Alger Horatio Jr.
Jed, the Poorhouse Boy
CHAPTER XXIII.
JED'S BAD LUCK
"Yes," answered Jed coolly, "it is the kid. I have called upon Mr. Claflin, and also at the office of the Tribune. Probably you can guess what I was told at both places."
Mr. Barry felt that he was in a tight place, but reflecting that Jed was only a boy, he determined to bluff him off.
"I don't know what you are talking about, boy," he said. "I know nothing of Mr. Claflin, and have nothing to do with the Tribune office."
"I am aware of that, but you gave me a letter of introduction to H. B. Claflin, and borrowed two dollars of me, promising to pay me when you settled with the Tribune for editorial contributions."
"There is not a word of truth in this," said Barry, fidgeting in his chair.
"I have been listening to your conversation for fifteen minutes," continued Jed, "and I heard you give an account of the matter to your friend here."
Barry hesitated a moment. Even his brazen hardihood was scarcely adequate to the emergency. He was the more uneasy because a policeman was sitting at the next table but one.
"It was only a practical joke, boy," he said hurriedly. "I'll pay you back the two dollars."
"That will be satisfactory," returned Jed.
"But I can't do it to-day. I'll meet you on Monday afternoon, as I said. I am in rather a hurry now and must be going."
He rose from the table precipitately, and went up to the desk followed by his friend.
"Shall I stop him?" thought Jed.
He decided not to do so, as he felt sure Barry could not pay him. The loss was not a serious one, but it would not do to make a second mistake. He paid his check and left the restaurant.
Jed knew very little of New York, even for a country boy. Some Scranton people doubtless had visited the great city, but, as an inmate of a poorhouse, he had not been thrown in their way. Accordingly he was like a mariner without a compass. He could only follow where impulse led.
He turned into Broadway, and with his gripsack in his hand walked up the great thoroughfare, looking in at shop windows as he strolled along. Travelling in this leisurely manner, it was perhaps four o'clock when he reached Union Square.
He was by this time fatigued and ready to rest on one of the benches which he found in the park. One person was sitting there already. It was a slender young man with a diamond ring on one of the fingers of his right hand. At least it looked to be a diamond.
He was dressed in rather a showy manner. He was perhaps twenty-two, but so slender that he must have weighed a dozen or fifteen pounds less than Jed, who was only sixteen. He looked casually at the country boy as the latter sat down, and presently turned and addressed him.
"It is a warm day," he said.
"Yes," answered Jed, who felt lonely and was glad to be social with some one.
"I judge from your bag," he glanced at the gripsack, "that you are a visitor to New York."
"Yes," answered Jed frankly. "I have never been in New York before."
"That was my case two years ago. Now I feel quite like an old resident. Are you staying at a hotel?"
"No; that is what I should like to ask about. I must spend the night somewhere. Can you recommend a cheap hotel?"
"Why do you go to a hotel? No hotel is cheap in the long run. It is much better to hire a room in a lodging-house and take your meals at restaurants."
"Yes, I suppose it would be. But I don't know where to find such a lodging-house."
"Come, I'll make you an offer. I have a room on Twenty-Seventh Street. You shall pay for my supper, and I will let you stay in my room without charge till to-morrow. Then if you like it well enough to room with me, I shall be glad to have you."
"Thank you; how much do you pay for your room?"
"Four dollars a week. That will be two dollars a piece. That is cheap for the city. You can't get a room at a hotel for less than a dollar a night."
"Is that so?" asked Jed. "That would be seven dollars a week."
"Precisely."
"I couldn't afford to pay that."
"There is no reason why you should. I couldn't afford it myself. Well, do you accept my offer? Do just as you please. Of course I have no motive except to give a helping hand to a stranger in the city."
"You are very kind," said Jed gratefully. "I know so little of New York that I feel quite helpless."
"Quite natural. I've been through it all."
"Are you—in business?" rather wondering how his companion should be free at that hour.
"Yes, I am in a broker's office down town. We have easy hours. I am off for the day at three o'clock."
"Are you well paid? But perhaps you don't care to tell."
"Oh, yes, I don't mind. I get twenty dollars a week."
"I wish I could get twelve," said Jed wistfully. "I shall have to get work soon."
"You have some money to keep you while you are waiting for work?" said the other quickly.
"Yes. I have about thirty-five dollars."
The young man's face brightened up.
"I am glad for you," he said. "You can make that last a good while, if you are guided by me, and keep down your expenses."
"That is exactly what I want to do," responded Jed earnestly.
