CHAPTER XXIII.
A DISHONEST BAGGAGE-SMASHER.
On the next Monday morning Robert started for the city. At the moment ofparting he began to realize that he had undertaken a difficult task. Hislife hitherto had been quiet and free from excitement. Now he was aboutto go out into the great world, and fight his own way. With only twohundred dollars in his pocket he was going in search of a father, who,when last heard from was floating in an open boat on the South Pacific.The probabilities were all against that father's being still alive. Ifhe were, he had no clew to his present whereabouts.
All this Robert thought over as he was riding in the cars to the city.He acknowledged that the chances were all against his success, but inspite of all, he had a feeling, for which he could not account, that hisfather was still living, and that he should find him some day. At anyrate, there was something attractive in the idea of going out tounknown lands to meet unknown adventures, and so his momentarydepression was succeeded by a return of his old confidence.
Arrived in the city, he took his carpetbag in his hand, and crossing thestreet, walked at random, not being familiar with the streets, as he hadnot been in New York but twice before, and that some time since.
"I don't know where to go," thought Robert. "I wish I knew where to findsome cheap hotel."
Just then a boy, in well-ventilated garments and a rimless straw hat,with a blacking box over his shoulder, approached.
"Shine your boots, mister?" he asked.
Robert glanced at his shoes, which were rather deficient in polish, andfinding that the expense would be only five cents, told him to go ahead.
"I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever had," said the ragamuffin.
"That's right! Go ahead!" said Robert.
When the boy got through, he cast a speculative glance at the carpetbag.
"Smash yer baggage?" he asked.
"What's that?"
"Carry yer bag."
"Do you know of any good, cheap hotel where I can put up?" asked Robert.
"Eu-ro-pean hotel?" said the urchin, accenting the second syllable.
"What kind of a hotel is that?"
"You take a room, and get your grub where you like."
"Yes, that will suit me."
"I'll show you one and take yer bag along for two shillings."
"All right," said our hero. "Go ahead."
The boy shouldered the carpetbag and started in advance, Robertfollowing. He found a considerable difference between the crowdedstreets of New York and the quiet roads of Millville. His spirits rose,and he felt that life was just beginning for him. Brave and bold bytemperament, he did not shrink from trying his luck on a broader arenathan was afforded by the little village whence he came. Such confidenceis felt by many who eventually fail, but Robert was one who combinedability and willingness to work with confidence, and the chances were infavor of his succeeding.
Unused to the city streets, Robert was a little more cautious aboutcrossing than the young Arab who carried his bag. So, at one broadthoroughfare, the latter got safely across, while Robert was still onthe other side waiting for a good opportunity to cross in turn. Thebootblack, seeing that communication was for the present cut off by along line of vehicles, was assailed by a sudden temptation. For hisservices as porter he would receive but twenty-five cents, while herewas an opportunity to appropriate the entire bag, which must be far morevaluable. He was not naturally a bad boy, but his street education hadgiven him rather loose ideas on the subject of property. Obeying hisimpulse, then, he started rapidly, bag in hand, up a side street.
"Hold on, there! Where are you going?" called out Robert.
He received no answer, but saw the baggage-smasher quickening his paceand dodging round the corner. He attempted to dash across the street,but was compelled to turn back, after being nearly run over.
"I wish I could get hold of the young rascal!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Who do you mane, Johnny?" asked a boy at his side.
"A boy has run off with my carpetbag," said Robert.
"I know him. It's Jim Malone."
"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Robert, eagerly. "If you'llhelp me get back my bag, I'll give you a dollar."
"I'll do it then. Come along of me. Here's a chance to cross."
Following his new guide, Robert dashed across the street at some risk,and found himself safe on the other side.
"Now where do you think he's gone?" demanded Robert.
"It's likely he'll go home."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"No.--Mulberry street."
"Has he got any father and mother?"
"He's got a mother, but the ould woman's drunk most all the time."
"Then she won't care about his stealing?"
"No, she'll think he's smart."
