Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook voice reader TXT) 📕

of a bandbox.”

“Is he in any business?”

“No; he has an independent fortune, so mamma says. He was in Europe last year.”

“I think, Carrie, we must give up talking and attend to business. I should have checked you before, but I thought a little conversation would help us to get acquainted. Now show me your books, and I will assign your lessons.”

“Don’t give me too long lessons, please, Miss Linden.”

“I will take care not to task you beyond your strength. I don’t want my pupil to grow sick on my hands.”

“I hope you won’t be too strict. When May Robinson makes two mistakes her governess makes her learn her lessons over again.”

“I will promise not to be too strict. Now let me see your books.”

The rest of the forenoon was devoted to study.

Florence was not only an excellent scholar, but she had the art of imparting knowledge, and, what is very important, she was able in a few luminous words to explain difficulties and make clear what seemed to her pupil obscure.

So the time slipped quickly and pleasantly away, and it was noon before either she or her pupil realized it.

“It can’t be twelve,” said Carrie, surprised.

“Yes, it is. We must defer further study till to-morrow.”

“Why, it is a great deal pleasanter than going to school, Miss Linden. I dreaded studying at home, but now I like it.”

“I hope you will continue to, Carrie. I can say that the time has passed away pleasantly for me.”

As Florence prepared to resume her street dress, Carrie said:

“Oh, I forgot! Mamma asked me to invite you to stay to lunch with me. I take lunch as soon as school is out, at twelve o’clock, so I won’t detain you long.”

“Thank you, Carrie; I will stay with pleasure.”

“I am glad of that, for I don’t like to sit down to the table alone. Mamma is never here at this time. She goes out shopping or making calls, so poor I have to sit down to the table alone. It will be ever so much pleasure to have you with me.”

Florence was by no means sorry to accept the invitation.

The meals she got at home were by no means luxurious, and the manner of serving them was by no means what she enjoyed.

Mrs. O’Keefe, though a good friend and a kindhearted woman, was not a model housekeeper, and Florence had been made fastidious by her early training. Lunch was, of course, a plain meal, but what was furnished was of the best quality, and the table service was such as might be expected in a luxurious home.

Just as Florence was rising from the table, Mrs. Leighton entered the room in street dress.

“I am glad you remained to lunch, Miss Linden,” she said. “You will be company for my little girl, who is very sociable. Carrie, I hope you were a good girl, and gave Miss Linden no trouble.”

“Ask Miss Linden, mamma,” said Carrie, confidently.

“Indeed, she did very well,” said Florence. “I foresee that we shall get along admirably.”

“I am glad to hear that. She is apt to be indolent.”

“I won’t be with Miss Linden, mamma. She makes the studies so interesting.”

After Florence left the house, Carrie pronounced an eulogium upon her which led Mrs. Leighton to congratulate herself upon having secured a governess who had produced so favorable an impression on her little girl.

“Was you kept after school, Florence?” asked Dodger, as she entered her humble home. “I am afraid you’ll find your dinner cold.”

“Never mind, Dodger. I am to take dinner—or lunch, rather—at the house where I am teaching; so hereafter Mrs. O’Keefe need not wait for me.”

“And how do you like your place?”

“It is everything that is pleasant. You wished me good luck, Dodger, and your wish has been granted.”

“I was lucky, too, Florence. I’ve made a dollar and a quarter this mornin’.”

“Not by selling papers, surely?”

“Not all. A gentleman gave me fifty cents for takin’ his valise to the Long Branch boat.”

“It seems we are both getting rich,” said Florence, smiling.

Chapter XVI. Dodger Becomes Ambitious.

“Ah, there, Dodger!”

Dodger, who had been busily and successfully selling evening papers in front of the Astor House, turned quickly as he heard his name called.

His glance rested on two men, dressed in soiled white hats and shabby suits, who were apparently holding each other up, having both been imbibing.

He at once recognized Hooker and Briggs, for he had waited upon them too many times in Tim’s saloon not to recognize them.

“Well,” he said, cautiously, “what do you want?”

“Tim has sent us for you!” answered the two, in unison.

“What does he want of me?”

“He wants you to come home. He says he can’t get along without you.”

“He will have to get along without me,” said the boy, independently. “Tell him I’m not goin’ back!”

“You’re wrong, Dodger,” said Hooker, shaking his head, solemnly. “Ain’t he your father?”

“No, he ain’t.”

“He says he is,” continued Hooker, looking puzzled.

“That don’t make it so.”

“He ought to know,” put in Briggs.

“Yes; he ought to know!” chimed in Hooker.

“No doubt he does, but he can’t make me believe he’s any relation of mine.”

“Just go and argy the point with him,” said Hooker, coaxingly.

“It wouldn’t do no good.”

“Maybe it would. Just go back with us, that’s a good boy.”

“What makes you so anxious about it?” asked Dodger, suspiciously.

“Well,” said Hooker, coughing, “we’re Tim’s friends, don’t you know.”

“What’s he goin’ to give you if I go back with you?” asked the boy, shrewdly.

“A glass of whiskey!” replied Hooker and Briggs in unison.

“Is that all?”

“Maybe he’d make it two.”

“I won’t go back with you,” said Dodger, after a moment’s thought; “but I don’t want you to lose anything by me. Here’s a dime apiece, and you can go and get a drink somewhere else.”

“You’re a trump, Dodger,” said Hooker, eagerly holding out his hand.

“I always liked you, Dodger,” said Briggs, with a similar motion.

“Now, don’t let Tim know you’ve seen me,” said the newsboy, warningly.

“We won’t.”

And the interesting pair ambled off in the direction of the Bowery.