"Oh well, I will put my experience at your service. I hope you will conclude to room with me. I feel rather lonesome at times. Of course I could easily get a roommate, but I am rather particular."
"You might not like me," said Jed.
"I am sure I shall. I can tell in five minutes whether I am going to like a person or not. How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Indeed! You look older. That's going to help you, you know, about a situation. You can pass for a young man, and they won't think of offering you boy's pay."
"Perhaps you will be able to advise me about the kind of place I had better apply for."
"Of course I will. I already begin to take a great interest in you. What kind of work have you done?"
"Well, I have acted a little."
"You don't say so!" ejaculated his new friend in genuine surprise, for he had looked upon Jed as an unsophisticated country boy who probably had never seen the inside of a theatre. "I suppose you mean," he suggested as an afterthought, "in some village entertainment."
"No; I played in 'The Gold King' for some time."
"You don't say so! What part did you take?"
"The boy's part."
The young man regarded Jed with more respect.
"I shouldn't have thought it," he said. "How did you happen to get such a fine chance as that?"
"I knew one of the actors—Harry Bertram—and the one who played the boy's part regularly was taken sick. I only played about four or five weeks all together."
"Still that makes you a regular actor. Do you think of trying to get a place at Daly's or Palmer's?"
"Oh, no. I don't suppose I should stand any show. I could only take a boy's part."
"Well, we can talk over our plans later. I don't mind confessing that I am hungry. How about yourself?"
"I think I could eat some supper."
"Come along, then. I'll take you to a good restaurant. It's some way off, but it is near my room."
"All right."
The two rose, and leaving the park, walked up Broadway, past the Fifth Avenue Hotel, the Hoffman House, and the St. James, till they reached a well-known eating-house known as Smith & Green's, situated on the east side of Broadway, between Twenty-Seventh and Twenty-Eighth Streets.
"Come in here. I won't take you to Delmonico's, a little further down, as you haven't a private bank to draw from. This is a nice restaurant and moderate in its charges."
They entered, sat down at a round table and studied the bill of fare. The prices seemed to be moderate. Jed's dinner cost thirty-five cents, but his companion was more lavish in his orders, and ran up a bill of sixty-five cents.
"That makes just a dollar," he remarked.
It seemed considerable to Jed, who decided that he would rather order and pay for his own meals separately hereafter.
During the repast Jed learned that his new friend's name was Maurice Graham.
"Now we'll go around to my room, and you can dispose of your gripsack."
"I shall be glad to do so. I am tired of carrying it about."
Graham led the way to a three-story brick house near Seventh Avenue, and mounted to a small square room on the upper story. It was plainly furnished with a three-quarters bed, a bureau, and the usual chamber furniture.
"You can leave your bag anywhere, and then we will go out for a walk."
"I think I would rather stay here and lie down."
"All right! Make yourself at home. I will go out. Shall probably be back by ten."
When Graham returned at a little past ten he found Jed in bed and fast asleep. His eyes sparkled with pleasure.
He raised Jed's clothes from the chair on which he had thrown them and went through the pockets expeditiously. Poor Jed's small stock of money was quickly transferred to his own pockets.
"He hasn't any watch," soliloquized Graham. "That's a pity."
When his search was completed he put on his hat again.
"I shall sleep in Jersey City to-night," he said to himself. "That will be safer."
He went out softly, leaving Jed alone, the victim of a cruel trick.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A STARTLING DISCOVERY
Jed slept on, unconscious of his loss, till the sun flooded the room with golden light. Then he opened his eyes and wondered for a moment where he was. But recollection came to his aid, and he recalled the incidents of his meeting with Graham and sharing the latter's room.
He looked over to the other side of the bed, but his roommate was not to be seen.
"I suppose it is late and he has gone to his business," thought Jed tranquilly. "Probably he didn't want to wake me up."
This explanation seemed natural enough till he noticed that the pillow on the right-hand side of the bed did not seem to have been used. Lifting the quilt, he discovered that the sheet was smooth. Clearly Graham had not slept there at all.
"What does it mean?" thought Jed, perplexed. "Why didn't he come back last evening?"
This was a question which he could not answer. No suspicion, however, had yet dawned upon him that anything was wrong.
"Well," he said, jumping out of bed, "I must get up and try for a place. I guess I can find that eating-house where we took supper. Let me see, what was the name? Oh, Smith & Green. Well, I feel as if I could dispose of a good breakfast."
He washed his face and hands and proceeded to dress. Mechanically, but not from any feeling of uneasiness, he thrust his hand into his pocket in search of his wallet. The pocket was empty!
