Edward Stratemeyer

Richard Dare's Venture
Go to page: 12345
But, as we know, such an effort was fruitless, and by the time he had
reached the newspaper-office Richard was convinced that it was a plain
case of robbery and nothing else.

"But when did it happen? I had the letters when I reached the
street--hold up; that boy. I'm sure he's the one!" he exclaimed to
himself. "I remember now feeling something at my pocket when I put my
hand up to my collar. That bug business was only a ruse! Well, I
_am_ a fool! And after all Mr. Joyce and Doc Linyard told me, too!"

The thought of how he had been taken in made Richard fairly sick, and
the tears of vexation sprang into his eyes as he stood deliberating
upon what to do next.

Just then a burly policeman came lounging along. Richard touched him
on the arm.

"I have been robbed," he said.

"Robbed? Where? When?" exclaimed the officer, all attention.

Richard told him all he knew of his case.

"I think I know the chap," said the officer. "But I can do nothing
now. He is likely a mile away by this time."

"Will you watch out for him?" asked Richard.

"I don't care so much for the money as I do for the letters."

"Better come over to the station and make a complaint."

"Is it far? I've got an engagement at three o'clock that I don't want
to miss."

"Won't take ten minutes. Come on."

At the station Richard was required to leave his full name and address,
describe what had been stolen, and give a full description of the
person he suspected was the thief.

"I can't give you much hopes of recovery," said the officer in charge.
"Dollar bills are very much alike, and if the thief finds that he
cannot put the letters to account he will probably destroy them. As
to his getting other letters on the strength of the stolen slip, you
had better go to the office and have the delivery stopped."

"Thank you, I will," replied Richard.

He was soon on his way back to Park Row.

"Do you remember me?" he asked of the clerk who had previously waited
on him.

"Yes; what is it? Anything wrong with your letters?"

Richard told his story.

"Will you hold the letters?" he added.

"Certainly. And if there is a call for them, I'll send out for an
officer and have the party detained."

When Richard was again on the street he hardly knew what to do. He had
no appetite for dinner, and there seemed now no use of returning to
the Watch Below.

He had a fancy that the urchin who had robbed him had run across into
the post-office. True, it was only a fancy, but Richard had some time
to spare yet before he was due at Mr. Joyce's office, and he determined
to take a walk in that direction.

Going through the post-office he walked over to Warren Street and
thence down to College Place. There was a coffee-stand upon the corner,
and here he bought two doughnuts for a cent each, and began munching
them, noticing at the same time that they were not of the best, being
dry, and that the flavor wasn't to be compared to that of those Grace
was in the habit of turning out at home.

Under the Elevated Road it was not as light as could be wished, and
Richard could not see very well. But presently he beheld a figure at
the end of the block--a figure that looked familiar.

Richard quickened his pace and soon reached the spot, yet only in time
to see the figure turn the next corner. But this time his view had
been better, and Richard was tolerably certain that it was the thief
he was pursuing.

He broke into a run instantly, and being light of foot, gained rapidly
upon the boy.

A glance around the next corner, and Richard just caught a glimpse of
the urchin's head as it disappeared down a cellar way. Rushing to the
spot, he was compelled to pause. He was far down on a side street that
was little better than an alley-way. The building before him was dirty
and old, evidently a storehouse, and the open stone steps led down to
a steep cellar from which not a ray of light came up.

Should he enter? For an instant Richard paused, and then slowly
descended.

"They shall not say that I was a coward," he said to himself. "And I
can easily handle that chap if it comes to a hand to hand affair."

The moldy smell of the cellar was nearly unbearable, and in several
spots upon the brick floor the scum lay an inch deep. Presently the
boy's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and then he saw it was
not so gloomy, after all.

At the back there appeared to be several windows, and, though covered
with dust and cobwebs, they still admitted some light. The place was
packed with wooden cases and barrels, and Richard had not a little
difficulty in picking his way among them.

Evidently the street Arab had not calculated upon being followed into
such a place, for Richard heard him boldly making his way to the rear.

He hurried after the urchin, making as little noise as possible. But
unfortunately his foot at that moment struck against an empty case,
and made known his presence.

Instantly the street boy realized the situation, and diving behind a
pile of barrels, remained perfectly quiet.

Richard's blood was now up, and he did not intend to be outwitted. He
hurried to the spot, in his eagerness nearly stumbling over the boy.

But the latter was alert. Visions of the Tombs probably floated through
his mind; and tripping Richard over he sprang away.

Richard was on his feet in a second, but it was too late. In that
second, the street Arab had sprung to the top of a pile of cases that
stood directly under an opening in the floor above.

The next instant he had disappeared through the hole, and was gone.

But in mounting the stack of cases he had dislodged several and these
now tumbled down, making a lively racket. The noise was followed by
several exclamations, and the sound of hasty feet upon a stairway.

"Hey, you, vat you do here?" cried a voice; and Richard felt his arm
grasped by a tall and savage looking German workman.




CHAPTER XIII.

RICHARD CALLS ON MR. JOYCE.


As the hand of the German workman grasped Richard's arm the boy realized
that he was in an awkward fix. Appearances were all against him, and
as the man glared at him Richard knew not what to say.

"Come now, vat vas you doing here, hey?" demanded the German.

"I--I was after a boy who stole something from me," stammered Richard.

"After a poy?"

"Yes. He ran down here, and I came after him."

"Ton't believe it. Vere ist der poy now?"

"He jumped up there and got through that hole," replied Richard,
pointing to the place.

