Brave Tom by Edward S. Ellis
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Edward S. Ellis >> Brave Tom
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A half-dozen foreign nations were represented, and one had but to listen
to the talk for a short while to learn that among them were many whom one
might well fear to meet on a lonely road at night.
Tom might have felt some dread but for the fact that, rather strangely,
these men showed little disposition to engage in any brawl, and no one
seemed to notice him.
Late in the evening a couple of policemen came in and waited a while
around the stove. They only spoke to the bartender, who treated them with
the greatest consideration; but they scrutinized the lad with a curious
look, which caused him to wonder whether they held any suspicion of
wrong-doing on his part. They said nothing to him, however, and shortly
after went out.
Tom's great alarm for Jim drove nearly every other thought from his mind.
Late as it was, he would have started out to search for him, could he have
formed the least idea of the course to take; but, besides being a stranger
in the city, he knew that a single man or a hundred might spend weeks in
hunting for one in the metropolis, without the least probability of
finding him.
It was near midnight when he concluded to make his way to the room, hoping
that Jim would show up before morning.
The sounds of revelry below, mingled with shouts and the stamping of feet,
together with the feverish condition of the lad, kept him awake another
hour; but at last he fell into a light, uneasy sleep, haunted by all sorts
of grotesque, awful visions.
Suddenly he awoke; in the dim light of his little room Tom saw the figure
of a man standing by the bed.
"Who are you? What do you want?" whispered the terrified lad, struggling
to rise to a sitting position.
"Mebbe ye doesn't know me, but I'm Patsey McConough, and it was mesilf
that saw ye shtrike out so boldly last night and save the gal that had
fallen overboard, and St. Patrick himself couldn't have done it any better
than did yersilf."
"What do you mean by coming into my room this way?" asked Tom, whose fear
greatly subsided under the words of the Irishman.
"I come up-stairs to wake ye, for I'm afeard ye are going to have trouble
onless ye look mighty sharp."
"What do you mean?"
Patsey carefully closed and bolted the door behind him, and sat down on
the edge of the bed, speaking in a low, guarded voice.
"There's a big crowd down-stairs, and Tim's grog is getting to their
heads, and they're riddy for any sort of a job. There are a couple of
Italian cut-throats, and though I can't understand much of their lingo,
yet I cotched enough of the same to make me sartin they mean to rob ye."
"But would they dare try it in the house here?"
"Whisht now, there isn't anything they wouldn't thry, if they thought
there was a chance of making a ha'pence at it. They've murdered men afore
to-night, and they would just as lief slip up here and cut your wizen as
they would ate a piece of macaroni. Whisht now, and I'll give ye the
partic'lars and inshtruct ye what to do. It wouldn't be safe for ye to git
up and go out, for they'll folly ye and garrote ye afore ye could raich a
safe place. I would stay here and watch with ye, but that I've overstayed
me time alriddy, and I'll catch thunder whin I git back home, 'cause I
can't make the boss belave the raison why I staid. Here's a pistol,"
added the Irishman, shoving a five-shooter into the hand of the
astonished lad, "and ivery barrel is loaded, and it niver misses fire, as
the victims can tell ye as have been hit by the same. Do ye take this,
bolt yer door, and if anybody comes poking in the room after I'm gone,
just bore a hole through him, and then ax him if he ain't ashamed of
himself to steal into a private apartment in that shtyle. Take me word for
it, he won't come agin."
"I should think not," said Tom, who was dressing himself. "But I don't
like the idea of shooting a man."
"Nor do I, but it's loikely to be a chice between shooting him or him
shooting ye, and ye are at liberty to decide."
And with a few parting words of caution the Irishman took his departure,
first pausing long enough to advise Tom to change his quarters if he was
spared until the morrow, and suggesting that the wisest thing he could do
was to get out of New York as speedily as he knew how.
As may well be imagined, Tom Gordon was not likely to fall asleep again
that night, so, having fully dressed himself, he sat down on the edge of
the bed to wait and watch.
A small transom over his door admitted enough light to discern objects
with sufficient distinctness in the room, and he carefully shoved the bolt
in place, feeling he was prepared for any emergency.