His heart gave a jump, and he hurriedly examined his other pockets, but it was of no avail. Then he looked about the room and on the floor, but there was no trace of the lost wallet.
Jed felt faint, and his legs trembled under him, as he thought of the terrible situation in which he was placed. He began to connect Graham's absence with his loss, and understood that his new acquaintance had played him false.
It was a shock to him, for his nature was trustful, and he hated to believe that a young man who had seemed so friendly should prove so treacherous.
"What shall I do?" thought poor Jed. "I haven't enough money for my breakfast, and I am very hungry."
At this point, just as he was ready to go out, there came a knock at the door.
Jed rose and opened it. He confronted a stout woman of middle age with a very serious expression of countenance that seemed to indicate that she meant business. She regarded Jed with surprise.
"I expected to see Mr. Graham," she said. "Are you a friend of his?"
"I only met him yesterday. He invited me to come and spend the night in his room."
"Is he here, or has he gone out?"
"I don't think he slept here at all last night. He left early in the evening, and said he would come back, but the bed doesn't seem to have been slept in except by myself."
"He is very liberal in offering the use of a room that he has not paid for," said the lady sarcastically.
"I don't know anything about that," faltered Jed.
"No, I suppose not. But it's true. He only came here two weeks and a half ago, and paid one week's rent in advance—four dollars. When the next week's rent became due he said that his employer was on a visit to Chicago, and he could not get his pay till he came back. Do you know whether that is true?"
"No, I don't. I never saw him before yesterday afternoon about four o'clock in a park about half a mile from here."
"So he wasn't at work at that time?"
"No; he said he worked for a broker and got through at three o'clock."
"A broker? Why he told me he was working in a wholesale house down town. At any rate, I wish he'd pay me the eight dollars he owes me."
"I wish he'd pay me the thirty-five dollars he owes me," said Jed despondently.
"You don't mean to say that you were goose enough to lend him thirty-five dollars?" exclaimed Mrs. Gately in a crescendo voice.
"No; I didn't lend it to him," returned Jed bitterly. "He must have taken it out of my pocket when I was asleep."
"Well, I declare! So he's a thief, too."
She looked around the room, and opening a bureau examined the drawers.
"He's gone off and taken all of his things," she reported. "That settles it. We shall not see our money again."
"I—I don't know what to do," said Jed sorrowfully.
"Did he take all your money?" asked Mrs. Gately, drawn from a consideration of her own misfortune to that of her fellow-sufferer.
"Yes, he took every cent," answered Jed mournfully. "And the worst of it is that I am a stranger in New York."
"Well, that is too bad!" said the landlady, an expression of sympathy relieving the severity of her face. "Your case is worse than mine. You actually haven't anything left?"
"Except my gripsack."
"And of course you haven't had any breakfast?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, I do pity you. I suppose you are hungry?"
"I don't know when I have ever felt so hungry," answered Jed.
"I will see that you don't leave the house in that condition at any rate. I'm a poor woman, as any one must be who has to depend on lodgers for an income, but I'm not penniless. Come down stairs, Mr.—Mr.—"
"Gilman," suggested Jed.
"And I will skirmish round and scare you up something to eat."
"You are very kind," said Jed gratefully.
"Wait and see what you get," returned Mrs. Gately with a laugh and a softer expression, for Jed's case appealed to her heart.
She led the way to the front basement. A table was set in the centre of the room. Evidently it had not yet been cleared off.
"I'm a little behindhand this morning," remarked Mrs. Gately, beginning to bustle round. "I don't take boarders in a general way, but I have a young girl in the house that works at Macy's. I suppose you've heard of Macy's?"
"No, ma'am."
"Never heard of Macy's? I thought everybody had heard of Macy's, Fo'teenth Street and Sixth Avenue. Luella Dickinson works there, and I give her breakfast in the house as a favor. Let me see, there's a little coffee left—I'll warm it over—and there's bread and butter, and—I can cook you a sausage, and boil a couple of eggs."
"I hope you won't take too much trouble," said Jed.
"I guess I can afford to take a little trouble, especially as there's no knowing when you will have any dinner."
Jed owned to himself with a sigh that there was a good deal of doubt on that point. However, it isn't wise to borrow trouble too far in advance, and the odor of the sausage as it was frying was very grateful to his nostrils. He was sure of one meal at any rate, and that was something, though the day before he thought he had enough money to last a month.
"I don't think the coffee will do," said Mrs. Gately, as she bustled round the stove in the next room. "I'll make some fresh. I don't think coffee amounts to much when it is warmed over."
Jed was of the same opinion, and did not utter a protest. He was very fond of coffee, and felt that with a fresh pot of it the breakfast would be fit for a king.
