Alger Horatio Jr.
Andy Grant's Pluck
CHAPTER XIII.
ANDY LEAVES HOME
Conrad was not slow in learning of Mr. Gale's departure from the hotel. The intelligence pleased him, for, as he supposed, it threw Andy out of employment. He sought an early opportunity of speaking to him on the subject.
At five o'clock in the afternoon the mail came in at the post office.
Among those who congregated there at the time were Conrad and Andy.
"So you've lost your place?" began Conrad, abruptly.
"What do you mean?" asked Andy.
"Mr. Gale has left town, hasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Where has he gone?"
"To Pennsylvania, to stay with an uncle who is very sick."
"Do you think he will come back to Arden?"
"I don't know, but I think it is doubtful."
"I suppose, then, you will go back to work on the farm?"
Andy smiled.
"Things might be worse," he said.
"Yes. I think it is the best thing you can do."
"Why do you think so?"
"Oh, well, you are a poor boy, and there is nothing else for you to do."
"Did you ever think of becoming a farmer?"
"I should say not," replied Conrad, haughtily. "I shall probably be a lawyer or a merchant."
"I might become a merchant myself—some day."
Conrad laughed.
"When you do," he said, "let me know."
"I will."
"By the way, you won't want that boat of yours now."
"Why not?"
"You won't get time to use it. I'll give you twenty dollars for it."
"It is not for sale," answered Andy, firmly.
"It will be after a while," said Conrad, in a self-satisfied tone. "I will see the time when you will be glad enough to get the money I offer."
During the few days that Andy remained at home he did some work on the farm. Mr. Grant's boy helper was sick with a cold, and Andy stepped into his place.
The next time of Conrad's meeting him he was at work digging potatoes. Conrad smiled and nodded. He felt quite friendly as he witnessed what he considered Andy's humiliation.
"My father may give you a little job," he said, as he leaned over the fence.
"What is it?"
"He needs some work done round the house. He will pay you fifty cents a day. When can you come?"
"Just at present I am too busy. If I can spare the time I will let you know."
"I like to see upstarts brought down to their level," thought Conrad.
"Andy Grant won't be putting on any more airs, I reckon."
On Monday morning Andy stood on the platform of the railroad station with a good-sized gripsack in his hand. He was about starting for New York to enter upon his duties at the jewelry store.
Swinging a light cane, Conrad Carter appeared on the platform with his father, who was going to the city on business. With a good deal of surprise he recognized Andy.
"Where are you going?" he asked, abruptly, with a glance at the gripsack.
"To New York," answered Andy.
"What business have you there?"
"I have a position in a store on Union Square. I shall be pleased to have you call when you are in the city."
Conrad was greatly surprised.
"What kind of a store is it?" he asked.
"A jewelry store. I haven't a card with me, but will send you one."
Conrad didn't appear to be glad at Andy's good fortune. He had made up his mind that his humble rival, as he chose to consider him, would be obliged to work on the farm, and now he had found a way to avoid it.
"I think your father will have to find some one else to assist him,"
Andy continued; "you see, I shall be otherwise occupied."
"What pay will you receive?"
"If you will excuse me, I would rather not tell."
"Oh, just as you like. Where will you live? Will you sleep in the store?"
"No; I am to board on Clinton Place, with a Mrs. Norris."
"Did you know about this when we were talking the other day?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I would have done so if I had known how much interest you took in my plans."
The rumble of the approaching train was heard, and Andy was obliged to enter a car. It chanced that it was unusually full, and Andy found but one vacant seat—the one beside Squire Carter.
The squire now noticed Andy for the first time.
"Where are you going, Andrew?" he asked.
"To New York, sir."
"On any special errand?"
"I am going to work there."
"Indeed! What kind of a place?"
"I shall have a place with Mr. Flint, of Union Square, a jeweler."
"I suppose Mr. Gale obtained you the place?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am not sure that you are acting wisely. I doubt if you can make expenses. What are you to be paid?"
"Five dollars a week."
"That is very fair pay for a boy of your age, but it won't go very far in New York."
"I suppose New York is an expensive place to live in," said Andy, noncommittally.
"Yes. You will have to pay all your wages for board. Your other expenses will have to come out of your father's pocket."