Even with such an exciting subject to occupy his thoughts, he could not
fail to wonder and fear for his missing friend. He prayed Heaven to watch
over the boy's footsteps and to prevent his wandering into any danger,
while the feeling that the poor fellow was already beyond all human help
weighed down the heart of Tom like a mountain of lead.
This suspense did not continue long when the watchful lad heard some one
ascending the stairs--an action which might mean nothing or a great deal.
The room occupied by the boy was along a narrow hall, perhaps fifty feet
in length, the apartment being half that distance from the head of the
stairs.
It seemed to Tom that there was an attempt to smother the sound made by
the feet, which plainly belonged to two people, though the effort was far
from being a success.
"They may be going to their own room, after all"--
The heart of the lad gave a great bound, for at that instant the footsteps
paused directly in front of his own door, and he could hear the men
muttering to each other in low tones.
"They're looking for me," was the conclusion of the boy, who grasped his
pistol more rigidly, and rose to the standing posture.
"If they want me, all they've got to do is to take me."
What was the amazement of the youth to see at this moment, while his eyes
were fixed upon the door, the iron bolt slowly move back, without, so far
as he could see, the least human agency.
This was a house, indeed, in which such characters were given every
facility they could wish to ply their unholy vocation.
Immediately after the fastening went back, the latch was lifted, and the
door swung noiselessly inward.
As it did so, a head, covered only with a mass of shock hair, which hung
down like pieces of tarred rope, and with the lower part of the face
veiled by a black, stringy beard, was thrust far enough within to show the
shoulders. Directly behind appeared another face, placed on a shorter
body, but none the less repellant in expression, and the two were forcing
their way into the room, when they paused.
They seemed to conclude that it would be best to consider the matter
further before rushing in there.
Instead of seeing a boy sound asleep in bed, waiting for them to rob him
of all his earthly possessions, they found themselves confronted by a
wide-awake lad, with his revolver pointed straight at their villainous
heads.
"Why don't you come in?" asked Tom, never lowering his weapon.
"Put him down!" said the foremost of the villains, in broken English,
hoping to frighten the lad.
"I don't feel like doing it just now," was the reply, while the arm
remained as fixed as a bar of iron.
Tom did not intend to shoot unless they advanced upon him; but, not being
accustomed to the weapon, he was unaware that a very slight pressure was
enough to discharge it. Unconsciously he exerted that slight pressure,
and, while the miscreants were glaring in the door, the pistol was fired.
What was more, the bullet struck one of the Italians, who, with a howl of
pain, wheeled about and hurried down-stairs, followed by his
terror-stricken companion.
Tom was half-frightened out of his wits, and made up his mind that the
best thing he could do was to get out of the place without any further
delay.
The only way to escape was to go down the stairs, the same as his
assailants had done.
It was not a pleasant duty; but, remembering what the Irishman had told
him, and filled with an uncontrollable aversion against staying any
longer, he hurried out, pausing only long enough to catch up his small
bundle of clothing.
In the smoky, hot room down-stairs, the scene was nearly the same as when
he left it a couple of hours before to go to bed. The two Italians were
invisible, and the little affray up-stairs seemed to have attracted no
attention at all. The bartender was too much occupied to notice the lad,
who made his way outside into the clear, frosty air, where he inhaled a
few deep draughts to give him new life and courage.
He knew not which way to turn, but he was confident he could find some
safe lodging-place without going far, and he moved along the street, where
there were plenty of pedestrians abroad, even though the hour was so late.
He was quite near the river, and determined not to be caught in such a
trap again. He walked slowly, scrutinizing as well as he could the
exterior of each building in sight, where the wayfarer and traveler was
invited to step within and secure food and lodging.
In this manner he passed several houses, and was on the point of turning
into one which seemed to have an inviting look, when his attention was
arrested by a lad who was running toward him from the rear.
He was panting and laboring along as though about exhausted.
As he reached the wondering Tom, who stopped and turned aside to let him
pass, the stranger paused and said,--
"Say, sonny, just hold that watch, will you, till I come back?"
And before the boy fairly understood the question, the other shoved a gold
watch and chain into his hands, then darted into an alleyway and
disappeared.
He had scarcely done so when two swift footed policemen came dashing
along, as if in pursuit.
"Here he is!" exclaimed one, catching hold of Tom's arm, and dealing him a
stunning blow on the head with his locust.