The German uttered an exclamation.

"Dat's nonsense!"

"It's true. He stole two dollars and some letters, and I chased him
in here."

The man eyed Richard suspiciously.

"Maype dot vas only a make-believe sthory; I don't know," he declared.
"Come, ve go upstairs und see."

But, as Richard surmised, the boy had, by some means, already made his
escape. But the marks of his muddy feet, as he had crawled from the
hatchway, were still to be seen, and these Richard pointed out.

"Vell, if your sthory is straight dat lafer ain't here now; so you go
about your beesness." And with a wave of his arm the stalwart workman
motioned for Richard to clear out.

The boy was not loth to leave the place. Nothing was to be gained by
remaining, and the German's company was certainly not desirable.

"I suppose I might as well give up the search now," said Richard to
himself when outside. "That fellow will know enough to keep out of my
sight for a while; and, besides, it must be time to go to Mr. Joyce's.
Gracious, how starved that chap did look! If he wants that money to
get something to eat with I'm sure he's welcome to it, only I want the
letters."

Richard brushed off his clothes as best he could and started off. By
the use of the guide-book he had no difficulty in finding the Swamp,
as the leather district in New York is called.

Presently he came to a big warehouse, with an office at one side, over
which hung the sign:

  TIMOTHY JOYCE,
  Successor to
  JOYCE BROTHERS.
  LEATHER AND HIDES.
  Established 1837.

"It's certainly an old firm," thought Richard, as he read the words.
"I guess Mr. Joyce is a pretty substantial business man."

The boy found the leather merchant at his desk, deep in his letters.

"Ah! on hand I see," said Mr. Joyce. "I'm not quite ready yet; will
be in a quarter of an hour."

"I won't mind waiting," returned Richard.

"Suppose you take a look around the place? I guess you've never seen
anything like this before."

"No, sir: and I'll look around gladly."

Richard stepped from the office to the lower floor of the warehouse.
The quantity of leather and hides on all sides filled him with wonder.

The place was several stories high, and was filled to overflowing with
material soon to be worked up into shoes, pocketbooks, belting, gloves,
baseball covers, and a thousand other articles for which this staple
material of trade is needed. Several heavy trucks were loading and
unloading at the doors, and the boy heard the workmen speak of a
consignment to Buffalo, and another to Boston, and of a shipload that
had just arrived from South America.

"It's a big business and no mistake," was Richard's conclusion. "I
guess a person would have to be here half a lifetime to learn all the
ins and outs of it."

When Richard returned to the office he found that Mr. Joyce had just
cleared his desk, and was leaning back in his chair.

The leather merchant motioned him to a seat.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked abruptly.

"You seem to be doing a big business," returned Richard. "I think you
must have enough leather to supply all New York."

"So I have--for a short time. But only a small part stays in the city.
It comes and goes all the while. Have you found a place yet?"

"No, sir; I haven't had a chance yet." And Richard related the
particulars of his recent misfortune.

"Humph! Well, after all, experience _is_ the only school we all
learn in. I don't doubt but what you've seen the last of both money
and letters. Keep your eyes open in the future."

"I'll try to. I shall not forget this lesson in a hurry."

"But at the same time don't be too suspicious of everybody with whom
you may chance to come in contact."

"I'll remember what you say, sir."

"Now about finding you a situation. I wish I had an opening here for
you. I'd make a business chap of you."

"I should like to work for you, Mr. Joyce."

"Unfortunately, there is no room at present--that is, there is nothing
I can offer you."

"I'll take anything you'll give me," exclaimed Richard earnestly.

"Yes; but you can't do _any_thing. You can't drive a truck--here
in the city--and you don't know a thing about packing hides. Besides,
such work would be altogether too heavy for you, and it never pays the
wages that lighter but more intelligent labor receives."

"I suppose you are right, sir."

"I am. I don't want to gloss things over for you. It's the worst thing
in the world for a young fellow just starting out to have a rosy view
of the business world, which is composed of steady work and hard knocks,
about equally mixed. You've got too much brains to work altogether
with your hands; and one must find out what he is best suited to. How
would you like to get into the book and stationery line?"

"Very much indeed."

"Do you think you could make anything out of it? Make it _the_ business
of your life, so that you would stand some show of advancement on the
strength of the interest you took in it?"

"I think I could," replied Richard slowly, somehow deeply moved by Mr.
Joyce's earnestness. "I always liked books--not only to read them, but
to handle and to arrange them as well. At home I was the librarian of
our Sunday-school, and I got out the catalogue and all that. Of course
it was not a great work, but I enjoyed it, and often wished I might
have charge of a big library or something like that."

Mr. Joyce eyed the boy thoughtfully.

"Reckon I was right. Thought you'd take to books. Persons with your
kind of a forehead always do. Well, come along. I'll see what I can
do toward getting you a place with a friend of mine."

Locking up his desk, Mr. Joyce put on his hat and led the way out on
the street.

"We'll have to hurry," he said, "or we'll find my friend has gone
home."

Richard needed no urging. With a strangely light heart he kept close
behind the leather merchant.

They passed along several blocks, and at length turned into Beekman
Street.

"Here we are," said Mr. Joyce, finally. "This is my friend's place of
business."




CHAPTER XIV.

WORK OBTAINED.


The establishment to which the leather merchant had brought Richard
was an imposing one, situated in a massive stone building, and having
large and heavy plate glass doors and windows. A formidable array of
blank-books and sets of well-known authors' works were piled up in the
window which bore the firm's name:

  WILLIAMS & MANN.

