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Slow and Sure: The Story of Paul Hoffman the Young Street-Merchant, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 3. The Burning Of The Tenement House |
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_ CHAPTER III. THE BURNING OF THE TENEMENT HOUSE The scene was an exciting one. The occupants of the large tenement house had vacated their rooms in alarm, each bearing what first came to hand, and reinforced by a numerous crowd of outsiders, were gazing in dismay at the sudden conflagration which threatened to make them homeless. "Och hone! och hone! that iver I should see the day!" exclaimed a poor Irish woman, wringing her hands. "It's ruined intirely I am by the fire. Is that you, Mrs. Hoffman, and Paul? Indade it's a sad day for the likes of us." "It is indeed, Mrs. McGowan. Do you know how the fire caught?" "It's all along of that drunken brute, Jim O'Connel. He was smokin' in bed, bad luck to him, as drunk as a baste, and the burnin' tobacker fell out on the shates, and set the bed on fire." "Cheer up, Mrs. McGowan!" said the hearty voice of Mrs. Donovan. "We ain't burnt up ourselves, and that's a comfort." "I've lost all my money," said Mrs. McGowan disconsolately. "I had twenty-siven dollars and thirty cents in the bank, and the bank-book's burnt up, och hone!" "You can get your money for all that, Mrs. McGowan," said Paul. "Just tell them at the savings-bank how you lost your book, and they will give you another." "Do you think so?" asked Mrs. McGowan doubtfully. "I feel sure of it." "Then that's something," said she, looking considerably relieved. "Whin can I get it?" "I will go with you to the bank to-morrow." "Thank you, Paul. And it's you that's a fine lad intirely." "All my pictures will burn up," said Jimmy. "You can draw some new ones," said Paul. "I am afraid, mother, you will never wear that new dress of yours." "It's a pity I bought it just at this time." "Here's a bundle I took from your room, Mrs. Hoffman," said a boy, pushing his way through the crowd. "My dress is safe, after all," said Mrs. Hoffman in surprise. "It is the only thing we shall save." "You can have it made up and wear it in remembrance of the fire, mother." "I shall be likely to remember that without." Meanwhile the fire department were working energetically to put out the fire. Stream after stream was directed against the burning building, but the fire had gained too great headway. It kept on its victorious course, triumphantly baffling all the attempts that were made to extinguish it. Then efforts were made to prevent its spreading to the neighboring buildings, and these were successful. But the building itself, old and rotten, a very tinderbox, was doomed. In less than an hour the great building, full as a hive of occupants, was a confused mass of smoking ruins. And still the poor people hovered around in uncertainty and dismay, in that peculiarly forlorn condition of mind induced by the thought that they knew not where they should lay their heads during the coming night. One family had saved only a teakettle to commence their housekeeping with. A little girl had pressed close to her breast a shapeless and dirty rag baby, her most valued possession. A boy of twelve had saved a well-used pair of skates, for which he had traded the day before, while an old woman, blear-eyed and wrinkled, hobbled about, groaning, holding in one hand a looking-glass, an article the most unlikely of all, one would think, to be of use to her. "Did you save nothing, Mrs. Donovan?" asked Paul. "Shure and I saved my flatirons, and my tub I threw out of the window, but some spalpeen has walked off with it. I wish it had fallen on his head. What'll my Pat say when he comes home from work?" "It's lucky no lives were lost." "Thrue for you, Mrs. Hoffman. It might have been a dale worse. I don't mind meself, for I've strong arms, and I'll soon be on my fate again. But my Pat'll be ravin'. He had just bought a new coat to go to a ball wid tomorrow night, and it's all burnt up in the fire. Do you see that poor craythur wid the lookin' glass? I'm glad I didn't save mine, for I wouldn't know what to do wid it." "Well, Mrs. Donovan, we must find a new home." "I've got a sister livin' in Mulberry street. She'll take me in till I can get time to turn round. But I must stay here till my Pat comes home, or he would think I was burnt up too." The crowd gradually diminished. Every family, however poor, had some relations or acquaintances who were willing to give them a temporary shelter, though in most cases it fed to most uncomfortable crowding. But the poor know how to sympathize