"Nary red," answered Ben, composedly.
"Had yer breakfast?"
"Only an apple. That's all I've eaten since yesterday. It's most time for the train to be in from Philadelphy. I'm layin' round for a job."
The first speaker was a short, freckled-faced boy, whose box strapped1 to his back identified him at once as a street boot-black. His hair was red, his fingers defaced by stains of blacking, and his clothing constructed on the most approved system of ventilation. He appeared to be about twelve years old.[Pg 10]
The boy whom he addressed as Ben was taller, and looked older. He was probably not far from sixteen. His face and hands, though browned by exposure to wind and weather, were several shades cleaner than those of his companion. His face, too, was of a less common type. It was easy to see that, if he had been well dressed, he might readily have been taken for a gentleman's son. But in his present attire2 there was little chance of this mistake being made. His pants, marked by a green stripe, small around the waist and very broad at the hips3, had evidently once belonged to a Bowery swell4; for the Bowery has its swells5 as well as Broadway, its more aristocratic neighbor. The vest had been discarded as a needless luxury, its place being partially6 supplied by a shirt of thick red flannel7. This was covered by a frock-coat, which might once have belonged to a member of the Fat Men's Association, being aldermanic in its proportions. Now it was fallen from its high estate, its nap and original gloss8 had long departed, and it was frayed9 and torn in many places. But among the street-boys dress is not much regarded, and Ben never thought of apologizing for the defects of[Pg 11] his wardrobe. We shall learn in time what were his faults and what his virtues11, for I can assure my readers that street boys do have virtues sometimes, and when they are thoroughly12 convinced that a questioner feels an interest in them will drop the "chaff13" in which they commonly indulge, and talk seriously and feelingly of their faults and hardships. Some do this for a purpose, no doubt, and the verdant14 stranger is liable to be taken in by assumed virtue10, and waste sympathy on those who do not deserve it. But there are also many boys who have good tendencies and aspirations15, and only need to be encouraged and placed under right influences to develop into worthy16 and respectable men.
The conversation recorded above took place at the foot of Cortlandt Street, opposite the ferry wharf17. It was nearly time for the train, and there was the usual scene of confusion. Express wagons18, hacks19, boys, laborers20, were gathering21, presenting a confusing medley22 to the eye of one unaccustomed to the spectacle.
Ben was a luggage boy, his occupation being to wait at the piers23 for the arrival of steamboats, or at the railway stations, on the chance of getting a carpet[Pg 12]-bag or valise to carry. His business was a precarious24 one. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes unlucky. When he was flush, he treated himself to a "square meal," and finished up the day at Tony Pastor's, or the Old Bowery, where from his seat in the pit he indulged in independent criticism of the acting25, as he leaned back in his seat and munched26 peanuts, throwing the shells about carelessly.
It is not surprising that the street-boys like the Old Bowery, and are willing to stint27 their stomachs, or run the risk of a night in the streets, for the sake of the warm room and the glittering illusions of the stage, introducing them for the time being to the society of nobles and ladies of high birth, and enabling them to forget for a time the hardships of their own lot, while they follow with rapt interest the fortunes of Lord Frederic Montressor or the Lady Imogene Delacour. Strange as it may seem, the street Arab has a decided28 fancy for these pictures of aristocracy, and never suspects their want of fidelity29. When the play ends, and Lord Frederic comes to his own, having foiled all the schemes of his crafty30 and unprincipled enemies, no one rejoices more than the ragged[Pg 13] boy who has sat through the evening an interested spectator of the play, and in his pleasure at the successful denouement31, he almost forgets that he will probably find the Newsboys' Lodging32 House closed for the night, and be compelled to take up with such sleeping accommodations as the street may provide.
Ben crossed the street, taking a straight course, without paying especial attention to the mud, which caused other pedestrians33 to pick their way. To the condition of his shoes he was supremely34 indifferent. Stockings he did not wear. They are luxuries in which few street boys indulge.
He had not long to wait. The boat bumped against the wharf, and directly a crowd of passengers poured through the open gates in a continuous stream.