Directly to the left of the entrance inside, stood a great safe, and
further on appeared an almost interminable row of shelves and drawers,
all apparently crammed with articles pertaining to the stationery and
book trade.

Stepping up to a salesman Mr. Joyce inquired:

"Is Mr. Williams in?"

"Mr. Williams has gone to Chicago," was the polite reply.

"Chicago, eh? When will he be back?"

"We expect him back day after to-morrow; possibly to-morrow afternoon."

"Humph!" Mr. Joyce rubbed his chin. "Is Mr. Mann about?"

"Yes, sir; just gone up to the stock-room."

"Tell him I'd like to see him for a few minutes."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Joyce, I believe."

"That's the name."

"I'll send word at once. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks."

Mr. Joyce sank into an office chair.

Going to a speaking tube behind one of the broad counters, the salesman
sent his message up to one of the floors above.

"Mr. Mann will be down directly," he said, after a moment.

In five minutes a stout, bald-headed gentleman of fifty came down by
the elevator at one side, and stepped forward.

"How are you, Tim?" he exclaimed, thrusting out a chubby hand.

"First rate, Mel," returned Mr. Joyce. "This is a young friend of mine,
Richard Dare," he continued.

Mr. Mann shook hands cordially.

"He has come to the city to try his luck," went on the leather merchant.
"He has a taste for your line, so I brought him around to see if you
hadn't an opening for him."

Now an application made in this way, and coming from an ordinary source,
would have met with a courteous negative. But the firm of Williams &
Mann were under obligations to Mr. Joyce, who had on several occasions
indorsed their notes for many thousands of dollars. Besides, all three
men were old friends; so Mr. Mann gave the request every attention.

"We are rather full of hands," he said slowly; "but still I might find
room for him. Have you had any business training?" he continued, turning
to Richard.

"Very little, sir," replied the boy promptly, though it came hard to
make such a confession.

"He hasn't had a bit," interposed Mr. Joyce. "He's as jolly green as
we were when we came here," he added in a whisper. "But he's bright,
honest and level-headed, and I've taken a fancy to him and want you
to give him a chance."

"Do you like to handle books?" asked Mr. Mann.

"Yes, sir; very much."

"Yes, it's just what he does like," put in the leather merchant. "Place
him among the books if you can."

"Perhaps I can do that; but I won't be able to pay you much until you
are experienced."

"I must earn my living, sir," said Richard respectfully, but in a firm
manner.

"Of course he must," added Mr. Joyce. "He has just lost his father,"
he continued in a low tone, "and I suppose it's hard times at home."

"Have you known him long?" asked Mr. Mann, as the two walked to one
side.

"Only two days."

"Two days!"

"Yes."

"Is he--that is, suppose I put him in a place of trust? It will be a
risk that--"

"I'll go security for him."

"And you have only known him two days, Tim! Seems to me you're not as
cautious as you used to be."

"Never mind. I know some honest faces when I see them, and his is one.
Let me tell you how we became acquainted."

The two men continued their conversation for several minutes.

"I'll take you on at once," said Mr. Mann, presently to Richard. "I
suppose you would like that best."

"Yes, sir."

"You can have the hour remaining to-day to get broken in. I will give
you six dollars a week at the start, and if you learn as rapidly as
Mr. Joyce thinks you will I'll raise you in a few weeks to seven or
eight."

"Thank you, sir; I'll try to make myself worth it."

"It's hard work, and you will have to pitch right in," Mr. Mann went
on. "We have no use for laggards."

"Well, I'm going," broke in Mr. Joyce. "Now I've placed you I hope you
will make something of yourself," he added.

"I'll try to," replied the boy. "Many thanks to you for your kindness."

"If you come down in my neighborhood drop in and see me."

"Thank you, I will with pleasure," was Richard's reply.

"We will go right upstairs to the stock-room," said Mr. Mann, after
Mr. Joyce had departed. "We have a large pile of pamphlets and books
which the clerk we discharged left all mixed up. I was just assisting
the stock-clerk in making out a new division of the department."

Entering the elevator, they were soon taken to a floor three stories
above. The stock-room was in the rear, the large windows overlooking
an alley.

The place was piled high with books of all descriptions, some in sets
and others separate, from cheap reprints to costly volumes filled with
etchings and engravings.

"Here, Mr. Massanet, I've brought a young man to help you," said Mr.
Mann, addressing the clerk in charge, a pleasant-looking fellow
apparently not many years older than Richard.

He came forward and gave the boy a kindly look of welcome.

"We need help here," he said. "There is plenty to do."

"His name is Dare--Richard Dare," continued Mr. Mann. "I do not know
him, but a friend recommended him."

"We'll soon see what he can do," replied Frank Massanet, with a smile.
"Are you going to work now?" he asked of Richard.

"Yes; break him in at once," said Mr. Mann. "I'll leave him in your
charge. Mr. Massanet will tell you anything you want to know," he went
on to the boy. "He is the head here."

Left alone with Frank Massanet it did not take long for Richard to
become well acquainted with the stock-clerk, who gave him a few brief
directions and then set him to work filling up broken sets of books,
dusting them, and placing them in a case for shipment.

"We must get this whole batch away by next Tuesday," said Massanet.
"Because on Wednesday another large consignment will arrive, and we
must have room to handle it."

The work delighted Richard, and he pitched in with a will. It was new
and novel, as well as agreeable, and, besides, doing it for pay made
it no task at all.

