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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 9. Julius |
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_ CHAPTER IX. JULIUS At the time appointed, Paul and his mother moved into their new home. It was necessary to buy but a small quantity of new furniture, as Mrs. Talbot authorized them to take down from the upper rooms anything of which they had need. She was led to this offer by the favorable opinion she had formed of Mrs. Hoffman. With the exception, therefore, of some bedding and a rocking-chair, the latter purchased nothing. It took a little time, of course, to get accustomed to their new quarters. When, however, they had got to feel at home, they enjoyed them. It was no longer possible, of course, for Paul to come home to the noonday meal, since the distance between his place of business and the house on Madison avenue was two miles and a half. He therefore was accustomed to take his lunch at a restaurant, for his mother had adopted the common New York custom of having dinner at the end of the day. It was about six weeks after Paul's removal to Madison avenue that one day, on approaching the restaurant on Fulton street where he proposed to lunch, his attention was drawn to a famished-looking boy who was looking in at the window at the viands within. It was impossible to misinterpret his hungry look. Paul understood it at once, and his heart was stirred with compassion. His own prosperity had not hardened him, but rendered him more disposed to lend a helping hand to those more needy. "Are you hungry, Johnny?" he asked. The boy turned at the sound of the words. "Ain't I just?" he said. "Didn't you have any breakfast?" "I had a piece of bread." "Was that all?" "Yes," "Could you eat a plate of meat if I gave you some?" "Try me and see," was the reply. "Come in, then," said Paul. "Will you pay for it?" asked the young Arab, almost incredulous. "Yes, I will pay for it." The boy waited for no further assurance. He was not in a position to refuse so advantageous a proposal. He shuffled in, therefore, directly behind Paul. It was not an aristocratic eating-house, but its guests were well-dressed, and the ragged boy at once attracted unfavorable attention. "Get out of here!" said a waiter. "He told me to come in," said the boy, beginning to tremble at the thought of losing the proffered dinner. Paul, at whom he pointed, was known at the restaurant. "Did this boy come in with you?" asked the waiter. "Yes," said Paul; "he's going to dine with me." "All right." The waiter was rather surprised at Paul's selection of a table companion, but payment being thus guaranteed, could interpose no further objections. "Sit down there, Johnny," said Paul, indicating a seat at one of the side tables and taking the seat opposite himself. "Now what'll you have?" he asked, handing his young guest the bill of fare. The young Arab took it, and holding it upside down, looked at it in perplexity. "I can't read," said he, handing it back. "I suppose you can eat, though," said Paul. "What'll you have?" "Anything that's good; I ain't pertikler," said the boy. "Do you like stewed oysters?" The boy eagerly replied in the affirmative. "Stewed oysters for two," ordered Paul. "That'll do to begin on, Johnny. What's your real name?" "Julius." "Anything else?" "That's all the name I know." "You can take another when you need it. Did you ever hear of Julius Caesar?" "Yes," said the boy. Paul was a little surprised to discover the boy's range of historical information. "What do you know about him?" he asked. "I don't know him; I've seed him," said the boy. "Where have you seen him?" asked Paul, rather astonished. "Down in Baxter street." "Does he live there?" asked Paul. "Yes; he keeps a barber shop there." Evidently the young Arab supposed that Julius Caesar, colored barber, within the precincts of the Five Points, was the one referred to by his questioner. Paul did not explain to him his mistake. "Have you got any father or mother?" "No," said the boy. "Where do you live?" "In Centre street." "What do you do for a living?" "Sometimes I black boots; sometimes I beg." "Who do you live with?" "Jack Morgan." "Is he any relation to you?" "I dunno," answered the boy. The conversation was here interrupted. The stews were placed on the table, with a plate of crackers. The boy's eyes glistened. He seized the spoon, and attacked his share with evident appetite. "Poor little chap!" thought Paul, sympathetically; "he doesn't often get a good dinner. To-day he shall have all he can eat." When the boy had finished, he said: "Will you have some pudding, or would you like some more oysters?" "I'd like the oysters, if it's all the same to you," answered Julius. "Another stew and some apple dumpling," ordered Paul. Julius was in appearance about twelve years of age. In reality he was fourteen, being small of his age. He had black hair and a dark complexion; his face was thin and his figure slender. He had the expression of one who was used to privation and knew how to bear it without much hope of anything better. His clothes were soiled and ragged, but his face was clean. Water was cheap, and he was unfashionably neat for the quarter in which he lived. The stew was brought, and an extra plate of bread and butter. "Now go ahead," said Paul. "Eat all you want." Julius needed no other invitation. He proceeded vigorously to accomplish the work before him, and soon both bread and oysters were disposed of. "Have you got enough?" asked Paul, smiling. "Yes," said Julius; "I'm full." Have you ever seen the satisfied look of an alderman as he rose from a sumptuous civic banquet? The same expression was visible on the face of the young Arab as he leaned back in his chair, with his hands thrust into his pockets. "Then," said Paul, "we may as well be going." The boy seized his ragged cap and followed his benefactor from the eating-house. When they reached the sidewalk, he turned to Paul and said: "That was a bully dinner." Paul understood that he intended to thank him, though his gratitude was not directly expressed. "I'm glad you liked it," said he; "but I must be going now." Julius looked after him until he turned the corner. "He's been good to me," he said to himself; "maybe I can do something for him some day." The young Arab had had few occasions for gratitude. The world had been a hard stepmother to him. It was years since he had known father or mother, and as long as he could remember he had been under the guardianship of a social outlaw, named Jack Morgan, who preyed upon the community whenever he got a chance. Whenever he was under the ban of the law, Julius had shifted for himself, or been transferred to one of his lawless companions. The chances seemed to be in favor of Julius growing up such another as his guardian. Had he been differently constituted he would have been worse than he was. But his natural instincts were healthful, and when he had been left entirely to himself he had lived by honest industry, devoting himself to some of the street occupations which were alone open to him. His most perilous period was when Jack resumed his guardianship, as he had done a fortnight previous, on being released from a three months' residence at Blackwell's Island. What the tie was between him and the boy was unknown. Julius knew that Jack was not his father, for the latter had never made that claim. Sometimes he vaguely intimated that Julius was the son of his sister, and consequently his nephew, but as at times he gave a different account, Julius did not know what to think. But he had always acquiesced in his guardianship, and whenever Jack was at liberty had without hesitation gone back to him. After a brief pause Julius followed Paul to the corner, and saw him take his place beside the necktie stand. He then remembered to have seen him there before. "I thought I know'd him," he said; "I'll remember him now." He wandered about vaguely, having no regular occupation. He had had a blacking-box and brush, but it had been stolen, and he had not replaced it. He had asked Jack to lend him the money requisite to set him up in the business again, but the latter had put him off, intimating that he should have something else for him to do. Julius had therefore postponed seeking any other employment, beyond hovering about the piers and railway stations on the chance of obtaining a job to carry a carpetbag or valise. This was a precarious employment, and depended much more on good fortune than the business of a newsboy or bootblack. However, in the course of the afternoon Julius earned twenty-five cents for carrying a carpet-bag to French's Hotel. That satisfied him, for he was not very ambitious. He invested the greater part of it in some coffee and cakes at one of the booths in Fulton Market, and about nine o'clock, tired with his day's tramp, sought the miserable apartment in Centre street which he shared with Jack Morgan. _ |
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