CHAPTER III.
JAMES MARTIN'S VICISSITUDES.
While Miss Manning is seeking a new boarding-place for herself and Rose,events are taking place in Brooklyn which claim our attention. It ishere that James Martin, the shiftless and drunken step-father of Rufusand Rose, has made a temporary residence. He had engaged board at thehouse of a widow, Mrs. Waters, and for two or three weeks paid his boardregularly, being employed at his trade of a carpenter on some housesgoing up near by. But it was not in James Martin's nature to worksteadily at anything. His love of drink had spoiled a once good andindustrious workman, and there seemed to be little chance of anypermanent improvement in his character or habits. For a time Rufus usedto pay him over daily the most of his earnings as a newsboy, and withthis he managed to live miserably enough without doing much himself. Butafter a while Rufus became tired of this arrangement, and withdrewhimself and his sister to another part of the town, thus throwing Martinon his own resources. Out of spite Martin contrived to kidnap Rose, but,as we have seen, her brother had now succeeded in recovering her.
After losing Rose, Martin took the way back to his boarding-house,feeling rather doubtful of his reception from Mrs. Waters, to whom hewas owing a week's board, which he was quite unable to pay. He had toldher that he would pay the bill as soon as he could exchange afifty-dollar note, which it is needless to say was only an attempt atdeception, since he did not even possess fifty cents.
On entering the house, he went at once to his room, and lay down on thebed till the supper-bell rang. Then he came down, and took his place atthe table with the rest of the boarders.
"Where's your little girl, Mr. Martin?" inquired Mrs. Waters, missingRose.
"She's gone on a visit to some of her relations in New York," answeredMartin, with some degree of truth.
"How long is she to stay?"
"'Till she can have some new clothes made up; maybe two or three weeks."
"That's rather sudden, isn't it? You didn't think of her going thismorning?"
"No," answered Martin, with his mouth full of toast; "but she teased sohard to go, I let her. She's a troublesome child. I shall be glad tohave the care of her off my mind for a time."
This might be true; but Mrs. Waters was beginning to lose confidence inMr. Martin's statements. She felt that it was the part of prudence tomake sure of the money he was already owing her, and then on somepretext get rid of him.
When supper was over, Martin rose, and was about to go out, but Mrs.Waters was too quick for him.
"Mr. Martin," she said, "may I speak to you a moment?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Martin, turning reluctantly.
"I suppose you are ready to pay my bill; I need the money particularly."
"I'll pay it to-morrow, Mrs. Waters."
"You promised to pay me as soon as you changed a bill, and this morningyou said you should have a chance to change it, as you were going to buyyour little girl some new clothes."
"I know I did," said Martin, feeling cornered.
"I suppose, therefore, you can pay me the money to-night," said Mrs.Waters, sharply.
"Why, the fact is, Mrs. Waters," said Martin, awkwardly, "I was veryunfortunate. As I was sitting in the horse-car coming home, I had mypocket picked of all the money I got in change. There was some overforty dollars."
"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Waters, coldly, for she did not believe a word ofthis; "but I need my money."
"If it hadn't been for that, I'd have paid you to-night."
"There's only one word I have to say, Mr. Martin," said the landlady,provoked; "if you can't pay me, you must find another boarding-place."
"I'll attend to it in a day or two. I guess I can get the moneyto-morrow."
"If you can't pay me to-night, you'll oblige me by giving up your roomto-morrow morning. I'm a poor widder, Mr. Martin, and I must look outfor number one. I can't afford to keep boarders that don't pay theirbills."
There was one portion of this speech that set Mr. Martin to thinking.Mrs. Waters was a widow--he was a widower. By marrying her he wouldsecure a home, and the money received from the boarders would be paid tohim. He might not be accepted. Still it would do no harm to try.
"Mrs. Waters," he said, abruptly, wreathing his features into what heconsidered an attractive smile, "since I lost my wife I've been feelingvery lonely. I need a wife to look after me and my little gal. If youwill marry me, we'll live happy, and--"
"Thank you, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters, considerably astonished atthe sudden turn affairs had taken; "but I've got too much to do to thinkabout marrying. Leastways, I don't care about marrying a man that can'tpay his board-bill."
"Just as you say," answered Martin, philosophically; "I've give you agood chance. Perhaps you won't get another very soon."
"Well, if there isn't impudence for you!" ejaculated Mrs. Waters, as herboarder left the room. "I must be hard up for a husband, to marry such ashiftless fellow as he is."
The next morning, Mr. Martin made his appearance, as usual, at thebreakfast-table. Notwithstanding his proposal of marriage had been sodecidedly rejected the day before, his appetite was not only as good asusual, but considerably better. In fact, as he was not quite clear wherehis dinner was to come from, or whether, indeed, he should have any atall, he thought it best to lay in sufficient to last him for severalhours. Mrs. Waters contemplated with dismay the rapid manner in which hedisposed of the beef-steak and hash which constituted the principaldishes of her morning meal, and decided that the sooner she got rid ofsuch a boarder the better.