with the poor, and cheerfully bore the discomfort for the sake of alleviating the misfortune which might some day come upon themselves. "Where shall we go, mother?" asked Jimmy anxiously. Mrs. Hoffman looked doubtfully at Paul. "I suppose we must seek shelter somewhere," she said. "How will the Fifth Avenue Hotel suit you?" asked Paul. "I think I will wait till my new dress is finished," she said, smiling faintly. "Why, what's the matter, Paul? You're not burnt out, are you?" Turning at the voice, Paul recognized Sam Norton, a newsboy, who sold papers near his own stand. "Just about so, Sam," he answered. "We're turned into the street." "And where are you going to stop over night?" "That's more than I know. Mother here isn't sure whether she prefers the St Nicholas or Fifth Avenue." "Paul likes to joke at my expense," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Come over and stop with us to-night," said Sam. "My mother'll be glad to have you." "Thank you, Sam," said Mrs. Hoffman, who knew the boy as a friend of Paul, "but I shouldn't like to trouble your mother." "It'll be no trouble," said Sam eagerly. "If you think it won't, Sam," said Paul, "we'll accept for to-night. I am afraid they wouldn't take us in at any of the big hotels with only one dress, and that not made up, by way of baggage. To-morrow I'll find some other rooms." "Come along, then," said Sam, leading the way. "We'll have a jolly time to-night, Paul." "By way of celebrating the fire. It's jolly enough for us, but I shouldn't like it too often." "I say, Paul," said Sam, wheeling round, "if you're out of stamps, I've got a dollar or two that I can spare." "Thank you, Sam; you're a brick! But I've saved my bank-book, and I've got plenty to start on. Much obliged to you, all the same." It was true that Paul was in an unusually good position to withstand the blow which had so unexpectedly fallen upon him. He had a hundred and fifty dollars in the hands of Mr. Preston, a wealthy gentleman who took an interest in him, and moreover had a hundred dollars deposited to his credit in a savings-bank, beside his stock in trade, probably amounting to at least fifty dollars, at the wholesale price. So there was no immediate reason for anxiety. It would have been rather awkward, however, to look up a shelter for the night at such short notice, and therefore Sam Norton's invitation was particularly welcome. Sam led the way to the lodgings occupied by his parents. They were located on Pearl street, not far from Centre, and were more spacious and well furnished than any in the burned tenement house. "You go up first and tell your mother, Sam," said Paul. "She won't know what to make of it if we go in without giving her any notice." "All right," said Sam. "I'll be down in a jiffy." Two minutes were sufficient for Sam to explain the situation. His mother, a good, motherly woman, at once acknowledged the claim upon her hospitality. She came downstairs at once, and said heartily to Paul, whom she knew: "Come right up, Paul. And so this is your mother. I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Hoffman. Come right up, and I'll do all I can to make you comfortable." "I am afraid we shall give you trouble, Mrs. Norton," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Not in the least. The more the merrier, that's my motto. I haven't got much to offer, but what there is you are very welcome to." The room into which they were ushered was covered with a plain, coarse carpet. The chairs were wooden, but there was a comfortable rocking-chair, a cheap lounge, and a bookcase with a few books, besides several prints upon the wall. Sam's father was a policeman, while his mother was a New England woman of good common-school education, neat and thrifty, and so, though their means were small, she managed to make a comfortable home. Mrs. Hoffman looked around her with pleased approval. It was pleasant to obtain even temporary refuge in so homelike a place. "Is this your little brother who draws such fine pictures?" asked Mrs. Norton. Jimmy looked pleased but mystified. How should Mrs. Norton have heard of his pictures? "You must draw me a picture to-night, won't you?" asked Mrs. Norton. "I should like to, if I can have a pencil and some paper. All mine are burned up." "Sam will give you some from his desk. But you must be hungry." Sam was drawn aside by his mother, and, after a whispered conference, was dispatched to the butcher's and baker's, when he soon returned with a supply of rolls and beefsteak, from which in due time an appetizing meal was spread, to which all did full justice. _ |
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