"I may be advanced."
"It will be a good while, first. You seem to be acting very injudiciously."
This remark did not trouble Andy. As his board was to be paid by Mr. Gale, his salary would be practically ten dollars a week; but this he did not care to tell.
"Country boys are always in a stew to get work in the city," observed the squire. "If they would only take the advice of their elders, they would see that it is better to stay in the country."
"They think probably that there is more chance of advancement in the city. Horace Greeley never would have risen to distinction if he had remained in his native village."
"Ahem! there are exceptions. What is the number of the store where you will be employed?"
Andy told him.
"I may call in upon you some time. I am often in the city on business."
"I shall be glad if you will," said Andy, sincerely. "It will seem pleasant to me to see an Arden face."
Andy got out of the cars at the Grand Central Depot. He was not quite sure of his way to Clinton Place, but he was not in the least disturbed. He was naturally self-reliant.
He asked the question of a gentleman, and was advised to take a Fourth Avenue car through the tunnel as far as Eighth Street, but he thought he should prefer to walk, as it would enable him to enjoy the sights and scenes of the metropolis. All these were fresh and interesting to him.
He had gone but a dozen steps from the depot when a plausible stranger of thirty-five years, apparently, stopped him.
"Young man, may I have a word with you?" he asked.
"If you wish."
"I speak to you, because I judge from your appearance that you have a good, kind heart."
"I hope you are right, sir."
"I am very awkwardly placed. My sister is very sick in Yonkers and has sent for me. On my way to the depot in a horse car I had my pocket picked, and I have not enough money to get to the bedside of my poor sister. If you would kindly lend me a quarter—"
Andy was kind-hearted, and he was not versed in city wiles. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a twenty-five-cent silver coin.
"I am glad to help you," he said, as he passed the coin to the applicant.
"You have a noble heart. I thank you," said the stranger, feelingly.
Andy felt pleased to think that he had done the man a favor, but his satisfaction was short-lived.
A stout, pleasant-looking man who had caught sight of the conference addressed him.
"Did you give that man any money?" he asked.
"Yes sir."
"What did he need it for?"
"His pocket had been picked, and he wanted to go to Yonkers to visit his sick sister."
His new friend laughed.
"That's a new story," he said. "The man is an arrant fraud. Your money will be spent for drink. He has no sick sister."
This was quite a shock to Andy. He saw that he had been victimized, and must hereafter be on his guard against plausible strangers.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FIRST DAY IN NEW YORK
By dint of a little inquiry Andy found his way to Mrs. Norris' boarding house in Clinton Place. It was a plain three-story-and-basement house of brick and looked thoroughly respectable.
Andy took a general view of it, and thought he should take it. To his country eyes it looked quite aristocratic. It was higher than any house in Arden, even Squire Carter's.
He ascended the steps and rang the bell.
It was answered by a Swedish girl named Eva, a blond girl of the true
Scandinavian type.
"Is Mrs. Norris at home?" he asked.
"She is upstairs," was the reply.
"I should like to see her."
"Who shall I tell her calls?"
"She won't know my name. Tell her it is some one with a letter from Mr.
Walter Gale."
"Won't you step in?"
She ushered Andy into a small reception room opening from the hall. It was a very small room, provided with a sofa, one chair and a writing desk. Just over the sofa hung an engraving of Washington crossing the Delaware.
Andy sat down on the sofa and placed his gripsack in front of him. There was nothing to occupy his mind, so he sat patiently, wondering what sort of a looking woman the landlady might be.
Soon there was a rustle of garments, and a stout, pleasant-looking lady, of perhaps fifty, wearing a small cap set off with red ribbons, entered the room.
"Mrs. Norris?" said Andy, inquiringly, rising out of respect.
"Yes, I am Mrs. Norris. Eva told me you had a letter from Mr.—I didn't catch the name."
"Mr. Walter Gale."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Gale. I know him very well."
"Did he ever board here?"
"No; he boarded at one of the hotels. Mr. Gale is a rich man."
She took the letter and read it.
"Mr. Gale asks if I can take you to board, and offers to pay your board.
He must be a great friend of yours?"
"He is. I hope the arrangement will be satisfactory."
