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Brave Tom: The Battle That Won, a fiction by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 11 |
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_ Chapter XI When Tom Gordon comprehended that the two policemen had arrested him on the charge of stealing a gold watch, he understood the trick played upon him by the lad who had handed him the timepiece and then, darted into the alley. Instead of throwing the property away, as a thief generally does under such circumstances, the young scamp preferred to get a stranger into difficulty. "I didn't take the watch; that boy handed it"-- "Shet up!" broke in the burly officer. "But let me finish what I want"-- "Shet up! Heavens and earth! have I got to kill you before you stop that clack of yours?" The lad saw that the only way to save his crown was to keep quiet, and he did so, trusting that in some way or other the truth would become known, the guilty punished, and the innocent allowed to go free. One policeman grasped his right and the other his left arm, and they held on like grim death as they marched off toward the station-house. Turning the next corner, they entered a still lower part of the city, where the darkest crimes of humanity are perpetrated. Within ten feet of where Tom was walking, he saw under the gas-lamp a poor wretch on the pavement, with two others pounding him. "Murder! murder!" groaned the victim, with fast-failing strength, vainly struggling to free himself from his assassins. Tom paused, expecting the policemen, or at least one of them, would rush in and save the man. On the contrary, they strode along as if they were unconscious of the crime going on right before their eyes. "They'll kill him," said the horrified boy, "why don't you stop"-- "Shet up!" and down came the club again. Just then the second policeman added in a severe tone,-- "Young man, we know you; we understand the trick you are trying to play on us; you want us to let go of you and rush in there, and then you'll skip; we're too old birds to be caught with such chaff; we are convinced that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and so, understand, sir, we'll hold on to you!" But at this juncture, fortunately for the under man, a champion appeared in the person of an Irishman, who with one blow knocked the largest of the assailants so violently backward that he turned a complete reverse somersault, and then lay still several minutes to try and understand things. The other assailant was using his boot-heel on the prostrate man at that moment, when the Hibernian gave him a couple of blows in lightning-like succession. They landed upon the face of the coward with a sensation about the same as if a well-shod mule had planted his two hind feet there. He, too, collapsed on the instant, and for a considerable time lost all interest in worldly affairs. It is hard work to kill a drunken man; and, despite the terrible beating the victim had suffered, he was scarcely relieved of his foes when he staggered to his feet. "I'm obleeged to ye, young man, for assisting me, as ye did"-- "Dry up!" broke in the impatient Hibernian. "Talk of being obleeged to me, 'cause I interfared. What did ye let them git ye down fur? That's what I want to know. Git out wid yees!" And the disgusted champion turned the other fellow about and expressed his opinion of him by delivering a kick, which landed him several feet away. "That was kind in yees," said the recipient, looking back with the droll humor of the Irish people. "They did their hammering in front, while I resave yees in the rear, and I fale as though they was about equal." "What's this? what's this?" demanded one of the policemen in a brisk, business-like tone, swinging his locust, and looking sharply about him, as if in quest of some desperado upon whom to vent his wrath. "It looks as if there was some trouble here." "It's all done with now," replied the man that had finished it, and then, recognizing the officer, he extended his hand. "How are ye, Billy?" "Hello, Pat, is that you?" "So it is, me, Patsey McConough, that happened down this way on the lookout for a wee boy, when I saw two men beating one, and I jist restored the aquilibrium, as ye may say. But what have ye there?" asked Patsey, peering through the gloom at the figure of a boy in the grip of the other policeman. "A chap that we jerked for picking pockets; we've been shadowing him for a long time." The Irishman seemed to suspect the identity of the boy, and, going forward, he took him by the hand, and asked him how it all came about. Tom told the story as it is known to the reader, when Patsey turned to the policeman. "There's some mistake here, Billy; that boy never took that watch--I'll bet my life on that. I know him, and the story he tells is the true one, and no mistake." It didn't take the policeman long to agree with Patsey, and a satisfactory arrangement was made, by which the faithful guardian kept the gold timepiece, and the boy was allowed to go free. "I didn't feel aisy," said Patsey, as he walked off in company with his young friend, "when I left ye in that place, and I hadn't been gone long whin I made up me mind to go back and fix it, whither the boss was mad or no. Whin I arrived the throuble was over, and ye had started out. I had to guess which way ye wint, but I seemed to hit it, and I was able to do ye a little hilp." "That you did, indeed," replied the grateful boy. "I would have gone to jail but for you." "Ye same to be a wide-awake boy, and ye kape yer sinses about ye at all times. Ye are looking for a place to stay?" "Yes." "There isn't much of the night left, but I'll find ye