Brave Tom by Edward S. Ellis

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They talked for a long time in an aimless way, discussing numerous
schemes, but without agreeing upon any.

"Jim, let's go to New York."

Tom made the proposition as though it had come to him that moment, when in
truth it had been in his mind from the first, as it was with Jim, who was
on the point of uttering it, but was waiting for his friend, because he
was a few months older and took the lead in all matters.

"I wonder if that wouldn't be the best thing to do," remarked Jim, like
one to whom the idea was new.

"Neither of us has ever been in New York. It is a great place, full of
dangers of all kinds, but there are chances for every one to get along, if
he will do what's right and isn't afraid to work."

"If we should tell the people what we have in mind, they would advise us
to stay here or to try Philadelphia."

"We must pass Philadelphia to get to New York, but I don't feel like
staying there, do you, Jim?"

"No; I don't fancy the place. Father took me there once when I was a wee
younker, and it struck me as being slow."

Tom laughed at the thought of a little fellow being impressed that way by
one of the leading cities in the Union. He, too, had been in the large and
handsome town, but for some reason, which he could not explain, had formed
a prejudice against it. He shook his head at the proposition of trying
their fortunes there.

"Philadelphia isn't big enough for us," he remarked quizzically; "New York
is the only place where we can spread and grow."

"Then I propose we go to New York to seek our fortune. What do you say?"

"We'll stick together."

And the young friends reached their hands toward each other and clasped
them in the dim light of Jim Travers's room.

It was an important decision they had reached, and they talked over the
matter for a long time. Each had quite a little sum of money, which they
had saved with scrupulous care. They had good serviceable clothing, with
something extra in the way of change. The executors of Mr. Travers had
completed their duty and made their report to court. As in the case of the
Widow Gordon, not a penny was left for the boy, and the house and
everything it contained was to pass into the hands of strangers.

Jim Travers and Tom Gordon were occupying their single room on sufferance.
The new-comers were to take possession on the first of the following
month, and a hint had been given the boys which it was impossible for them
to misunderstand. Their room was preferable to their company.

"Next Tuesday is the first," remarked Jim; "I suppose we can stay here the
few days until then."

"That's less than a week. What's the use of waiting when we have made up
our minds to go?" was the pertinent question of Tom. "I prefer not to meet
those folks that are coming here."

"That's the way I feel," assented the younger, striving to repress his
ardor over the prospect. "They will put on airs, turn up their noses at
us, and make themselves at home. I can't bear," he added, his voice
slightly trembling, "to see them parading through the house which father
owned, and walking into his room as if no one else had the right to go
there."

"Well, I'm glad, Jim, that we think alike. Tomorrow we'll bid our friends
good-by and take the afternoon train to New York."

"That suits me. It would hardly be right to slip off without saying
anything to the fellows. We'll call on them all."

"Yes; that is right. I promised Sam Harper to let him know about it."

"I suppose you did, and you won't forget to tell Nellie."

Jim laughed at his own sly remark, and the handsome Tom blushed at this
reference to the pretty sister of his playmate.

The hour grew late, but they sat a long time talking of what they would do
when they made their home in the great metropolis. Bridget, the old
servant, warned them once or twice that it was past bedtime; but seeing
her words were unnoticed, she withdrew and left them together.

Ah, when are the dreams of life so radiant as in early youth? What
pictures are so glowing, so beautiful, so vivid, so real, as those which
come to the boy when he stands with his feet on the threshold, and looks
far out over the limitless fields which spread before his view? The air
"lets finer sunlight through," and the skies are more golden than they
can ever be again. It is the hour when to him nothing in the whole wide
world is impossible. It is a sweet, soul-stirring vision which, alas, too
often is darkened or swept away by storm and mists and darkness and death.

The programme of the two boys was carried out, with some modification, the
next day. They found, when they came to go around among their friends to
bid them good-by, that it took longer than they had counted on. They
separated; and when night arrived, Tom was urged so cordially to stay and
take supper with Sam Harper that he did not refuse.

Then he had to remain a while in the evening, which proved to be a most
pleasant one to the visitor. The parents of his playmate were sensible
people, who, finding the caller had made up his mind to go, did not
attempt to dissuade him. On the contrary, they reminded him that under
heaven he had every reason to hope for success.