"Quite so. I couldn't wish any better paymaster than Mr. Gale. Are you going to work in the city?"
"Yes. I have a place in Mr. Flint's jewelry store on Union Square."
"Really? That is quite a high-toned place. I got my best spoons there."
"Have you got a room for me?" asked Andy, a little anxiously.
"Yes, I've got a small hall bedroom. I suppose you didn't expect a square room?"
"It would be too expensive."
"It wouldn't be if you had a roommate. There's a gentleman on the third floor front, a Mr. Warren. He is sickly, and writes for some of the papers. He told me he would like a roommate; but perhaps you would prefer a small room alone?"
"I should."
"Then I've a small room on the same floor. It was occupied till last week by a music teacher, but he was three weeks behind in his rent and I had to let him go. It's a trying business, keeping a boarding house, Mr.—"
"Grant," suggested Andy.
"Yes. That's a good name. I suppose you're in nowise related to the general?"
"No; I wish I was."
"If you will follow me upstairs I'll show you the room. You can bring your valise."
Andy took it in his hand and followed the landlady up two flights of stairs. She panted a little, being a stout lady, but Andy would have run upstairs if he had been alone.
On the upper floor there were three rooms, the doors of all being open.
"That is Mr. Warren's room," said Mrs. Norris, pointing to the front apartment.
It was a room of about fourteen feet square, and was neatly furnished.
It contained a double bed and the usual chamber furniture.
"It will accommodate two gentlemen nicely," said Mrs. Norris. "Perhaps, after you get acquainted with Mr. Warren, you may strike up a bargain to room with him."
"I don't think I should like to room with a sickly gentleman."
"Well, there is something in that. One night Mr. Warren had a fit—I don't know what kind of one—and rolled onto the floor. I room just underneath, and I was very much frightened."
"It would have frightened me, too, if I had roomed with him."
"Well, fits ain't very pleasant, I allow."
"Who rooms in the third room, next to mine?"
"A young man of eighteen, named Perkins. I don't rightly know what sort of a place he is in. I think it's a neckwear store on Spring Street."
Andy was rather glad to learn that there was one boarder somewhere near his own age.
He did not think he should enjoy the acquaintance of Mr. Warren. He was prejudiced against him by the knowledge that he was sickly and had fits.
"There are other boarders on my second floor. You will make their acquaintance at the table."
"What are your hours for meals, Mrs. Norris?"
"We have lunch from twelve to one. Breakfast is from seven to nine, and we have dinner from six to seven, though in the case of a boarder who is kept later by business we stretch a point, and try to accommodate him. I hope that will suit you."
"Oh, I am sure it will."
"Shall you be at lunch to-day?"
"No, I don't think so. I am going to explore the city a little."
"Very few of my boarders are present at lunch. Still there is a bite for them, if they do come."
"I would like to wash, if you will send up some water and a towel."
"Eva will bring them right up. Have you soap of your own?"
"Yes."
"Gentlemen often prefer providing their own. If you will give me your name in full, I will enter it on my books."
"My name is Andrew Grant."
"Very well."
"What is your rate of board? Mr. Gale will pay it, but I should like to know what it is."
"Five dollars a week for your room. Mr. Warren pays seven, but he has a large room to himself. If you should decide to room with him, I shall charge you five dollars apiece."
"Thank you; I don't think we shall come to any agreement."
She went downstairs, and Andy surveyed his room with interest.
It was certainly small—quite the narrowest room he had ever seen. There was one window from which he had a view of the back yard, rather a forlorn-looking space. There was a cat perched on the high, board fence separating the yard from that of the adjoining house.
Andy liked cats, and called out "Pussy." The cat looked up, and mewed her recognition and acknowledgment of the friendly overture. Then Eva came up with a pitcher of water and a towel.
"Will one do you?" she asked. "The rest are in the wash, and I'll bring you another this evening."
"One will be sufficient for the present."
"So you're comin' here to live?" she said, sociably.
"Yes, Eva."
"I hope you don't have fits, like Mr. Warren."
"I don't think I ever had one yet," answered Andy, with a smile.
"I'm glad of that. I'm afraid of gentlemen that have fits."
