Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter by Jr. Horatio Alger (little readers .txt) 📕

to-morrow morning. All I have to do is to keep him in safe custody till then."

"Of course. Where is he?"

"In a cell below."

"Can I see him?"

"If you wish."

The officer summoned an attendant, and briefly ordered him to conduct Mr. Murdock to Dick's cell.

"This way, sir," said the attendant.

Mr. Murdock followed him through a large rear room, which is intended for the accommodation of the officers. Then, descending some steps into the courtyard, he descended thence into the apartments in the basement. Here are the cells for the temporary detention of offenders who are not at once sent to the Tombs for trial. The passages are whitewashed and the cells look very neat. They are on either side, with a grating, so that one passing along can look into them readily. They are probably about seven feet long, by four or five in width. A narrow raised bedstead, covered with a pallet, occupies one side, on which the prisoner can either lie or sit, as he pleases.

"How are you, boss?" asked a negro woman, who had been arrested for drunkenness, swaying forward, as Mr. Murdock passed, and nearly losing her balance as she did so. "Can't you give me a few cents to buy some supper?"

Turning from this revolting spectacle, Mr. Murdock followed his guide to the second cell beyond where our hero was confined.

"Is it you, Mr. Murdock?" exclaimed our hero, joyfully jumping to his feet. "I am glad to see you."

"And I am glad to see you; but I wish it were somewhere else," said Mr. Murdock.

"So do I," said Dick. "I aint partial to this hotel, though the accommodations is gratooitous, and the company is very select."

"I see you will have your joke, Dick, even in such a place."

"I don't feel so jolly as I might," said Dick. "I never was in the station-house before; but I shall be lucky if I don't get sent to a worse place."

"Have you any idea who took the wallet which was found in your pocket?"

"No," said Dick.

"Do you know a boy called Micky Maguire?" proceeded Mr. Murdock.

"Yes," said Dick, looking up in surprise. "Micky used to be a great friend of mine. He'd be delighted if he only knew that I was enjoyin' the hospitality of the government."

"He does know it," said Mr. Murdock, quietly.

"How do you know?" asked Dick, quickly.

"Because it was he that stole the wallet and put it in your pocket."

"How did you find out?" asked Dick, eagerly.

"Do you know a boy named Tim Ryan?"

"Yes; he's a good boy."

"It was he that brought me your note. He saw the whole proceeding."

"Why didn't he tell, and stop my bein' arrested, then?"

"I asked him that; but he said he was afraid Micky would beat him when he found out. But he is a friend of yours, and he stands ready to testify what he knows, at your trial, to-morrow morning."

"That's lucky," said Dick, breathing a sigh of relief. "So it was Micky that served me the trick. He always loved me like a brother, Micky did, but I didn't expect he'd steal for my benefit. I'm very much obliged to him, but I'd rather dispense with such little favors another time."

"You will be surprised to learn that Micky came round to our store this afternoon."

"What for?" questioned Dick, in amazement.

"I don't know whether he came by accident or design; but Mr. Gilbert employed him to black his boots."

"Mr. Gilbert!"

"Yes. They seemed to be conversing earnestly; but I was too far off to hear what was said. Finally, Gilbert appeared to get angry, and drove the boy out."

"That's strange!" said Dick, thoughtfully. "Mr. Gilbert loves me about as much as Micky does."

"Yes, there seems to be some mystery about it. We may find out some time what it is. But here is your friend Fosdick."

"How are you, Fosdick?" hailed Dick from his cell. "I'm holdin' a little levee down here. Did you receive my card of invitation?"

"I've been uneasy all the afternoon, Dick," said Fosdick. "Ever since I heard that you were here, I've been longing to come and see you."

"Then you aint ashamed of me, even if I am in the station-house?"

"Of course I know you don't deserve to be here. Tell me all about it. I only got a chance to speak a minute with Tim Ryan, for there were customers waiting."

"I'll tell you all I know myself," said Dick. "I'm sorry to keep you standing, but the door is locked, and I've accidentally lost the key. So I can't invite you into my parlor, as the spider invited the fly."

"Don't stand on ceremony, Dick. I'd just as lieves stay outside."

"So would I," said Dick, rather ruefully.

The story was told over again, with such new light as Mr. Murdock had been able to throw upon it.

"It's just like Micky," said Fosdick. "He's a bad fellow."

"It was rather a mean trick," said Dick; "but he hasn't had a very good bringin' up, or maybe he'd be a better boy."

That he should have spoken thus, at the moment when he was suffering from Micky's malice, showed a generosity of feeling which was characteristic of Dick. No one was more frank, open, or free from malice than he, though always ready to stand up for his rights when he considered them assailed. It is this quality in Dick, joined to his manly spirit, which makes him a favorite with me, as he is also with you, let me hope, young reader.

"It'll come out right, Dick," said Fosdick, cheerfully. "Tim Ryan's testimony will clear you. I feel a good deal better about it now than I did this afternoon, when I didn't know how things were likely to go with you."

"I hope so," said Dick. "But I'm afraid you won't get any supper, if you stay any longer with me."

"How about your supper, Dick?" asked Fosdick, with sudden thought. "Do they give you any in this establishment?"

"No," said Dick; "this hotel's on the European system, with improvements. You get your lodgin' for nothing, and nothing to eat along with it. I don't like the system much. I don't think I could stand it more'n a week without its hurtin' my constitution."

"I'll go out and get you something, Dick," said Fosdick, "if the rules of the establishment allow it. Shall I?"

"Well," said Dick, "I think I might eat a little, though the place isn't very stimulatin' to the appetite."