"Haven't you got any folks, Mr. Gilman?" asked the landlady, as she brought the pot of coffee and sat it on the table.
"No, ma'am," answered Jed. "I am alone in the world."
"Dear me, that's sad! And so young as you are, too!"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm only sixteen."
"What did you calc'late to do, if you could get a chance?"
"Anything. I'm not particular."
"You haven't any trade, have you?"
"No. I've been living in the country most of the time, and did chores on a farm."
"Well, we haven't many farms in New York," said the landlady with a laugh.
"No. I suppose not. Even if there were, I don't like that kind of work."
"Have you never done anything else?"
"I acted for a few weeks."
"Gracious! You don't mean to say you've been a play actor?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"How Luella Dickinson would like to see you! She dotes on play actors, but I don't think she ever met one."
"I am afraid she would be disappointed in me.
"Oh, I guess not. If you've played on the stage that's enough. Why can't you call round some evening? Luella would so like to see you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gately. If I can get anything to do, I will call."
Jed finished his breakfast. He ate heartily, for he had no idea where he should get another meal.
"I guess I'll be going," he said, as he rose from the table. "You have been very kind."
"Oh, that's nothing. I hope you'll meet that rascally Graham and make him give up your money."
"I am afraid there is little hope of that. Good morning, and thank you!"
And so Jed passed out of the hospitable house into the inhospitable street, without a cent of money or a prospect of earning any.
CHAPTER XXV.
WITHOUT A PENNY
There is nothing that makes one feel so helpless as to be without a penny in a strange city. If Jed had had even a dollar he would have felt better.
The fact of his poverty was emphasized when a boy came up to him and asked him to buy a morning paper. Jed instinctively felt in his pocket for a penny, but not even a cent was forthcoming.
"I have no change," he said, by way of excuse.
"I can change a dollar," responded the newsboy, who was more than usually enterprising.
"I wish I could," thought Jed, but he only said, "No, it is no matter."
So he walked along Broadway, fairly well dressed, but, so far as money went, a pauper. Yes, though no longer an inmate of the Scranton poorhouse, he was even poorer than when he was there, for then he had a home, and now he had none.
"I wonder when it is all going to end?" reflected poor Jed despondently. Then his anger was excited when he thought of the unprincipled rascal who had brought him to this pass.
"If I could only get hold of him," muttered Jed vengefully, "I would give him something to remember me by."
All the while Jed walked on, though his walk was aimless. He was as well off in one part of the city as another, and only walked to fill up time.
He found himself passing a drug store. Just outside the door he saw the sign "Boy wanted," and with a little kindling of hope he entered the store.
Just behind the counter stood a man with a sandy beard, who appeared to be the proprietor. To him Jed addressed himself.
"I see you want a boy," he said.
"Yes; do you want a place?"
"Yes, sir."
"I hardly think you would be satisfied with the wages we pay, unless you particularly wish to learn our business."
"What do you pay, sir?"
"Three dollars a week."
Three dollars a week! It was certainly better than no income at all, but Jed knew well that it would be impossible to live on this sum, and he had no reserve fund to draw upon.
"No," he said, "I am afraid I couldn't get along on that salary."
"Are you entirely dependent on your earnings?" asked the druggist.
"Yes, sir."
"Have you parents residing in the city?"
"No, sir; I am all alone."
"That would be an objection. We prefer to employ those who live at home."
"Do most employers require that, sir?"
"Many do."
Here a customer came in and asked for a bottle of cough medicine, and the druggist turned away to fill the order. Jed walked slowly out of the store.
"I wonder whether there is any work for me anywhere?" he asked himself despondently.
Jed continued his walk down Broadway. It was a bright, clear, exhilarating day, and Jed would have enjoyed it thoroughly if he had been better fixed, but it is hard to keep up the spirits when your pocket is empty.
When Jed reached City Hall Park he went in and sat down on one of the benches.
One of the boy bootblacks who carry on business in the park came up to him with his box on his shoulder and asked, "Shine your boots?"
Jed shook his head.
"Not this morning," he replied.
"They need it," said the boy.
Jed looked at his boots, and was fain to admit that the boy was right. But he was not possessed of the necessary nickel.
"Yes, they do need it," he said, "but I haven't money enough to pay you for doing it."
"Only five cents."
"I haven't five cents. I'm poorer than you are, my boy," said Jed in a burst of confidence.
The boy looked puzzled.
"You don't look like it," he said after scrutinizing Jed's appearance. "How did you come to be so poor?"