"That's the little imp," added the other, the two guardians of the law
pouncing upon the lad as if he were a Hercules, who meant to turn upon and
rend them.
"I haven't done anything," remonstrated Tom, feeling that some fearful
mistake had been made.
"Shut up, you little thief!" yelled the policeman, whacking him on the
head again with his club. "Ah, here is the watch on him! We've been
looking for you, my boy, for a month, and we've got you at last."
Chapter XI.
When Tom Gordon comprehended that the two policemen had arrested him on
the charge of stealing a gold watch, he understood the trick played upon
him by the lad who had handed him the timepiece and then, darted into the
alley.
Instead of throwing the property away, as a thief generally does under
such circumstances, the young scamp preferred to get a stranger into
difficulty.
"I didn't take the watch; that boy handed it"--
"Shet up!" broke in the burly officer.
"But let me finish what I want"--
"Shet up! Heavens and earth! have I got to kill you before you stop that
clack of yours?"
The lad saw that the only way to save his crown was to keep quiet, and he
did so, trusting that in some way or other the truth would become known,
the guilty punished, and the innocent allowed to go free.
One policeman grasped his right and the other his left arm, and they held
on like grim death as they marched off toward the station-house.
Turning the next corner, they entered a still lower part of the city,
where the darkest crimes of humanity are perpetrated.
Within ten feet of where Tom was walking, he saw under the gas-lamp a
poor wretch on the pavement, with two others pounding him.
"Murder! murder!" groaned the victim, with fast-failing strength, vainly
struggling to free himself from his assassins.
Tom paused, expecting the policemen, or at least one of them, would rush
in and save the man.
On the contrary, they strode along as if they were unconscious of the
crime going on right before their eyes.
"They'll kill him," said the horrified boy, "why don't you stop"--
"Shet up!" and down came the club again.
Just then the second policeman added in a severe tone,--
"Young man, we know you; we understand the trick you are trying to play on
us; you want us to let go of you and rush in there, and then you'll skip;
we're too old birds to be caught with such chaff; we are convinced that a
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and so, understand, sir, we'll
hold on to you!"
But at this juncture, fortunately for the under man, a champion appeared
in the person of an Irishman, who with one blow knocked the largest of the
assailants so violently backward that he turned a complete reverse
somersault, and then lay still several minutes to try and understand
things.
The other assailant was using his boot-heel on the prostrate man at that
moment, when the Hibernian gave him a couple of blows in lightning-like
succession. They landed upon the face of the coward with a sensation about
the same as if a well-shod mule had planted his two hind feet there.
He, too, collapsed on the instant, and for a considerable time lost all
interest in worldly affairs.
It is hard work to kill a drunken man; and, despite the terrible beating
the victim had suffered, he was scarcely relieved of his foes when he
staggered to his feet.
"I'm obleeged to ye, young man, for assisting me, as ye did"--
"Dry up!" broke in the impatient Hibernian.
"Talk of being obleeged to me, 'cause I interfared. What did ye let them
git ye down fur? That's what I want to know. Git out wid yees!"
And the disgusted champion turned the other fellow about and expressed his
opinion of him by delivering a kick, which landed him several feet away.
"That was kind in yees," said the recipient, looking back with the droll
humor of the Irish people. "They did their hammering in front, while I
resave yees in the rear, and I fale as though they was about equal."
"What's this? what's this?" demanded one of the policemen in a brisk,
business-like tone, swinging his locust, and looking sharply about him,
as if in quest of some desperado upon whom to vent his wrath.
"It looks as if there was some trouble here."
"It's all done with now," replied the man that had finished it, and then,
recognizing the officer, he extended his hand.
"How are ye, Billy?"
"Hello, Pat, is that you?"
"So it is, me, Patsey McConough, that happened down this way on the
lookout for a wee boy, when I saw two men beating one, and I jist restored
the aquilibrium, as ye may say. But what have ye there?" asked Patsey,
peering through the gloom at the figure of a boy in the grip of the other
policeman.
"A chap that we jerked for picking pockets; we've been shadowing him for a
long time."
The Irishman seemed to suspect the identity of the boy, and, going
forward, he took him by the hand, and asked him how it all came about.
Tom told the story as it is known to the reader, when Patsey turned to the
policeman.