Eva went downstairs, and Andy proceeded to make his ablutions. It was a dusty day, and the water was refreshing.
After he had washed his face and hands he opened his gripsack and took out his brush and comb, which he placed on a tiny bureau in one corner of the room. It contained two drawers, and in one of them he put away the contents of the valise.
By this time it was half-past ten, and he put on his hat and went downstairs. He went out into the street, and after a moment of indecision walked to Broadway. He thought he could not do better than to walk down this wonderful thoroughfare, of which he had heard so much.
It did occur to him that he might report at the jewelry store, but he would see enough of that hereafter and he preferred to take a little walk about the city.
Andy used his eyes to good advantage. He looked in at the shop windows, and watched the human tide that swept by him.
Finally he found himself accosted by one of the passersby.
"My young friend, could you oblige me with a quarter to take me to
Newark? My pocket has been picked, and—"
All this seemed familiar. Andy looked up and recognized at once the stranger whom he had relieved in front of the Grand Central Depot.
"When did you get back from Yonkers?" he asked, abruptly.
"I never was in Yonkers."
"I gave you a quarter only an hour or two ago to get to your sick sister in Yonkers."
Muttering that there was some mistake, the man hurried away, looking confused.
"I wonder if I shall ever meet him again?" thought Andy.
CHAPTER XV.
ANDY'S OPPOSITE NEIGHBOR
Andy walked about the city, using his eyes industriously. At one o'clock he went into a restaurant on Park Row, where he got a fair lunch for twenty-five cents.
This was more than he intended to pay usually, but on this first day in the city he did not care to go back to the boarding house.
After lunch he made his way to the entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge, and got into one of the cars. He enjoyed the prospect visible from the windows, and felt that this alone would pay him for visiting New York.
Just before they reached the other end there was a cry of alarm from a stout German woman who sat on the other side of the car.
"I've been robbed!" she exclaimed. "My purse is gone!"
Of course this attracted general attention.
"Was there much in the purse, madam?" asked a kind-looking, elderly man.
"Yes, there was six dollars—it was a great deal to me."
"Are you sure you had it when you entered the car?"
"Yes; I took it out of my pocket when I paid for a ticket."
"I think your pocket must have been picked."
Sitting next to the woman was a man who seemed absorbed in reading a morning newspaper; even the woman's complaint did not appear to excite his attention.
This led Andy to move his head to get a nearer view of him. He started in surprise. It was the adventurer, whom he had already met twice that morning. He had little doubt that he was the thief.
It was perhaps somewhat rash to hazard a charge without proof, but he felt indignant and could not resist the impulse.
"I think that man has your purse," he said, pointing to the individual behind the newspaper.
"This is an outrage!" exclaimed the latter, with assumed anger. "I am a
Boston merchant."
He was respectably dressed, and the charge did not seem very plausible.
"My boy, you should be careful how you make such charges," said his next neighbor, reprovingly.
But Andy was not abashed.
"I know something of that man," he said, quietly. "I have met him twice this morning."
"Has he robbed you?"
"No; but he asked me to give him a quarter to take him to his sick sister in Yonkers. This was at the Grand Central Depot; an hour or two later I met him on Broadway, and he wanted money to take him to Newark."
"The boy is entirely mistaken," said the adventurer.
At the same instant, under cover of the newspaper, he adroitly let the stolen purse drop to the floor at his feet.
By this time the cars had reached the Brooklyn end of the bridge.
"Why, there is your purse," exclaimed the adventurer, with a sudden glance downward. "You must have dropped it."
"Oh, thank you, sir!" said the poor woman, overjoyed.
"I hope you won't suspect a gentleman again," said the thief, in lofty indignation.
"No, I won't, sir. I was sure you didn't take it."
Andy, who had seen the trick, smiled, but he was satisfied with the recovery of the purse.
The passengers looked puzzled. They had not made up their minds as to the guilt or innocence of the man charge with the theft.
"You see, young man," said Andy's neighbor, in a tone of reproof, "you were mistaken."
Andy smiled again.
"I saw him drop the purse on the floor," he answered, quietly.
"Bless my soul! Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
The passengers left the car, Andy and the thief among them.