Mr. Martin observed the eyes of the landlady fixed upon him, andmisinterpreted it. He thought it possible she might have changed hermind as to the refusal of the day before, and resolved to renew hisproposal. Accordingly he lingered till the rest of the boarders had leftthe table.
"Mrs. Waters," he said, "maybe you've changed your mind sinceyesterday."
"About what?" demanded the landlady, sharply.
"About marrying me."
"No, I haven't," answered the widow; "you needn't mention the matteragain. When I want to marry you, I'll send and let you know."
"All right!" said Martin; "there's several after me, but I'll wait aweek for you."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself," said the landlady, sarcastically; "I don'twant to disappoint anybody else. Can you pay me this morning?"
"I'll have the money in a day or two."
"You needn't come back to dinner unless you bring the money to pay yourbill. I can't afford to give you your board."
Mr. Martin rose and left the house, understanding pretty clearly that hecouldn't return. On reaching the street, he opened his pocket-book, andascertained that twelve cents were all it contained. This small amountwas not likely to last very long. He decided to go to New York, havingno further inducements to keep him in Brooklyn. Something might turnup, he reasoned, in the shiftless manner characteristic of him.
Jumping upon a passing car, he rode down to Fulton Ferry, and crossed inthe boat to the New York side, thus expending for travelling expenseseight cents.
Supposing that Rufus still sold papers in front of the "Tribune" office,he proceeded to Printing House Square, and looked around for him; but hewas nowhere to be seen.
"Who you lookin' for, gov'nor?" inquired a boot-black, rather short ofstature, but with an old-looking face.
"Aint you the boy that went home with me Wednesday?" asked Martin, towhom Ben Gibson's face looked familiar.
"S'posin' I am?"
"Have you seen a newsboy they call Rough and Ready, this morning?"
"Yes, I seed him."
"Where is he? Has he sold all his papers?"
"He's giv' up sellin' papers, and gone into business on Wall Street."
"Don't you try to fool me, or I'll give you a lickin'," said Martin,sternly.
"DON'T YOU TRY TO FOOL ME."]
"Thank you for your kind offer," said Ben, "but lickings don't agreewith my constitution."
"Why don't you tell me the truth
then?"
"I did."
"You said Rufus had gone into business in Wall Street."
"So he has. A rich cove's taken a fancy to him, and adopted him as aoffice-boy."
"How much does he pay him?" asked Martin, considering whether therewould be any chance of getting some money out of his step-son.
"Not knowin' can't say," replied Ben; "but he's just bought twopocket-books to hold his wages in."
"You're a humbug!" said Martin, indignantly. "What's the man's name heworks for?"
"It's painted in big letters on the sign. You can't miss it."
James Martin considered, for an instant, whether it would be best togive Ben a thrashing, but the approach of a policeman led him to decidein the negative.
"Shine yer boots, gov'nor?" asked Ben, professionally.
"Yes," said Martin, rather unexpectedly.
"Payment in advance!" said Ben, who didn't think it prudent to trust inthis particular instance.
"I'll tell yer what," said Martin, to whom necessity had taught acertain degree of cunning, "if you'll lend me fifty cents for a week,I'll let you shine my boots every day, and pay you the money besides."
"That's a very kind proposal," said Ben; "but I've just invested all mymoney on a country-seat up the river, which makes me rather short."
"Then you can't lend me the fifty?"
"No, but I'll tell you where you can get it."
"Where?"
"Up in Chatham Street. There's plenty'll lend it on the security of thathat of yours."
The hat in question was in the last stages of dilapidation, looking asif it had been run over daily by an omnibus, and then used to fill theplace of a broken pane, being crushed out of all shape and comeliness.
Martin aimed a blow at Ben, but the boot-black dexterously evaded it,and, slinging his box over his back, darted down Nassau Street.
Later in the day he met Rough and Ready.
"I see the gov'nor this mornin'," said Ben.
"What, Mr. Martin?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He inquired after you in the most affectionate manner, and wanted toknow where you was at work."
"I hope you didn't tell him."
"Not if I know myself. I told him he'd see the name on the sign. Then hewanted to borrow fifty cents for a week."
Rufus laughed.
"It's a good investment, Ben. I've invested considerable money that way.I suppose you gave him the money?"
"Maybe I did. He offered me the chance of blacking his boots every dayfor a week, if I'd lend him the money; but I had to resign the gloriousprivilege, not havin' been to the bank this mornin' to withdraw mydeposits."
"You talk like a banker, Ben."
"I'm goin' to bankin' some day, when boot-blacking gets dull."
Ben Gibson had been for years a boot-black, having commenced thebusiness when only eight years old. His life had been one of hardshipand privation, as street life always is, but he had become toughened toit, and bore it with a certain stoicism, never complaining, but oftenjoking in a rude way at what would have depressed and discouraged a moresensitive temperament. He was by no means a model boy, though not as badas many of his class. He had learned to smoke and to swear, and did bothfreely. But there was a certain rude honesty about him which led Rufus,though in every way his superior, to regard him with friendly interest,and he had, on more than one occasion, been of considerable service toour hero in his newsboy days. Rufus had tried to induce him to give upsmoking, but thus far without success.
"It keeps a feller warm," he said; "besides it won't hurt me. I'mtough."