“So Tim sent them fellers after me?” soliloqized Dodger. “I guess I’ll have to change my office, or maybe Tim himself will be droppin’ down on me some mornin’. It’ll be harder to get rid of him than of them chumps.”

So it happened that he used to take down his morning papers to the piers on the North River, and take his chance of selling them to passengers from Boston and others ports arriving by the Fall River boats, and others from different points.

The advantage of this was that he often got a chance to serve as guide to strangers visiting the city for the first time, or as porter, to carry their valise or other luggage.

Being a bright, wideawake boy, with a pleasant face and manner, he found his services considerably in demand; and on counting up his money at the end of the week, he found, much to his encouragement, that he had received on an average about a dollar and twenty-five cents per day.

“That’s better than sellin’ papers alone,” thought he. “Besides, Tim isn’t likely to come across me here. I wonder I didn’t think of settin’ up for myself before!”

In the evening he spent an hour, and sometimes more, pursuing his studies, under the direction of Florence. At first his attention was given chiefly to improving his reading and spelling, for Dodger was far from fluent in the first, while his style of spelling many words was strikingly original.

“Ain’t I stupid, Florence?” he asked one day, after spelling a word of three syllables with such ingenious incorrectness as to convulse his young teacher with merriment.

“Not at all, Dodger. You are making excellent progress; but sometimes you are so droll that I can’t help laughing.”

“I don’t mind that if you think I am really gettin’ on.”

“Undoubtedly you are!”

“I make a great many mistakes,” said Dodger, dubiously.

“Yes, you do; but you must remember that you have taken lessons only a short time. Don’t you think you can read a good deal more easily than you did?”

“Yes; I don’t trip up half so often as I did. I’m afraid you’ll get tired of teachin’ me.”

“No fear of that, Dodger. As long as I see that you are improving, I shall feel encouraged to go on.”

“I wish I knew as much as your other scholar.”

“You will in time if you go on. You mustn’t get discouraged.”

“I won’t!” said Dodger, stoutly. “If a little gal like her can learn, I’d ought to be ashamed if I don’t—a big boy of eighteen.”

“It isn’t the size of the boy that counts, Dodger.”

“I know that, but I ain’t goin’ to give in, and let a little gal get ahead of me!”

“Keep to that determination, Dodger, and you will succeed in time, never fear.”

On the whole, Florence enjoyed both her pupils. She had the faculty of teaching, and she became very much interested in both.

As for Dodger, she thought, rough diamond as he was, that she saw in him the making of a manly man, and she felt that it was a privilege to assist in the development of his intellectual nature.

Again, he had picked up a good deal of slang from the nature of his associates, and she set to work to improve his language, and teach him refinement.

It was necessarily a slow process, but she began to find after a time that a gradual change was coming over him.

“I want you to grow up a gentleman, Dodger,” she said to him one day.

“I’m too rough for that, Florence. I’m only an ignorant street boy.”

“You are not going to be an ignorant street boy all your life. I don’t see why you should not grow up a polished gentleman.”

“I shall never be like that de Brabazon young man,” said he.

“No, Dodger; I don’t think you will,” said Florence, laughing. “I don’t want you to become effeminate nor a dude. I think I would like you less than I do now.”

“Do you like me, Florence?” asked Dodger, brightening up.

“To be sure I do. I hope you don’t doubt it.”

“Why, it don’t seem natural-like. You’re a fashionable young lady——”

“Not very fashionable, Dodger, just at present.”

“Well, a high-toned young lady—one of the tip-tops, and I am a rough Bowery boy.”

“You were once, but you are getting over that rapidly. Did you ever hear of Andy Johnson?”

“Who was he?”

“He became President of the United States. Well, at the age of twenty-one he could neither read nor write.”

“At twenty-one?” repeated Dodger. “Why, I’m only eighteen, and I do know something of readin’ and writin’.”

“To be sure! Well, Andy Johnson was taught to read and write by his wife. He kept on improving himself till, in course of time, he became a United States Senator, Vice-President, and afterward, President. Now, I don’t expect you to equal him, but I see no reason why you should not become a well-educated man if you are content to work, and keep on working.”

“I will keep on, Florence,” said Dodger, earnestly.

“If I ever find my relations I don’t want them to be ashamed of me.”

It was not the first time he had referred to his uncertain origin.

“Won’t Tim Bolton tell you anything about your family?”

“No; I’ve asked him more’n once. He always says he’s my father, and that makes me mad.”

“It is strange,” said Florence, thoughtfully. “I had a young cousin stolen many years ago.”

“Was it the son of the old gentleman you lived with on Madison Avenue?”

“Yes; it was the son of Uncle John. It quite broke him down. After my cousin’s loss he felt that he had nothing to live for.”

“I wish I was your cousin, Florence,” said Dodger, thoughtfully.

“Well, then, I will adopt you as my cousin, or brother, whichever you prefer!”

“I would rather be your cousin.”

“Then cousin let it be! Now we are bound to each other by strong and near ties.”

“But when your uncle takes you back you’ll forget all about poor Dodger.”

“No, I won’t, Dodger. There’s my hand on it. Whatever comes, we are friends forever.”

“Then I’ll try not to disgrace you, Florence. I’ll learn as fast as I can, and see if I don’t grow up to be a gentleman.”

Chapter XVII. A Mysterious Adventure.

Several weeks passed without changing in any way the position or employment of Dodger or Florence.

They had settled down to their respective forms of labor, and were able not only to pay their modest expenses, but to save up something for a rainy day.

Florence had but one source of regret.

She enjoyed her work, and did not now lament the luxurious home which she had lost.

But she did feel sore at heart that her uncle made no sign of regret for their separation.

From him she received no message of forgiveness or reconciliation.

“He has forgotten me!” she said to herself, bitterly. “He has cast me utterly out of his heart. I do not care for his money, but I