"There's some mistake here, Billy; that boy never took that watch--I'll
bet my life on that. I know him, and the story he tells is the true one,
and no mistake."
It didn't take the policeman long to agree with Patsey, and a satisfactory
arrangement was made, by which the faithful guardian kept the gold
timepiece, and the boy was allowed to go free.
"I didn't feel aisy," said Patsey, as he walked off in company with his
young friend, "when I left ye in that place, and I hadn't been gone long
whin I made up me mind to go back and fix it, whither the boss was mad or
no. Whin I arrived the throuble was over, and ye had started out. I had to
guess which way ye wint, but I seemed to hit it, and I was able to do ye a
little hilp."
"That you did, indeed," replied the grateful boy. "I would have gone to
jail but for you."
"Ye same to be a wide-awake boy, and ye kape yer sinses about ye at all
times. Ye are looking for a place to stay?"
"Yes."
"There isn't much of the night left, but I'll find ye what ye want."
A couple of blocks farther, Patsey conducted him into just the house the
boy would have picked out for himself, had he been given a week in which
to hunt.
Patsey accompanied Tom to his room, where he gave him some earnest advice.
"This is a moighty avil village, is New York, and ye had better get out of
the same while ye have the money to do it. It isn't a good thing for a lad
to carry a pistol, but I wish ye to kaap the one I lint ye as long as ye
are in danger, which is loikely to be all yer life."
"My money is nearly all gone," replied Tom, "and unless I get at
something pretty soon, I shall have to beg. I would go out of the city
to-morrow if I only had Jim."
"Perhaps it is as well that ye wait where ye are for a few days for him,
spinding yer laisure in looking for a job. I'm a coochman in the employ of
an old rapscallion of a lawyer, who's stingy enough to pick the sugar out
of the teeth of the flies he cotches in his sugar-bowl. I darsn't bring ye
there, but if the worst comes and ye haven't anything to ate, I'll fix it
some way."
The plan was that Tom should stay in this house, visiting the other
morning and evening in quest of information of Jim, while the sunlight
would be spent in hunting for work.
It would be useless to dwell on the particulars of the several days which
followed. Morning and night Tom went over to the other saloon and inquired
after his missing friend. Each time the bartender replied he had not seen
him, and it was his belief that the boy had "skipped the town," as he
expressed it. The little bundle containing all of Jim's possessions was
given to Tom, who took it away with him, leaving word where his friend
could find him.
Dull, leaden despair filled his heart; and, as he paid his board-bill each
evening, he saw with feelings which can scarcely be pictured, the steady
decrease of his pile, until it was close to the vanishing point.
Five days had passed since he entered the new hotel, during which not a
word was heard of Jim, nor had he seen anything of his friend Patsey
McConough.
It seemed to the boy that he had tramped New York from one end to the
other in his search for work, and in not a single instance had he received
the slightest encouragement. Two vocations, it may be said, were open to
him from the beginning; they were to sell newspapers or to black shoes. To
one of Tom's education and former life, it was the most bitter humiliation
to contemplate adopting either of these employments. But the night came
when he felt he must do it or beg.
He naturally preferred the newspaper line to that of polishing shoes, and
he resolve to make his venture early the following morning.
Tom was unusually strong and active for one of his years, and he expected
to have trouble from the envy of the other boys.
When he purchased his fifty _Heralds_, long before daylight, there seemed
to be an army of newsboys ahead of him, and he was looked upon and
muttered about in the most threatening manner.
He had scarcely reached the sidewalk when he was set upon by a couple of
vigorous gamins, with the evident intent of discouraging him in the new
business.
The others gathered around to see the fun.
They saw it.
The fiery urchins, though both were as large as, and no doubt older than,
Tom, were literally "nowhere" in the fight.
He conquered them in less than a minute without receiving a scratch, and
then, turning to the crowd, remarked that if there was any one or two or a
dozen there that wanted to tackle him, all they had to do was to come
forward. No one came, and Tom sauntered off to sell his newspapers.
It was exceedingly distasteful; but he was spurred on by necessity, and he
went at it with the impetuosity of a veteran.
His success was below his expectations.
There seems to be a right way of doing everything, no matter how
insignificant, which can only be learned by practice. Despite his natural
quickness, Tom failed in more than one respect.