Ben looked sharply around him to judge who would be likely to employ him. His attention was drawn35 to an elderly lady, with a large carpet-bag swelled36 almost to bursting. She was looking about her in a bewildered manner.
"Carry your bag, ma'am?" he said, at the same time motioning towards it.
"Who be you?" asked the old lady, suspiciously.[Pg 14]
"I'm a baggage-smasher," said Ben.
"Then I don't want you," answered the old lady, clinging to her bag as if she feared it would be wrested37 from her. "I'm surprised that the law allows sich things. You might be in a better business, young man, than smashing baggage."
"That's where you're right, old lady," said Ben.
"Bankin' would pay better, if I only had the money to start on."
"Are you much acquainted in New York?" asked the old lady.
"Yes," said Ben; "I know the mayor 'n' aldermen, 'n' all the principal men. A. T. Stooart's my intimate friend, and I dine with Vanderbilt every Sunday when I aint engaged at Astor's."
"Do you wear them clo'es when you visit your fine friends?" asked the old lady, shrewdly.
"No," said Ben. "Them are my every-day clo'es. I've got some velvet38 clo'es to home, embroidered39 with gold."
"I believe you are telling fibs," said the old lady. "What I want to know is, if you know my darter, Mrs. John Jones; her first name is Seraphiny. She[Pg 15] lives on Bleecker Street, and her husband, who is a nice man, though his head is bald on top, keeps a grocery store."
"Of course I do," said Ben. "It was only yesterday that she told me her mother was comin' to see her. I might have knowed you was she."
"How would you have knowed?"
"Cause she told me just how you looked."
"Did she? How did she say I looked?"
"She said you was most ninety, and—"
"It isn't true," said the old lady, indignantly. "I'm only seventy-three, and everybody says I'm wonderful young-lookin' for my years. I don't believe Seraphiny told you so."
"She might have said you looked as if you was most ninety."
"You're a sassy boy!" said the owner of the carpet-bag, indignantly. "I don't see how I'm going to get up to Seraphiny's," she continued, complainingly. "They'd ought to have come down to meet me. How much will you charge to carry my carpet-bag, and show me the way to my darter's?"
"Fifty cents," said Ben.[Pg 16]
"Fifty cents!" repeated the old lady, aghast. "I didn't think you'd charge more'n ten."
"I have to," said Ben. "Board's high in New York."
"How much would they charge me in a carriage? Here you, sir," addressing a hackman, "what'll you charge to carry me to my darter's house, Mrs. John Jones, in Bleecker Street?"
"What's the number?"
"I think it's a hundred and sixty-three."
"A dollar and a half."
"A dollar 'n' a half? Couldn't you do it for less?"
"Carry your bag, sir?" asked Ben, of a gentleman passing.
The gentleman shook his head.
He made one or two other proposals, which being in like manner unsuccessful, he returned to the old lady, who, having by this time got through her negotiations40 with the hackman, whom she had vainly striven to beat down to seventy-five cents, was in a more favorable mood to accept Ben's services.
"Can't you take less than fifty cents?" she asked.[Pg 17]
"No," said Ben, decidedly.
"I'll give you forty."
"Couldn't do it," said Ben, who felt sure of gaining his point now.
"Well, I suppose I shall be obleeged to hire you," said the old lady with a sigh. "Seraphiny ought to have sent down to meet me. I didn't tell her I was comin' to-day; but she might have thought I'd come, bein' so pleasant. Here, you boy, you may take the bag, and mind you don't run away with it. There aint nothin' in it but some of my clo'es."
"I don't want none of your clo'es," said Ben. "My wife's bigger'n you, and they wouldn't fit her."
"Massy sakes! you aint married, be you?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"I don't believe it. You're not old enough. But I'm glad you don't want the clo'es. They wouldn't be of no use to you. Just you take the bag, and I'll foller on behind."
"I want my pay first."