"The instruction received from your good mother," said Mr. Harper, "I am
sure can never be forgotten by you. You have a fair education for your
age; and I say to you as I did to Jimmy Travers, when he stopped here a
while ago, be honest, truthful, obliging always, and your reward is
certain. You will meet with disappointments and all sorts of trials, but
keep up your courage. Never let go; hang fast; take whatever comes in
your way and do it with all your might, and success is sure, sooner or
later."

"I have made up my mind to that," replied Tom modestly. "Jimmy and I don't
imagine that half the merchants in New York will be waiting at the ferry
for us, and will scramble over each other to see who shall have our
services."

The gentleman smiled at the picture, and his wife added,--

"There are so many dangers and pitfalls that I tremble at the thought of
two boys like Tom and Jim going into such a great city, where they do not
know a living person."

"It is a matter for serious thought, but hundreds have done the same
before them, and have achieved success."

"Have not some failed?"

"Doubtless the majority have failed to attain what they expected. But the
same is true right here in Briggsville, and is true everywhere. I hold the
doctrine, that to the boy who is strong, rugged, honest, willing, not only
to work, but to wait, that success is bound to come sooner or later."

Tom was much encouraged by these wise words, and felt a strengthening of
the resolve he had formed the night before.

It was bright, pretty Nellie who now spoke.

"Won't it be splendid when Tom becomes a rich merchant, able to live in
his fine house and have his horse and carriages and servants?"

"I am afraid it will be a long time before I get that far," replied the
lad with a blush; "but I shall do it if there is any way possible."

"Riches are not the highest object in this life, though they are well
enough in their way. Don't think so much about them as about doing your
duty. Be content to begin at the bottom of the ladder. It is an old
saying, but there never was a truer one, that you will always find plenty
of room at the top."

After some more pleasant conversation, Tom shook hands with his friends
and bade them good-by. He ventured to give the delicate palm of Nellie a
little warmer squeeze than he had ever dared to do before, and looked
meaningly in her eyes. But she was diffident and did not return the
pressure, and he was not certain of the precise meaning of the look she
gave him at parting.

He felt a trifle uncomfortable, while walking homeward in the crisp
moonlight.

"I suppose Nellie would feel quite proud of me if I ever become a rich
man; but suppose I don't. She always was a proud girl, and likely enough
will turn up her nose if I fail, which _I won't!_" he added, compressing
his lips and walking faster.

Tom found Jim at home and waiting for him. They sat up late again talking
over their grand scheme of seeking their fortune, and even after they
retired the hum of their conversation continued until far into the night.

The following morning they turned their backs upon Briggsville forever.
The ride to Philadelphia was not far. They had decided to stop there for a
time, as there was no call for haste. Neither held a thought of making
their stay permanent. They strolled down Chestnut Street, looking at the
pleasing sights that are always to be met in that fashionable
thoroughfare, viewed some of the fine structures, and stared until they
were tired.

But they were eager to go on. The metropolis of the country was their
destination, and they would never be satisfied until they reached it.
Accordingly, when the afternoon was well along, they boarded the train and
sped away to the northward. Everything thus far, even if interesting, had
been dull and commonplace, but sooner than they anticipated, they entered
upon the most stirring and momentous experience of their lives.

Chapter VIII.

"A Man overboard!"

This was the startling cry that rang out from the multitude swarming
forward on the ferry-boat D. S. Gregory, one wintry night, as she was
approaching the dock at the foot of Courtlandt Street, on her trip from
Jersey City.

For a few seconds confusion and excitement reigned supreme.

The boat was crowded with passengers, many of whom had passed out of the
forward cabin doors, and were pushing toward the bow, eager to be the
first to leap ashore, scarcely willing to wait till the lattice-like gates
were drawn aside to allow them to pass.

Some were smoking, many were talking, and no one was dreaming of anything
wrong, when the alarming cry resounded through the frosty air.

The captain heard it on the instant, as did the engineer; for the latter
checked the swinging of the ponderous working-beam at the same second that
he received the signal from the captain--a thing which never happens
unless in some such emergency.