Talking did not interfere with the progress of either of the workers,
and attracted by Frank Massanet's cordial manner, Richard gradually
revealed to the stock-clerk why he had come to the city, and what his
ambitions were.

In return Frank related much concerning himself. His father, who had
been a Frenchman, was dead, and his mother, sister Martha and himself
kept house up-town on the east side. It was apparent that the young
man was the main support of the family, for he said that just previous
to his death his father had been unfortunate in business and had lost
nearly every dollar he possessed. His mother did the work at home,
while his sister earned six dollars a week at typewriting.

"It is pleasant to have a home to go to," said Richard, after a bit.
"You don't know how queer I felt to be away from the others."

"Homesick?" asked Frank kindly; and then impelled by a sudden warm
feeling he placed his hand on Richard's shoulder. The action, small
as it was, brought a little lump to the boy's throat.

"No--not exactly," he replied, "only--"

"I know what you mean. Before I got this place I went to Boston for
two months to try my luck, and _I_ was among strangers."

"Some day, when I can afford it, I intend to bring my folks to the
city," Richard went on.

"Where are you stopping now?" asked Frank.

"With a sailor friend of mine down on West Street."

"West Street! It is not a very nice locality."

"No; but he is very kind, and so is his wife. They keep a restaurant.
He was in a railroad accident with me, and that's the reason he takes
to me."

"Yes, accidents often make strange people friends."

"But I must hunt up a regular boarding-house," went on Richard. "I
suppose a good one that is cheap is hard to find."

"You are right. How much do you expect to pay, if I may ask?"

"Not over four dollars. I'm to get six here, and I can't afford any
more. When my salary is raised I'll be willing to go a little more,
but not much, because I want to send home all the money I can."

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment. Richard's way pleased him, and
he felt drawn towards the new-comer.

"My mother has been thinking of taking a boarder," he said slowly. "We
have a spare hall bedroom. It is not very large, but it has good
ventilation, and is neatly furnished. I used it when--when my father
was alive."

"Would your mother take me?" asked Richard. "That is, could she afford
to at four dollars a week?"

"I can't say."

"When I get an increase in wages I'll pay four and a half," went on
the boy. "I would like to live with you," he continued open-heartedly.

Frank smiled.

"I'll speak to my mother to-night," said he, "and I'll let you know
to-morrow morning."




CHAPTER XV.

NEW QUARTERS.


At six o'clock Frank Massanet announced the day's work ended, and,
bidding his friend goodnight, Richard hurried off to West Street. His
heart was light over his own good fortune, but heavy when he thought
of the losses he had sustained earlier in the day.

The Watch Below was crowded, and Doc Linyard presided at the pie-stand
and the desk. He noticed Richard's grave face, and surmised that all
was not right.

"You're late!" he exclaimed. "Come sit down to supper. I'll bet you
haven't eaten a mouthful."

"I've had bad luck," replied Richard. "Bad luck for you and good luck
for myself."

And, sitting down beside the desk, he made a clean breast of what had
transpired earlier in the day.

"I know I have been careless," he added, "and I don't deserve to be
trusted any more."

"Never mind," returned the old sailor cheerily. "It's too bad, but,
as Betty often says, it's no use crying over spilt milk, so we'll make
the best of it."

"I'll have the advertisement put in to-morrow," said the boy, "and
I'll add that former letters have been lost."

"That's a good idea. And don't tell Betty; it would only worry her.
Who knows but what those letters didn't amount to much after all?"

"At all events, I'm going to get them back if I can."

"And your two dollars, too. The little rascal! But you said you had
good news?"

"So I have. Mr. Joyce got me a place."

And Richard told of the meeting in the post-office, and his subsequent
engagement by Williams & Mann.

"Well, I'm downright glad to hear that!" cried Doc Linyard heartily.
"Reckon you are on the right tack at last."

The walking and working had made Richard hungry, and he was not backward
about sitting down and eating a hearty supper. But he insisted upon
paying for all he had, and, seeing that the boy really meant it, Doc
Linyard took the money, though not without reluctance.

As soon as he had finished eating, Richard went to Park Row and handed
in the advertisement. The clerk informed him that no other letters had
been received, nor had any applications for them been made.

Returning to the Watch Below, Richard sat down and wrote a second
letter home, which he shortly after posted, along with the precious
packet of chewing gum for Madge. The old sailor offered him a ticket
to the theater, which had been left in the restaurant for the privilege
of hanging a lithograph in the window, but this the boy declined with
thanks, and retired early, so as to be on hand promptly in the morning.

Seven o'clock was the hour for opening at Williams & Mann's, and five
minutes before that time Richard presented himself, and was let in by
the sleepy porter. The elevator was not running at this time in the
day, so Richard took the narrow iron stairs, and was soon in the
stock-room, where he went to work at what he had been doing the previous
day until Frank Massanet arrived.

"My mother would like you to take dinner with us," said Frank, when
he had given directions concerning how the work should go on. "She
would like to know you before she takes you as a regular boarder."

"Can she take me at four dollars?" asked Richard.

"She thinks she can. You can talk it over together when you see
her--that is, if you will come."

"Certainly I will."

"It's the best way. Perhaps our board might not suit you."

"I'll risk it," laughed Richard.

They were allowed an hour at noon, and at exactly twelve o'clock the
two hurried off. Frank led the way up to the Third Avenue Elevated
Station, and a five minutes' ride brought them to their destination.

"I generally bring my lunch with me," explained the stock-clerk on the
way, "and I have dinner when I get home in the evening. By that means
I save my car fare, and have plenty of time to eat the best meal of
the day."