"Then we'll go there. Is it far?"
"Not more than twenty minutes."
The boy was right. Jim steered for home, not being able to open the bagin the street without suspicion. His intention was to appropriate a partof the clothing to his own use, and dispose of the rest to a pawnbrokeror second-hand dealer, who, as long as he got a good bargain, would notbe too particular about inquiring into the customer's right to theproperty. He did not, however, wholly escape suspicion. He was stoppedby a policeman, who demanded, "Whose bag is that, Johnny?"
"It belongs to a gentleman that wants it carried to the St. Nicholas,"answered Jim, promptly.
"Where is the gentleman?"
"He's took a car to Wall street on business."
"How came he to trust you with the bag? Wasn't he afraid you'd stealit?"
"Oh, he knows me. I've smashed baggage for him more'n once."
This might be true. At any rate, it was plausible, and the policeman,having no ground of detention, suffered him to go on.
Congratulating himself on getting off so well, Jim sped on his way, andarrived in quick time at the miserable room in Mulberry street, which hecalled home.
His mother lay on a wretched bed in the corner, half stupefied withdrink. She lifted up her head as her son entered.
"What have you there, Jimmy?" she asked.
"It's a bag, mother."
"Whose is it?"
"It's mine now."
"And where did ye get it?"
"A boy gave it to me to carry to a chape hotel, so I brought it home.This is a chape hotel, isn't it?"
"You're a smart boy, an' I always said it, Jimmy. Let me open it," andthe old woman, with considerable alacrity, rose to her feet and came toJim's side.
"I'll open it myself, mother, that is, I if I had a kay. Haven't you gotone?"
"I have that same. I picked up a bunch of kays in the strate lastweek."
She fumbled in her pocket, and drew out half a dozen keys of differentsizes, attached to a steel ring.
"Bully for you, old woman!" said Jim. "Give 'em here."
"Let me open the bag," said Mrs. Malone, persuasively.
"No, you don't," said her dutiful son. "'Tain't none of yours. It'smine."
"The kays is mine," said his mother, "and I'll kape 'em."
"Give 'em here," said Jim, finding a compromise necessary, "and I'llgive you fifty cents out of what I get."
"That's the way to talk, darlint," said his mother, approvingly. "Youwouldn't have the heart to chate your ould mother out of her share?"
"It's better I did," said Jim; "you'll only get drunk on the money."
"Shure a little drink will do me no harm," said Mrs. Malone.
Meanwhile the young Arab had tried key after key until he found one thatfitted--the bag flew open, and Robert's humble stock of clothing layexposed to view. There was a woolen suit, four shirts, half a dozencollars, some stockings and handkerchiefs. Besides these there was thelittle Bible which Robert had had given him by his father just before hewent on his last voyage. It was the only book our hero had room for, butin the adventurous career upon which he had entered, exposed to perilsof the sea and l
and, he felt that he would need this as his constantguide.
"Them shirts'll fit me," said Jim. "I guess I'll kape 'em, and the closebesides."
"Then where'll you git the money for me?" asked his mother.
"I'll sell the handkerchiefs and stockings. I don't nade them," saidJim, whose ideas of full dress fell considerably short of the ordinarystandard. "I won't nade the collars either."
"You don't nade all the shirts," said his mother.
"I'll kape two," said Jim. "It'll make me look respectable. Maybe I'llkape two collars, so I can sit up for a gentleman of fashion."
"You'll be too proud to walk with your ould mother," said Mrs. Malone.
"Maybe I will," said Jim, surveying his mother critically. "You aintmuch of a beauty, ould woman."
"I was a purty gal, once," said Mrs. Malone, "but hard work and bad luckhas wore on me."
"The whisky's had something to do with it," said Jim. "Hard work didn'tmake your face so red."
"Is it my own boy talks to me like that?" said the old woman, wiping hereyes on her dress.
But her sorrow was quickly succeeded by a different emotion, as the dooropened suddenly, and Robert Rushton entered the room.