As the throbbing of the engine ceased and the boat glided smoothly along,
there was such a general rush toward the bow that a dangerous dipping of
the craft followed--a peril which no one beside the officials on the
vessel observed.

"Who is he?"

"Did he jump over?"

"Did he fall?"

"Was he pushed?"

"Can he be saved?"

"Where is he?"

These and similar questions were on a hundred lips; and before any
intelligible answer could be given, a woman gave utterance to the most
heart-rending scream, and made such frantic attempts to spring into the
water, that the intervention of several strong men was required to prevent
her.

"It must be her husband."

But the expression was yet in the mouth of the speaker, when, falling limp
and despairing into the sturdy arms of the unknown friends, she wailed,--

"Will no one save my child? Let me go to her; she is all that is left to
me--oh, let me die with her!"

"It's a little girl that fell overboard," called out some one who had seen
the accident. "There she is--hello!"

The last exclamation was caused by a second splash, as a dark body clave
the air and dropped into the water within a few yards of where the dress
of the little girl could be faintly discerned.

"Heavens, that is only a little boy!" called out an excited individual.
"Are all the children to be drowned before our eyes?"

The general belief was that this lad, through some strange mischance, had
also fallen into the river, a belief which was quickly dispelled by
another boy, no doubt his playmate, calling out,--

"That's my chum, Tom, and you needn't be afraid of him; he can outswim a
duck and a goose and a fish all together; he jumped over to save that
little girl, seeing as all you big men was afraid--and you can just bet
he'll do it too."

There was a tone of absolute certainty in these remarkable words which
lifted a mountain from more than one heart, and instantly transferred all
interest to the brave young lad who had sprung into the water to save a
little girl that was a stranger to him.

A cold wintry night was closing in when this accident took place, and the
lights from the shipping and the great city twinkled like myriads of
stars.

Great black hulls lay still and motionless in the water, as if they were
enormous ogres of the deep waiting for human prey to come into their vast
maws; steam-tugs were puffing and darting here and there, in and out
among the shipping, as though they were playing hide-and-seek with each
other; another ferry-boat was just putting out from the dock on the New
York side, the paddle-wheels crunching and grinding the chunks of ice, as
if masticating its food.

In the chilly gloom of the evening, the crowds that swarmed to the
gunwales and peered forward could see something floating in the water; and
though no one could define exactly what it was with the aid of the sight
alone, yet, by a general consent, it was accepted as the form of the
little girl that had fallen overboard.

A second figure was seen working his way toward the nerveless and silent
one.

The two were no more than fairly out of the path of the steamer, which was
gliding so closely by them that any movement of the wheels would have
endangered both.

Among those who forced their way to the side of the boat was the lad who
gave utterance to the words before recorded. It was natural that he should
be deeply interested when his dearest friend was risking his life to save
another. As soon as the lad on the boat caught fair sight of the other, he
shouted,--

"Hello, Tom! do you want any help?"

"Three chaars for the wee one!" called out an Irishman, boiling over with
enthusiasm, "and if there's a spalpeen on boord that don't jine in, I'll
crack the head of the same, or me name isn't Patsey McConough!"

But the deck-hands had not been idle spectators during the few minutes
since the accident.

Prompt as they had been, the children were, however, so far off at the
moment of tossing over the life-preservers and hurling out the ropes, that
none reached the lad, who was too intent on saving the child to pay any
attention to these little helps, which he did not need.

When the craft stood at a dead halt, the engineer caused a slight and only
partial reverse movement of the wheels, so as to approach the couple.

"Yes, there he comes," shouted a tall fellow, leaning so far over the rail
that he was in danger of falling, "and I'm blessed if he ain't got the
girl!"

Such was the fact, as all perceived the next moment. The boy was
supporting the little form with one hand, while he propelled himself with
the other.

As soon as Tom came within reach, another lasso-like fling was made, the
coil dropping so near the boy that he succeeded in grasping it with his
free hand.

Whoever the little fellow was that was acting the _role_, he certainly was
a genius in his way. His presence of mind was almost marvelous.

When the waves from the threshing-paddle so unexpectedly overwhelmed him,
he had just time to draw a deep inspiration before he was environed by
death. The most skillful swimmer in the world cannot sustain himself in
sea-foam, or in the white caps of the breakers. The only safe course when
thus caught is to hold your breath and wait for "solid water," where you
can paddle your own canoe.