"It's the better way," said Richard. "Do you ride morning and night?"

"Only when the weather is bad. When it is clear I save the ten cents."

"So would I. Besides, it's healthy exercise," returned the boy.

The Massanets occupied the second floor of a modest little flat of six
rooms. It was a cheerful home, and Mrs. Massanet, a pleasant,
middle-aged Frenchwoman, greeted Richard cordially.

"You are indeed welcome, Mistair Dare," she said, with a beaming face.
"Francois have tole me everything of you, and I feel as eef I know you
long."

Mrs. Massanet had the peculiar French accent of the province of
Lorraine, and Richard frequently experienced difficulty in understanding
her, but her motherly way soon put him at ease, and in a few minutes he
felt perfectly at home.

"This is my sister," said Frank, as a tall, dark-eyed girl of sixteen
entered. "Mattie, this is Richard Dare."

"Frank has been telling us of you," said Mattie Massanet, as she took
Richard's hand. "We talked you all over last night," she added, with
a merry twinkle of her eye.

"I'm sure it couldn't have been a very bad talk if you had a hand in
it," said Richard gallantly.

They were soon at the table, and having by a lucky chance (or was it
the girl's natural tact?) struck the right vein, the conversation
became quite animated, and soon all were on very good terms.

"I like you verra mouch," said Mrs. Massanet, when Richard had finished,
"and I shall be pleased to have you as a boarder--eef you like ze
_diner_."

"Thank you, Mrs. Massanet. I shall be thankful to have you take me.
I know it will feel quite like a home."

"Ve make zat so. Ve keep no _hotel garni_ even--only for one."

"Thank you," returned Richard. He did not understand the French, which
means a lodging-house. "Can I come to-night?"

"Oh, yees."

So it was arranged that he should become a boarder at the Massanets',
and having this settled took quite a load from his mind. Now if he
could only do his work well for Williams & Mann, he would be all right,
and have every chance of eventually attaining the object of his
metropolitan venture.

Of one thing he was sure--Frank Massanet's friendship and help, and
in his present place he knew these would count for a good deal.

Little did he dream that the position kind-hearted Timothy Joyce had
procured for him would lead him to the hardest trials of his youthful
life, and place him in the bitterest situation he had ever yet
experienced.




CHAPTER XVI.

PEP.


In a week Richard felt quite at home, both in the stock-room at Williams
& Mann's and at the Massanets'.

During that time Mr. Williams had returned from Chicago, and both of
the members of the firm seemed to be well satisfied by the way in which
their new clerk discharged the duties assigned to him.

A warm friendship sprang up between Frank Massanet and Richard--a
friendship that was destined to bear important results. The stock-clerk,
though Richard's superior in the business, acted more like a chum, and
in the evenings the two, accompanied by Mattie Massanet, walked, talked,
played games, or listened to Mrs. Massanet's music on the flutina, and
were all but inseparable.

Richard received several letters from home--one from his mother,
congratulating him on the position he had secured, and another from
Grace and Nancy, full of village gossip, and what people had said about
his going away.

Both Frank and Richard loved their work, and by the second week the
books in the stock-room were in a neater and handier condition than
they had ever been before, and Frank expressed his pleasure at having
some one who could really help, and not hinder, as the discharged clerk
had done.

On Tuesday morning of the second week, Richard was hurrying to the
store a little earlier than usual. The big consignment of books was
soon to arrive, and they must have even more room for it than had at
first been anticipated.

As he came down the Bowery at a rapid gait, a small figure crossed the
street directly before him, and stopped to gaze into the well-filled
window of a German bakery. It was the street Arab who had robbed Richard
in Park Row!

For an instant Richard could hardly believe his eyes, but, stepping
up, he took a closer view, and then grasped the urchin by the arm.

Instinctively the street Arab shrank away. Then he turned his pinched
and startled face around, and, seeing who it was that held him, gave
a loud cry of alarm.

"Oh, please, mister, please lemme go!" he pleaded. "I won't do it
again, please, sir, no I won't! Oh, don't lock me up, mister!"

That piteous appeal went straight to Richard's heart. If he had felt
any indignation, it melted away at the sight of that haggard, famished,
desperate look.

"What have you done with the stuff you took from my pockets?" he asked,
but his tones were not very harsh.

The boy began to whimper.

"I--I ain't got de money no more," he sobbed, "It's all gone, mister;
I spent every cent of it but two nickels fer medicine and de doctor.
Please don't lock me up, mister."

"Medicine and the doctor?" repeated Richard, rather astonished by this
unexpected statement. "Who is sick?"

"Me dad, mister."

"Your dad? Your father?"

"Yes, mister; been sick going on two months now, and ain't no better."

Richard looked at the boy sharply. He had been deceived so many times
that he was half inclined to discredit the urchin's story.

"It's the truth, mister," went on the boy, seeing the look of distrust.
"I ain't tellin' no lies, so help--"

"What's your name?"

"Pep, sir."

"Pep what?"

The urchin held down his head.

"I ain't got no other name!" he answered hesitatingly.

"Oh, you must have!" exclaimed Richard. "Come, out with it."

But the little ragged figure only began to cry again, harder than ever.

"Come, tell me; I won't have you arrested," urged Richard.

"Oh, thank you, mister! It would kill dad to know I'd been stealin'.
I told him I made the money sellin' papers."

"That was a lie," said Richard sternly.