He hadn't the right change in several instances, and the men wouldn't wait
while he darted into a store for it, but bought of some other boy who
thrust himself forward. No matter where he turned, it seemed to the young
hero that some more wide-awake newsboy was ahead of him, leaving only the
aftermath for him to gather.
He boarded several of the crowded street-cars, and was kicked off one of
them because he accidentally trod on a gouty old gentleman's toes, he
being the president of the road.
However, all this, and much more indeed, is the sad accompaniment of the
poor little gamins who fight each other in their strife as to who shall
have the preference in leaving the morning sheet smoking hot at our doors
while we are wrapped in slumber.
After carefully balancing accounts that evening, Tom found he was exactly
seven cents ahead.
On the next day he fell nine cents behind, but on the third there was
exciting war news, and he not only rushed off his usual supply, and the
same number repeated, but he obtained in many instances fancy prices, and
cleared several dollars.
This was encouraging, but the day was marked by the greatest mortification
of his life.
He had rushed in his impetuous manner into a streetcar, when some one
called his name, and he turned about and saw Sam Harper and his sister,
both of whom had been his classmates at the Briggsville school, and Tom
was accustomed to look upon Nellie as a little above ordinary mortals.
Sam shook hands with Tom, and made some jocose remark about his new
business; but Nellie sneered, and looked out the car window.
A high-spirited lad who has experienced anything like this needs not to be
told that it cuts like a two-edged sword.
Chapter XII.
For two weeks Tom Gordon prosecuted his vocation as a newsboy in the city
of New York, by which time he had gained enough experience to earn his
daily bread, but nothing beyond that. Such being the case, he felt that he
was not making a success of his calling, as there was no reserve fund upon
which to draw for clothing or other necessities.
The greater portion of a month wore by, during which he never gained the
slightest knowledge of the fate of Jim Travers.
Tom went to the morgue, and applied to the police, and, in fact, used
every means at his command to learn something. He occasionally encountered
his friend Patsey, who rendered all the assistance he could, but it
availed nothing.
When the fortnight was up, Tom received an unexpected offer, that the
Irishman, through some acquaintance, secured for him. It was the
opportunity to sell newspapers and periodicals on the Hudson River
Railroad. He was to leave New York in the morning, "working the train" on
the way up to Albany, and come down again in the afternoon.
This was such a big advance on what he had been doing, that he joyfully
accepted the offer, even though he held not the slightest intention of
following it as a continuous occupation. It would do very well until he
could obtain something more suitable.
The lad found at the end of the first week that he was much better off
than he anticipated. The privilege was conceded to him of charging double
the price for the papers which was asked on the streets or at the
news-stands, and his percentage of profits was very large.
Tom held his position for a couple of months to the satisfaction of his
employer, and he had accumulated quite a sum, which was deposited in a
savings-bank that wasn't likely to "suspend" for the benefit of the
officers.
Spring had opened, the Hudson was clear of ice, and his business became
quite agreeable.
It happened that he encountered, on several occasions, some of his former
friends of Briggsville, who could not conceal their surprise at seeing him
engaged in selling newspapers.
Tom could not always keep back the flush that stole over his handsome face
at such times. But he began to believe there was a nobility in honest
labor like his, of which he had no right to feel ashamed.
There were any number of young fellows who envied him his position, and
who were ready to use all sorts of artifices to have him "bounced."
Slanderous reports were carried to his employers, who took measures to
investigate them, reaching the conclusion that Tom was without a superior
in the way of integrity, politeness, and faithfulness.
The tiny gold chain and locket obtained from the drowning girl in so
singular a manner, he preserved with a religious devotion. It was
deposited in the savings-bank, beyond all danger of loss, and he would
have starved to death before consenting to part with it.
The sweet face within the locket was as vividly fixed in his memory as if
the original were a sister of his, and he never passed through the train
without looking around, in the hope of seeing the little girl herself.
The only sister which Tom had ever had died in infancy, and there was
something which linked the memory of the two in the tenderest and most
sacred manner.
There were true modesty and manhood in the noble fellow, when he overheard
a visitor in his employer's office relate the incident of the rescue,
without suspecting that the hero stood before him, and never dropped the
slightest intimation that he knew anything about it.
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