Andy lost track of his acquaintance till, as they reached Fulton Street, he heard some one hissing in his ear:
"Boy, you are too fresh! I'll get even with you yet!"
Then the thief, passing him rapidly, got into a Myrtle Avenue car, and this was the last he saw of him for that day.
Andy walked about the streets of Brooklyn for a while and returned by Fulton Ferry. Then he went back to his boarding place, arriving there between three and four o'clock.
As he went up to his room he noticed that the door of the large room opposite was open. A young man, of about thirty, was sitting in a rocking-chair, reading.
He was of medium height and sallow complexion. He wore his hair long, and had a high, narrow forehead.
"I suppose that is the man who has fits," thought Andy.
The young man had noticed Andy's entrance into his own room, and, rising from the rocking-chair, crossed the hall and knocked lightly at the door.
"Come in," said Andy.
"I suppose this is Mr. Grant," began the young man, bowing. "I am Mr.
Warren, and live in the room opposite."
"Won't you come in and sit down?" asked Andy, with a glance at the only chair the room contained.
"Don't let me take your only chair. I'll sit on the bed, if you don't mind."
"Make yourself at home, Mr. Warren," said Andy, with easy cordiality.
"So you know my name?"
"Mrs. Norris spoke to me of you."
"Did she? What did she say?" asked the young man, showing some curiosity.
"I think she said you were literary—that you wrote for some of the magazines."
"Yes; I am very fond of writing. Do you write?"
"Not for publication."
"Ah, yes, I see. You would be rather young for an author."
"Are you connected with any particular magazine?"
"No. I am a free lance. I contribute to several. I have just sent an article to the Century."
Andy was rather surprised, for he knew that the Century held high rank among contemporary magazines. It did not occur to him that any one might send an article to that magazine, but that to have it accepted and published would be a different matter.
"I suppose you enjoy writing?"
"Yes; there is nothing I like so well."
"Perhaps you will show me some of your articles."
"I can show you a poem which appeared last week in the village paper at home."
"Thank you, I should like to see it."
Mr. Warren went up to his room, and speedily returned with a small weekly paper.
On the front page, at the head of the first column, was a short poem by G. Byron Warren. This was the first stanza, which Mr. Warren volunteered to read aloud:
"'I'd like to be a robin,
And flit from bough to bough;
I'd pour sweet music on the air
If God would teach me how.'"
"I don't quite like that last line," he said looking up from the paper.
"Can you suggest any improvement?"
"You might say, 'And charm the pensive cow,'" suggested Andy, mischievously.
"True, that might be a striking figure. I will consider it when I revise the poem for publication in book form."
The rest of the poem was of similar quality.
"I don't think they would accept that for the Century," thought Andy.
"Do you devote yourself to literary work, or are you in business?" he asked.
"I may go into business, but at present I only write. I send a letter once a month to the Greenville Banner."
"I suppose they pay?"
"Oh—ah, yes," answered the poet, in a hesitating voice, "but the terms are strictly confidential. If you ever pick up any incidents in your daily walks, Mr. Grant, I shall be glad if you will communicate them to me, that I may weave them into my correspondence."
"With pleasure."
Then it occurred to Andy to tell his neighbor about the street adventurer whom he had met three times that morning.
"Capital!" exclaimed Warren. "I will get that into my next letter. I see, Mr. Grant, you have an observing eye. You would make a good reporter for one of the city dailies."
"Do you think so?" asked Andy, feeling complimented.
"I am sure of it."
"How long have you lived in the city, Mr. Warren?"
"About three months. Some time I will tell you why I came here," he continued, with an air of mystery.
"I shall be glad to hear."
"I will tell you now, for I see you have a sympathetic soul. I loved, and my love was returned, but a heartless parent interposed and separated two loving hearts."
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Andy hardly knew whether to laugh or to express sympathy.
"I suppose that often happens?" he said, rather lamely. "Perhaps he may yet repent."
"I live in that hope. When I have become famous, I will go back and offer myself again to Sophia. I suppose you have had no heart experiences as yet, Mr. Grant?"
"Not as yet, but I can sympathize with you."
"I am so glad you have come. I shall make you my confidential friend."
Then the conversation drifted into other channels.