"I know it, mister, but I couldn't help it. It was better than tellin'
him I'd been stealin'. I wouldn't have taken yer money only I was
afraid he'd die if he didn't have de doctor and de medicine, so help--"

"There, don't swear," interrupted Richard. "If you were so hard up you
should have asked me for help. I would have given you something."

"I would have asked, only most of de people laughs at me and tells me
to clear out, and they think I'm lyin' when I say dad's sick, and say
they guess he must drink de money up, which is a lie itself, 'cause
dad don't drink a drop; he's got pneumony, so de doctor says, and he's
coughin' all de time."

"Is your mother home?"

"Ain't got no mother; she died when I was a kid."

"Well, Pep, I'm sorry for you," said Richard kindly, "and I won't do
anything to you for having taken that money. But those letters--they
were valuable. What have you done with them?"

"I've got 'em home, sir. I'll bring 'em to you right away, sir."

"I haven't got time to wait now," returned Richard, highly elated to
find that Doc Linyard's property was safe. "Will you meet me here at
six o'clock to-night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure? Remember I must have those letters."

"I'll bring 'em. I've got 'em hid in de garret. I didn't open 'em or
noddin'. I can't read only a little newspaper print--'nough to find
out what's in de paper ter sell it."

"Well, I shall expect you sure," replied Richard. "I'll give you ten
cents for bringing them," he added, to make certain that Pep would not
change him mind. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"I haven't had no eatin' since yesterday mornin'."

"What would you do if I gave you ten cents?"

Pep's eyes opened in wonder. In his knockabout life he had met all
sorts of people, yet here was certainly a new kind.

"Yer jokin'!" he gasped.

"No, I'm not."

"Then if I had ten cents I'd go and buy some morning papers--I could
sell 'em yet--and take de money home."

"All of it?"

"Yes, sir. Every cent."

Richard felt in his pocket. He had just sixteen cents in change.

"Here is the ten cents," he said, handing it out. "And here is six
cents. I want you to buy something to eat for that."

Slowly Pep took the money. He did not know but he might be dreaming.

"Thank you, mister, you--you're good to me," he said in a low tone.

"I'm in a hurry now," went on Richard, "otherwise I'd talk to you some
more. I want to find out how you get along and how your father makes
out. You can trust me."

"I know I can--now," replied Pep. "And I'll be on hand at six o'clock
with those letters sure. I'm very, very thankful fer what you've done,
indeed I am, and I'll try to make it up to you some day, see if I
don't."

"Anyway, don't steal any more," said Richard. "It isn't right, and it
will land you in jail sooner or later."

"I never took noddin' before," replied Pep, "and I won't ag'in."

"I hope so, Pep."

"Will yer please tell me yer name?"

"Richard Dare."

"I'll remember it, Mr. Dare; ye're the first gentleman ever noticed
_me_, and I'm much obliged, even if you hadn't given me a cent."

"I shall expect to see you at six o'clock or a few minutes later," was
Richard's reply, and fearful of being late at the store he hurried off.

The street urchin stood still, gazing after him. There were tears in
the light blue eyes, and a choking sensation in the thin little throat.

"He must be one of them missionaries I once heard tell of," was Pep's
thought. "They said they went around doing good, and that's what he's
doing. Six cents for something to eat, and a dime to buy papers with!
That's the best luck I've had in five years. If I don't make a quarter
by nine o'clock I'm no good. And I'll never steal again--I won't--as
sure as my name is Pep Clover."




CHAPTER XVII.

GETTING ACQUAINTED.


When Richard reached Williams & Mann's he found Frank Massanet already
hard at work. He had told the stock-clerk of the robbery in Park Row,
and now he related its sequel in the shape of the incident of the
morning.

"Well, maybe you did right," said Frank; "although the majority of the
street boys are not to be trusted beyond sight. You will find out by
this evening if the boy's word is worth anything."

"I think I can trust that boy," replied Richard. "I believe he was
truly penitent. My treating him as I did may be the making of him."

Williams & Mann employed in their various departments between fifteen
and twenty clerks. They were mostly young fellows, and outside of a
tendency to play practical jokes, because he was a new-comer, they
treated Richard very well, and the boy was, with one exception, on
good terms all round.

This one exception was a young man of twenty.

His name was Earle Norris, and he was head of the shipping department.
Richard's duties brought him into daily contact with the shipping-clerk,
but though the latter treated him fairly well, there was something in
the other's manner that he did not like, and consequently he did not
associate as freely with Norris as that young man seemed to desire.

Norris was something of a dandy in his way, and rarely appeared at the
store otherwise than faultlessly dressed. Of course when at work he
changed his coat, cravat, collar, and so forth, so as not to soil them,
but he never left without looking as much "fixed up" as when he had
arrived.

"You're a new fellow here," he said to Richard when the latter came
down to see if a certain box of books had as yet been sent away.

"Yes; new here and new in New York," Richard replied, smiling,

"I thought you weren't a New Yorker," Norris went on. "How do you like
things in the city?"

"First-rate. I haven't seen much of the place yet, though."

"Where do you live?"

"I board with the Massanets."

"Oh, a relative?"

"Oh, no. I never knew them until I got acquainted with Frank here."

"Rather slow at their house, I imagine."

"Oh, I like it very well."

"My folks live in Yonkers," said Norris, "but I couldn't stand it
there, though I had a good position. I like New York life. You ought
to be over at our boarding-house. There are six of us young fellows,
and we're out every night and have lots of sport."

"Thank you; I am very well content where I am," said Richard coldly.
He did not like the manner in which the shipping-clerk had spoken of
Frank and his family.