what ye want." A couple of blocks farther, Patsey conducted him into just the house the boy would have picked out for himself, had he been given a week in which to hunt. Patsey accompanied Tom to his room, where he gave him some earnest advice. "This is a moighty avil village, is New York, and ye had better get out of the same while ye have the money to do it. It isn't a good thing for a lad to carry a pistol, but I wish ye to kaap the one I lint ye as long as ye are in danger, which is loikely to be all yer life." "My money is nearly all gone," replied Tom, "and unless I get at something pretty soon, I shall have to beg. I would go out of the city to-morrow if I only had Jim." "Perhaps it is as well that ye wait where ye are for a few days for him, spinding yer laisure in looking for a job. I'm a coochman in the employ of an old rapscallion of a lawyer, who's stingy enough to pick the sugar out of the teeth of the flies he cotches in his sugar-bowl. I darsn't bring ye there, but if the worst comes and ye haven't anything to ate, I'll fix it some way." The plan was that Tom should stay in this house, visiting the other morning and evening in quest of information of Jim, while the sunlight would be spent in hunting for work. It would be useless to dwell on the particulars of the several days which followed. Morning and night Tom went over to the other saloon and inquired after his missing friend. Each time the bartender replied he had not seen him, and it was his belief that the boy had "skipped the town," as he expressed it. The little bundle containing all of Jim's possessions was given to Tom, who took it away with him, leaving word where his friend could find him. Dull, leaden despair filled his heart; and, as he paid his board-bill each evening, he saw with feelings which can scarcely be pictured, the steady decrease of his pile, until it was close to the vanishing point. Five days had passed since he entered the new hotel, during which not a word was heard of Jim, nor had he seen anything of his friend Patsey McConough. It seemed to the boy that he had tramped New York from one end to the other in his search for work, and in not a single instance had he received the slightest encouragement. Two vocations, it may be said, were open to him from the beginning; they were to sell newspapers or to black shoes. To one of Tom's education and former life, it was the most bitter humiliation to contemplate adopting either of these employments. But the night came when he felt he must do it or beg. He naturally preferred the newspaper line to that of polishing shoes, and he resolve to make his venture early the following morning. Tom was unusually strong and active for one of his years, and he expected to have trouble from the envy of the other boys. When he purchased his fifty _Heralds_, long before daylight, there seemed to be an army of newsboys ahead of him, and he was looked upon and muttered about in the most threatening manner. He had scarcely reached the sidewalk when he was set upon by a couple of vigorous gamins, with the evident intent of discouraging him in the new business. The others gathered around to see the fun. They saw it. The fiery urchins, though both were as large as, and no doubt older than, Tom, were literally "nowhere" in the fight. He conquered them in less than a minute without receiving a scratch, and then, turning to the crowd, remarked that if there was any one or two or a dozen there that wanted to tackle him, all they had to do was to come forward. No one came, and Tom sauntered off to sell his newspapers. It was exceedingly distasteful; but he was spurred on by necessity, and he went at it with the impetuosity of a veteran. His success was below his expectations. There seems to be a right way of doing everything, no matter how insignificant, which can only be learned by practice. Despite his natural quickness, Tom failed in more than one respect. He hadn't the right change in several instances, and the men wouldn't wait while he darted into a store for it, but bought of some other boy who thrust himself forward. No matter where he turned, it seemed to the young hero that some more wide-awake newsboy was ahead of him, leaving only the aftermath for him to gather. He boarded several of the crowded street-cars, and was kicked off one of them because he accidentally trod on a gouty old gentleman's toes, he being the president of the road. However, all this, and much more indeed, is the sad accompaniment of the poor little gamins who fight each other in their strife as to who shall have the preference in leaving the morning sheet smoking hot at our doors while we are wrapped in slumber. After carefully balancing accounts that evening, Tom found he was exactly seven cents ahead. On the next day he fell nine cents behind, but on the third there was exciting war news, and he not only rushed off his usual supply, and the same number repeated, but he obtained in many instances fancy prices, and cleared several dollars. This was encouraging, but the day was marked by the greatest mortification of his life. He had rushed in his impetuous manner into a streetcar, when some one called his name, and he turned about and saw Sam Harper and his sister, both of whom had been his classmates at the Briggsville school, and Tom was accustomed to look upon Nellie as a little above ordinary mortals. Sam shook hands with Tom, and made some jocose remark about his new business; but Nellie sneered, and looked out the car window. A high-spirited lad who has experienced anything like this needs not to be told that it cuts like a two-edged sword. _ |
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