Almost any one thus entrapped would have let go the rope and been drowned,
but the boy held on with the grip of death, and as soon as he could catch
a mouthful of fresh air, shouted,--

"Pull up; I'm all right."

A dozen hands were outstretched to help, and the next minute the brave
lad, still holding the senseless girl with one arm, was drawn up on deck,
and received into the crowd, who almost pulled him apart in their frenzied
congratulations.

It was found that the little girl was alive, and carrying her into the
cabin where her mother had just recovered from her swoon, a medical
gentleman announced that there was nothing to fear.

The wheels of the ferry-boat were again in motion, and the slip was
reached, while a hundred men were demanding the name of the young hero,
praising him, offering to make up a purse, hurrahing, and going wild over
what was unquestionably a most praiseworthy deed.

In the midst of the excitement and rattling of chains, the crowd swarmed
off the boat, and the lads were lost sight of.

Chapter IX.

Tom Gordon was not only brave, but he was modest; and he hurried away from
the swarming crowd as soon as he was free of the ferry-boat, for he found
it anything but pleasant to be looked upon and treated as a lion. Turning
off into one of the intersecting streets, the two lads walked along in
silence, when Tom said,--

"Do you know, Jim, I'm half-frozen?"

The rattling teeth emphasized the question.

"I should think you would be. Here's a place of some kind; let's go in and
have something to eat, and you can warm yourself."

Jim led the way; and as he pushed open the green-baize doors, which worked
on springs, he saw they had entered one of those nondescript shops, so
numerous in certain parts of New York, where a person can obtain any kind
of alcoholic drink, a cigar, a lunch, a "square meal," or a night's
lodging, or all.

Jim recognized the resort, and he would have withdrawn but through
sympathy for his shivering companion. The latter could scarcely stand from
cold, his clothing was soaked, and, in the keen air, had congealed so
that it rattled like tarpauling as he walked.

Just back from the door was a large stove, whose bulging, white-washed
cylinder, gleamed red with heat.

Tom immediately stepped up to this and began to thaw himself out.

"Ah, that feels nice!" he laughed to his companion.

"Well, young man, what do you want in here?" asked the bartender, in a
sharp, business-like style, bustling from behind the counter with the
evident intention of "bouncing" the lads.

"I want to get dry and warm," was the reply of Tom, from whose clothing
the steam was beginning to ascend.

"This ain't a shop to dry out boys. Why don't you go home?"

"We haven't any home."

"That's played; go where you stayed last night."

"That's near a hundred miles from here."

Two or three loungers laughed at the rather pert style in which Tom made
his replies, though in truth the lad meant no disrespect. The bartender
turned red in the face, and was angered at being taken up as he was.

"Hello, my wharf-rat, how did you get so wet?"

"In the water."

"He jumped off the ferry-boat to save a little girl," said Jim, seeing
the storm brewing, and desirous of putting in a good word for his friend.

This declaration was received with a guffaw, not one of the hearers
believing a word of it.

"Jumped off to get away from the Bobbies," sneered the bartender. "If you
don't get out of here quicker'n lightning I'll hand you over to them."

"We can go out if you say so," said Tom, in the same good-natured manner;
"but we came in to get our supper and stay all night."

"Have you got the stamps to pay for it?"

"If we hadn't we'd know better than to come in here."

"All right; my terms are a half a dollar apiece for supper and lodging."

"What is it with breakfast?"

"Seventy-five cents."

"We might as well pay you now."

And in his off-hand fashion Tom drew from his water-soaked pocket his
portemonnaie, remarking to Jim that they would arrange it between
themselves, and handed the exact change to the somewhat surprised
bartender and clerk.

That made a difference; and the servant became as obsequious as if he had
just recognized in his visitor a millionaire that had dropped in to spend
a part of his fortune with him.

The boys were hungry, as may be supposed, and they fell to eating like a
couple of famished wanderers. Only a mouthful or two was swallowed when
Jim exclaimed,--

"Hello, Tom; where did you get that gold chain?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Tom, looking up at his friend.

"I'll show you;" and, as Jim spoke, he reached over and unhooked a tiny
gold chain from the upper button of his friend's coat, around which it was
twined in a singular manner.