"I did not think the Massanets kept boarders," continued Norris. "I
thought they were too retired for that."

"I am the only one, and am treated like one of the family."

"Frank has got a sister, hasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Maybe that's the attraction," suggested Norris. "My landlady has a
pretty daughter, too."

"It is not the attraction," said Richard flushing, "though she, like
her mother, treats me nicely," he added stoutly, and with a certain
amount of loyalty.

"Oh, well, it's all right," put in the shipping-clerk hastily. "I don't
want you to change if you're satisfied. Only if you get tired of being
quiet let me know. I tell you, there's lots of fun to be had if you
only know how to get it."

"I guess I won't change, at least for the present," replied the boy.

When he returned to the stock-room he related to Frank what Norris had
said about keeping too quiet.

"I don't agree with him," said the stock-clerk. "I don't know what he
means by having lots of sport and all that, but I never believed in
being out late nights. It isn't right, and besides it doesn't pay.
Haven't you noticed the deep circles around Norris's eyes? They come
from a want of sleep, and how long do you suppose he can stand that
sort of thing and his work here without breaking down? Why, I remember
when he came here, a year ago, he looked twice as healthy as he does
now."

"Then he is foolish," said Richard. "I wouldn't want to run the risk
of ruining my health, especially needlessly."

"Of course if our way of living is too quiet for you--I suppose it
would be for most young fellows--you are at liberty to leave at any
time."

"Thank you, Frank; I know I can, but I reckon I'll stay just as long
as you care to keep me, or at least until I can afford to bring the
family here."

"Norris has approached me several times on the subject of joining him
in some of his frolics," went on Frank, "but I have never gone out
with him."

"Does he get a very large salary?"

"No more than I--ten dollars a week."

"I should think it would take every cent he had after his board was
paid to dress him. His clothing is more fashionable than Mr. Mann's."

"He certainly isn't saving any money," replied Frank.

Frank Massanet had his own idea about Earle Norris and his peculiar
ways. He was almost certain that there would some day be a startling
development at Williams & Mann's, but, having as yet no proofs, he
kept quiet concerning his suspicions.

During the afternoon Richard had occasion again to visit the
packing-room, and once more Norris, who was the only one present,
approached him.

"How would you like to go to Niblo's Garden with me to-night?" he
asked. "I have two tickets, and I would be pleased to have your
company."

"I am much obliged, I'm sure, but I have an errand to-night," replied
Richard. "I must deliver two letters."

"Well, that ought not to take you all the evening. Come along; I don't
want to have the extra ticket and not use it. A friend of mine from
Brooklyn was going with me, but he has just dropped me a postal card
saying he is sick."

"Can't you sell the extra ticket?"

"Oh, I suppose I might; but I don't care to go alone," explained Norris.
"Come, you'll enjoy it, I know."

Richard was sorely tempted. The play at the theater was a standard
one, and the leading actor one of renown. Surely there wouldn't be
much harm in going.

If any other person than Norris had asked him, he would probably have
accepted.

Yet his reasoning on the point was remarkably clear. He was sure that
there had been nothing in his own manner to draw him to Norris, and
this being so, why did the latter take such an interest in one who was
but a step removed from a stranger to him?

"No, I guess not," he replied, after a pause. "I don't care to go."

"Oh, well, don't then," replied Norris coldly. "I only asked you out
of kindness, being as you were a stranger."

And he turned his back on the boy and walked away.

Richard told Frank where he was to meet Pep, and added that if the
stolen letters were forthcoming he would take them to Doc Linyard's
before returning to the Massanets'.

At six o'clock the two quitted the store together and walked over to
the Bowery. Pep was already waiting for Richard. He had a big bundle
of evening papers under his arm, and seemed to have improved both his
capital and his time.

"Here's de letters, mister," he said, holding out the two envelopes
and the slip. "I'm sorry I got 'em dirty."

For his unwashed hands had left many marks upon the white paper.

Richard took the letters eagerly, and put them in an inside pocket.

"How have you done to-day?" he asked.

"First-rate. Had luck ever since yer started me. I'm worth sixty cents
now. Say," he went on in a whisper, "I'm going to pay yer back that
two dollars soon as I kin."

"And how is your father?"

"He is a bit better to-day--he was awful yesterday. Can I see yer here
in a few days?"

"Why?"

"About that money. I want yer to have it back. It's the first time I
took anything."

"Yes, you can see me," replied Richard, somehow pleased at the idea
of becoming better acquainted with the urchin, in whom he found himself
taking a strong interest. "You can generally meet me at the same time
you've met me to-day."

"All right. I'll have der chink in a few days, see if I don't. Have
an _Evening Telegram_ or _Mail and Express_?" "I haven't any
change," replied Richard.

"Ho! what yer take me for?"

And, thrusting a copy of each paper in Richard's hand, Pep darted
across to the Elevated Station, crying his wares as he went.

"Not such a bad chap, I guess," said Frank. "I have seen worse fellows
than him reform. I must see if we can't get him in our mission."

"I'll go right down to West Street with these letters," returned
Richard. "They may be very important."

"I'm sorry I can't go with you," said Frank, "but I'm going out with
mother. Will you be long?"

"I guess not. Of course I can't tell. Doc Linyard may want me to do
something for him--write a letter or so, and that all takes time. I'll
be back by nine, I guess."

And with these words the two separated, Frank hurrying up town, and
Richard to carry his news to the old sailor.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A STRANGE SITUATION.