"What shall I bring you?"

"I aint particular," said Dick.

Just then the attendant came along, and Fosdick inquired if he would be allowed to bring his friend something to eat.

"Certainly," was the reply. "We provide nothing ourselves, as the prisoners only stay with us a few hours."

"I'll be right back," said Fosdick.

Not far from the station-house, Fosdick found a baker's shop, where he bought some bread and cakes, with which he started to return. As he was nearing the station-house, he caught sight of Micky Maguire hovering about the door. Micky smiled significantly as he saw Fosdick and his burden.

"Where are you carryin' that?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" said Fosdick, who could not feel very friendly to the author of Dick's misfortune.

"Never mind why," said Micky. "I know well enough. It's for your friend Dick. How does he like his new lodgins'?"

"How do you like them? You've been there often enough."

"Don't be impudent, or I'll lam' ye," said Micky, scowling.

As Fosdick was considerably smaller than himself, Micky might have ventured upon an assault, but deemed it imprudent in the immediate vicinity of the station-house.

"Give my compliments to Dick," he said. "I hope he'll sleep well."

To this Fosdick returned no answer, but, entering the building, descended to Dick's temporary quarters. He passed the bread and cake through the grating, and Dick, cheered by the hope of an acquittal on the morrow, and a speedy recovery of his freedom, partook with a good appetite.

"Can't you give me a mouthful, boss?" muttered the negro woman before mentioned, as she caught sight of Fosdick's load.

He passed a cake through the grating, which she seized eagerly, and devoured with appetite.

"I think I must be going," said Mr. Murdock, consulting his watch, "or my wife and children won't know what has become of me."

"Good-night, Mr. Murdock," said Dick. "Thank you for your kindness."

"Good-night, Richard. Keep up your courage."

"I'll try to."

Fosdick stopped longer. At last he went away, and our hero, left to himself, lay down upon his pallet and tried to get to sleep.

CHAPTER XVI. ROSWELL CRAWFORD RETIRES FROM BUSINESS.

"Can you send this home for me?" asked a lady in Hall & Turner's store about three o'clock in the afternoon of the day on which Dick, as we have related, was arrested.

"Certainly, madam. Where shall it be sent?" asked the clerk.

"No. 47 West Fortieth Street," was the reply.

"Very well, it shall be sent up immediately. Here, Roswell."

Roswell Crawford came forward not very willingly. He had no great liking for the task which he saw would be required of him. Fortieth Street was at least a mile and a half distant, and he had already just returned from a walk in a different direction. Besides, the bundle was a large one, containing three dress patterns. He did not think it very suitable for a gentleman's son to be seen carrying such a large bundle through the streets.

"Why don't you send Edward?" he said, complainingly. "He doesn't do half as much as I."

"I shall send whom I please," said the clerk, sharply. "You wouldn't do anything if you could help it."

"I won't carry bundles much longer," said Roswell. "You put all the heaviest bundles off upon me."

Roswell's back being turned, he did not observe Mr. Turner, who had come up as he was speaking.

"What are you complaining about?" asked that gentleman.

Roswell turned, and colored a little when he saw his employer.

"What is the matter?" repeated Mr. Turner.

"Mr. Evans always gives me the largest bundles to carry," said Roswell.

"He is always complaining of having to carry bundles," said the clerk. "He says it isn't suitable work for a gentleman's son."

"I have noticed it," said Mr. Turner. "On the whole, I think, Mr. Crawford," he said, with mock deference, "I think you have mistaken your vocation in entering a dry-goods store. I advise you to seek some more gentlemanly employment. At the end of the week, you are at liberty to leave my employment for one better suited to you."

"I'm ready to go now," said Roswell, sulkily.

"Very well; if you desire it, I will not insist upon your remaining. If you will come up to the desk, you shall receive what is due you."

It was somewhat humiliating to Roswell to feel that his services were so readily dispensed with. Still he had never liked the place, and heartily disliked carrying bundles. By going at once, he would get rid of the large bundle to be carried to West Fortieth Street. Congratulating himself, therefore, on the whole, on escaping from what he regarded as a degrading servitude, he walked up to the desk in a dignified manner, and received the wages due him.

"I hope you will find some more congenial employment," said Mr. Turner, who paid him the amount of his wages.

"I have no doubt I shall," said Roswell, loftily. "My father was a gentleman, and our family has considerable influence."

"Well, I wish you success. Good-by."

"Good-by," said Roswell, and walked out of the shop with head erect.

He did not quite like going home at once, as explanation would be rather awkward under the circumstances. He accordingly crossed over to Fifth Avenue, considering that the most suitable promenade for a gentleman's son. He could not help regarding with some envy the happy possessors of the elegant buildings which he passed. Why had partial Fate denied him that fortune which would have enabled him to live in this favored locality?

"Plenty of snobs have got money," he thought. "How much better I could use it than they! I wish I were rich! You wouldn't catch me slaving my life out in a dry-goods store, or any other."

This was undoubtedly true. Work of any kind had no charms for Roswell. To walk up the avenue swinging a dandy cane, dressed in the height of the fashion, or, what was better yet, sitting back luxuriously in an elegant carriage drawn by a dashing span; such was what he regarded himself most fit for. But, unfortunately, he was not very likely to realize his wishes. The desire to enjoy wealth doesn't bring it, and the tastes of a gentleman are not a very good stock to begin life with. So Roswell sauntered along in rather a discontented frame of mind until he reached Madison Park, where he sat down on a bench, and listlessly watched some boys