing. He paused before a door on the third floor, and opened it. Rufus followed him into a large and handsomely furnished bedchamber, containing a bed large enough for three, as the newsboy thought. "I think you will find everything you need," said the master of the house, casting a rapid glance around. "I hope you will have a comfortable night's rest. We have breakfast at half-past seven o'clock. The bell will ring to awake you half an hour earlier." "I think I won't stop to breakfast," said Rough and Ready, bashfully; "thank you, sir, for the invitation." "You mustn't think of going away before breakfast," said Mr. Turner; "I wish to talk with you, and my wife will wish to see you." "But," said the newsboy, still anxious to get away, "I ought to be down-town early to get my papers." "Let them go one morning. I will take care that you lose nothing by it. You will find a brush and comb on the bureau. And now, good-night. I am tired, and I have no doubt you are also." "Good-night, sir." The door closed, and the newsboy was left alone. It had come so rapidly upon him, that he could hardly realize the novel circumstances in which he was placed. He, who had been accustomed to the humble lodgings appropriated to his class, found himself a welcome guest in a handsome mansion up-town. He undressed himself quickly, and, shutting off the gas, jumped into bed. He found it very soft and comfortable, and, being already fatigued, did not long remain awake, as he glided unconsciously into slumber, wondering vaguely what Ben Gibson would say if he knew where he was spending the night. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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