The road to West Street was no longer a strange one to Richard, and
it took him but a short quarter of an hour to reach the Watch Below.

As usual the restaurant was crowded, and the merry jests of the sailors
mingled with the rattle of dishes and clatter of knives.

Doc Linyard was glad to see the boy, and immediately asked how he was
progressing and how he liked his position.

"I have good news for you," said Richard.

And he handed over the two letters.

"Are they the ones as were lost?" asked the old sailor.

"Yes; I caught the boy and made him return them."

"Did you get your money, too?" went on Linyard, as he cut the envelopes
open.

"Not yet, but I'm pretty sure of getting it in the near future."

"Hope you do; two dollars ain't much, but it's something, and nowadays
everything counts. Will you read these letters for me? My eyesight
ain't none of the best any more, and besides, writing is kinder stiff
reading for me at the best."

"Certainly I will, Mr.--"

"Avast there on that figurehead!" interrupted the old tar.

"Doc Linyard, I'll do it with pleasure."

But it was no pleasure after all for Richard to read the two
communications, for each was a disappointment.

The first was from a firm of lawyers who wished to take the case in
hand at "astonishingly low terms," which must, however, be paid in
advance. The other had been sent by a private detective, who was willing
to institute a search for the missing party for the modest sum of three
dollars per day, also payable in advance.

"Just what I thought they might be," observed Doc Linyard, when the
reading was finished. "You can tear them up. We don't want such outside
help."

Richard did as directed.

"It's a pity that such letters should cause you so much trouble," went
on the old sailor; "but that's the way of the world."

"Have you had any other letters?" asked Richard, for he had not seen
Doc Linyard for several days, and thought it possible that something
might have turned up in the meantime.

"Nary a word. I've put the advertisement in the papers--three of
'em--twice now, and not a single answer."

"It's too bad. Have you heard anything from the property in England?"

"Yes; I got a letter to-day asking me to hurry, as they wanted to
settle affairs up there."

"Did you answer?"

"Not yet. You know it's hard lines for me to write."

"If you wish I'll write for you."

"Thank you; I'll wait a day or two yet, and see if something doesn't
turn up."

It was not yet eight o'clock when Richard, after having a bit of lunch,
left the restaurant to return to the Massanets'. Feeling that it was
early yet, and having a desire to do some "window gazing," he did not
go up the Bowery, but strolled up Broadway instead.

The magnificent windows and their rare and costly exhibits were to him
an enjoyment of the keenest sort, and as he approached the neighborhood
of Astor Place, where the book stores seem to have congregated, he
walked slower and slower, taking in all there was to be seen of each
establishment, how the windows were dressed and the stock arranged,
and wondering away down in his heart if he would ever own, or have an
interest in, any similar establishment.

While deeply engaged in reading the titles of a number of volumes in
a certain window, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and turning,
found himself face to face with Earle Norris.

The shipping-clerk was dressed in the height of style, including low
cut shoes and carried a heavy gold-headed cane.

"Hello, Dare!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "What brings you up here?"

For an instant Richard was taken aback, not only at meeting Norris,
but at being greeted so familiarly after what had occurred during the
day.

"I have just finished my errand, and thought I'd take a walk to see
the sights," he returned. "How is it you are not at the theater?"

"As I said, I didn't care to go alone, so took your advice and sold
the extra ticket, and also my own. I'll take a walk along with you if
you don't mind."

Richard was not overpleased at the proposition; yet he could not very
well object except by seeming rude, and from this he shrank; so he
gave a mild assent.

"You see I like to get on good terms with all the boys," explained
Norris, as they walked leisurely along. "I'm on the best of terms with
every one in the establishment but Massanet, and I'd like to be with
him, only he's so awfully slow."

"Frank Massanet is a very nice fellow," said Richard stoutly.

"Oh, yes--too nice for me, though. But let that pass. Everybody has
his peculiarities. Have a smoke?"

And Norris pulled two strong-looking cigars from his vest pocket.

"I'm much obliged," replied the boy. "I don't smoke."

"Try one. They are fine," went on the shipping-clerk, stopping to get
a light. "No time like the present for making a beginning. I'm quite
sure it won't make you sick."

"I don't think I care to try," was all Richard could say; and he
heartily wished Earle Norris would go his own way.

"Oh, well, it's all right if you don't care to. I find it just the
thing to settle my nerves after a big day's work."

They walked on in silence for nearly a block, and the boy was wondering
how best to leave Norris without offending him when the latter spoke
up.

"Here are the rooms of the Laurel Club," he said, pointing up to the
narrow but brilliantly lighted stairways of a handsome building just
around the corner of a side street.

"The Laurel Club?" repeated Richard.

"Yes; it is a club of about twenty young fellows. I am a member. We
have a reading-room, and another for all kinds of games."

Norris did not take the trouble to add that "all kinds of games" had
narrowed down to simply card playing, and that for money, too.

"Just come up for a moment," he went on. "I wish to get a book I left
there a few nights ago."

"I'll wait for you here," replied Richard.

"No, no; I want to show you the rooms. We have some fine pictures and
all that up there."

Somewhat against his will Richard consented. Norris led the way up
three flights of stairs and then down a side hall.

Stopping at a certain door he gave two distinct knocks, followed by
a single one.

There was a hurried movement within, and then the door, which had been
securely locked, was cautiously opened.

"Hello, Springer!" exclaimed Norris to the tall young man who had
admitted them. "You're locked up as if this was a sub-treasury. This
is a friend of mine. Mr. Dare, Mr. Springer, our worthy secretary."
                
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