"Had all my money stolen last night."
"How much was there?"
"Thirty-five dollars."
"Whew!" whistled the bootblack. "That was a haul. Who did it?"
"A young man I fell in with. He invited me to share his room. I woke this morning to find that he had stolen all my money."
"He was a snide, he was! I'd like to step on his necktie."
"I'd like to do something of that sort myself," said Jed with a smile.
"Would you know him if you saw him again?"
"Yes; I shan't forget him very soon."
"When you do see him hand him over to a cop. Just hold out your foot," and the boy got down in a position to black Jed's shoe.
"But I haven't any money. I can't pay you."
"I'll do it for nothin', seein' as you're down on your luck. You can pay me some time when times is better."
"I am afraid you will have to wait a good while for your money."
"Never mind! It won't kill me if I lose it."
"You're very kind to a stranger," said Jed, grateful for the boy's friendly proffer.
"Oh, it ain't nothin'. You look like a good fellow. You'll get a place quicker if your shoes look nice."
There was something practical in this suggestion, and Jed accepted the offer without further hesitation.
The boy exerted himself specially, and Jed's dirty shoes soon showed a dazzling polish.
"There, you can see your face in 'em!" exclaimed the boy, as he rose from his knees.
"Thank you," said Jed. "I see you understand your business. Will you tell me your name?"
"Jim Parker."
"Well, Jim, I am much obliged to you. I hope some time I can do you a favor."
"Oh, that's all right. So long! I hope you'll get a job." And the independent young bootblack, with his box over his shoulder, walked across the park in search of another job.
Somehow Jed was cheered by this act of kindness. He felt a little better satisfied with himself, moreover, when he saw the transformation of his dirty shoes to the polish that marks the gentleman.
A man rather shabbily dressed was drawn by this outward sign of affluence to sit down beside him. He took a brief inventory of Jed, and then doffing his hat, said deferentially, "Young gentleman, I hope you will excuse the liberty I am taking, but I have walked all the way from Buffalo, and am reduced almost to my last penny. In fact this nickel," producing one from his pocket, "is all the money I have left. If you will kindly loan me a quarter I shall esteem it a great favor."
Jed felt like laughing. He had not a penny, yet here was a man richer than himself asking for a loan.
"I wish I were able to oblige you," he said, "but you are asking me for more than I possess."
The man glanced incredulously at Jed's polished shoes.
"You don't look poor," he said, in a tone of sarcasm.
"No, I don't look poor, but you are five cents richer than I."
The man shrugged his shoulders. He evidently did not believe Jed.
"It is quite true," continued Jed, answering the doubt on the man's face. "Last night I was robbed of all the money I had. Had you applied to me yesterday I would have granted your request."
This frank statement disarmed the man's suspicion.
"I think your are speaking the truth," he said. "Though there are plenty who pretend to be poor to get rid of giving. Perhaps I shall surprise you when I say that a year ago I should have been able to lend you five thousand dollars, and have as much more left."
"Yes, you do surprise me! How did you lose your money?"
"I was a fool—that explains it. I bought mining stocks. I was in San Francisco at the time, and my money melted like snow in the sun. A year since I was worth ten thousand dollars. To-day I am worth a nickel. Do you know what I will do with it?"
Jed looked at him inquiringly.
"I will buy a glass of beer, and drink to our good luck—yours and mine."
"I hope it will bring the good luck," said Jed smiling.
"I would offer you a glass too, if I had another nickel."
"Thank you, but I never drink beer. I thank you all the same."
His companion rose and left the park, probably in search of a beer saloon. Jed got up, too, and took another walk. By half-past twelve he felt decidedly hungry. His breakfast had lasted him till then, but he was young and healthy, and craved three meals a day.
"How shall I manage to get dinner?" thought Jed seriously.
He paused in front of the Astor House, which he knew to be a hotel, and saw business men entering in quest of their midday lunch.
It was tantalizing. There was plenty of food inside, but he lacked the wherewithal to purchase a portion.
"Why, Jed, how are you?" came unexpectedly to his ears.
He looked up and saw a brown-bearded, pleasant-faced man, whom he recognized as a fellow-guest at the Spray Hotel at Sea Spray.
"When did you leave Sea Spray?" asked his friend.
"Only yesterday."
"Going to stay in the city?"
"Yes, if I can get anything to do."
"Have you been to lunch?"
"Not yet."
"Come in and lunch with me, then. I think we can find something inviting at the Astor."
"Saved!" thought Jed, as he gladly passed into the famous hostelry with his friend. "I wonder if he has any idea how glad I am to accept his invitation?"