More than that, there was a locket attached to it.

"That's the strangest thing I ever heard tell of," said Tom, as he
examined the chain and locket. "I never knew it was there till you spoke."

"You must have got it from that girl in the water, when you helped her
out."

"That's so! Wait here till I come back!" and with this exclamation the lad
sprang up and darted outdoors.

He was gone but a short time, when he returned.

"I've been down to the ferry-house to see whether I could find the woman
and give her back her jewelry; but nobody there knows anything about her,
and I'll have to keep it till I learn who she is."

On looking at the locket the boys agreed that it was the likeness of the
girl that had so narrowly escaped drowning. They admired it a long time,
after which Tom carefully put it away, and they finished their supper.

The supper finished, the boys sat in the hot room until Tom's clothing was
fully dried, during which process the two were urged to drink fully a
score of times, Tom being assured by several that the only way to escape a
dangerous cold was to swallow a good supply of gin.

Like sensible lads they steadfastly refused, as they had never tasted
spirituous liquors, and never intended to.

Finally, at a late hour, they retired to their humble room, where they
were speedily asleep.

On the morrow it was agreed that they would make this place their
headquarters, while they looked up something to do. They could separate
and spend the day in the search, and return to their lodging-house after
dark, both having fixed the location in their minds, and there being
little excuse for losing their way, even in such a vast city.

Breakfast was eaten early, and the friends separated, not expecting to see
each other till dusk again. Both were in high spirits, for in the clear
sunshine of the winter's morning the world looked bright and radiant to
them. The hurry and rush of Broadway, the crowds constantly surging
forward, each one seemingly intent on his own business, the constant roll
and rumble of trade,--all so different from the more sedate city they had
left behind.

All these were so new and novel to the lads, threading their way through
the great metropolis, that they forgot their real business for a time, and
feasted their eyes and ears for hours.

Finally, they roused themselves and went to work. The experience of the
two, for a time at least, was very similar. Tom first stopped in a
dry-goods house, and asked whether they could give him anything to do. A
short "No" was the reply, and the proprietor instantly turned his back
upon him. Then he tried a drug-store, where he was treated in the same
manner. In a hat and cap store, the rotund clerk tried to chaff him, but
he didn't make much of a success of it. In answer to his question, the
clerk replied that he didn't need a boy just then, but when he did he
would send his carriage around to the Metropolitan for him.

When Tom timidly introduced his errand to an old gentleman in spectacles,
as he sat at his desk in a large shipping-office, the old fellow exclaimed
in an awed voice,--

"Great Heavens, no! I don't want to hire any boy."

And so it went, hour after hour, until the future, which had looked so
beautiful in the morning, gradually became overcast with clouds, and the
poor lad was forced to stop and rest from sheer weariness.

He kept it up bravely till night, when he started on his return to his
lodgings. He found on inquiry that he was several miles distant, his
wanderings having covered more ground than he supposed. He had made over
thirty applications, and in no instance had he received one grain of
encouragement. In more than one case he had been insulted and ordered from
the store, followed by the intimation that he was some runaway or thief.

No wonder that Tom felt discouraged and depressed in spirits as he rode
homeward in the street-car. He was so wearied that he dropped down in one
corner, where he soon fell asleep, not waking until he had gone fully two
miles beyond the point where he should have left the vehicle. This sleep
so mixed him up that it was nearly ten o'clock when he reached his hotel,
as we may call it.

He was hopeful that Jim would have a better story to tell; but to his
amazement, he found that his friend, despite the lateness of the hour,
had not yet come back. A shiver of alarm passed over Tom, for he was
certain that some dreadful evil had befallen him.

Most likely he had been waylaid and killed in some of the hundred
different ways which the police reports show are adopted by the assassins
of New York in disposing of their victims.

Chapter X.

Tom's anxiety for his comrade drove all thought of sleep from his eyes for
the time; and he sat long in the hot, smoky air of the room down-stairs,
in the hope that Jim would come.

It seemed to the watcher that there was an unusually large number of
visitors in the house that evening. There was a great deal of drinking and
carousing going on, and many of the men gathered there, he was sure,
belonged to the lowest grades of society.

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