"I aint got the change. My darter Seraphiny will pay you when we get to her house."[Pg 18]
"That don't go down," said Ben, decidedly. "Payment in advance; that's the way I do business."
"You'll get your pay; don't you be afraid."
"I know I shall; but I want it now."
"You won't run away after I've paid you, will you?"
"In course not. That aint my style."
The old lady took out her purse, and drew therefrom forty-seven cents. She protested that she had not a cent more. Ben pardoned the deficiency, feeling that he would, notwithstanding, be well paid for his time.
"All right," said he, magnanimously. "I don't mind the three cents. It aint any object to a man of my income. Take my hand, old lady, and we'll go across the street."
"I'm afraid of bein' run over," said she, hesitatingly.
"But if I got killed, that wouldn't do me any good," remarked the old lady, sensibly.[Pg 19]
"Then the money'd go to your friends," said Ben, consolingly.
"Do you think I will be run over?" asked the old lady, anxiously.
"In course you won't. I'll take care of you. They wouldn't dare to run over me," said Ben, confidently.
Somewhat reassured42 by this remark, the old lady submitted to Ben's guidance, and was piloted across the street in safety.
"I wouldn't live in New York for a heap of money. It would be as much as my life is worth," she remarked. "How far is Bleecker Street?"
"About two miles."
"I almost wish I'd rid. But a dollar and a half is a sight to pay."
"You'd have to pay more than that."
"That's all the man asked."
"I know," said Ben; "but when he'd got you there, he'd have charged you five dollars."
"I wouldn't have paid it."
"Yes, you would," said Ben.
"He couldn't make me."[Pg 20]
"If you didn't pay, he'd have locked you in, and driven you off to the river, and dumped you in."
"Do they ever do such things?" asked the old lady, startled.
"In course they do. Only last week a beautiful young lady was served that way, 'cause she wouldn't pay what the hackman wanted."
"And what was done to him?"
"Nothin'," said Ben. "The police is in league with 'em, and get their share of the money."
"Why, you don't say so! What a wicked place New York is, to be sure!"
"Of course it is. It's so wicked I'm goin' to the country myself as soon as I get money enough to buy a farm."
"Have you got much money saved up?" asked the old lady, interested.
"Four thousand six hundred and seventy-seven dollars and fifty-five cents. I don't count this money you give me, 'cause I'm goin' to spend it."
"You didn't make it all carryin' carpet-bags," said the old lady, incredulously.[Pg 21]
"No, I made most of it spekilatin' in real estate," said Ben.
"You don't say!"
"Yes, I do."
"You've got most enough to buy a farm a'ready."
"I aint goin' to buy till I can buy a good one."
"What's the name of this street?"
"West Broadway."
They were really upon West Broadway by this time, that being as direct a line as any to Bleecker Street.
"You see that store," said Ben.
"Yes; what's the matter of it?"
"I should think you'd dress better if you've got so much money," said the old lady, not unnaturally44.
"There's suthin in that. I tell my darter Jane—she lives in the country—that it's no use dressin' up the children to go to school,—they're sure to get their clo'es tore and dirty afore they get home."[Pg 22]
So Ben beguiled46 the way with wonderful stories, with which he played upon the old lady's credulity. Of course it was wrong; but a street education is not very likely to inspire its pupils with a reverence47 for truth; and Ben had been knocking about the streets of New York, most of the time among the wharves, for six years. His street education had commenced at the age of ten. He had adopted it of his own free will. Even now there was a comfortable home waiting for him; there were parents who supposed him dead, and who would have found a difficulty in recognizing him under his present circumstances. In the next chapter a light will be thrown upon his past history, and the reader will learn how his street life began.
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1
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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2
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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3
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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4
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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5
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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6
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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7
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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8
gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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9
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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11
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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12
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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13
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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14
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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15
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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16
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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17
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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18
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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hacks
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| 黑客 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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21
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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22
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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23
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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24
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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26
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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28
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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29
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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30
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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31
denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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32
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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33
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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34
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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35
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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36
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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37
wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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38
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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39
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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40
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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41
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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42
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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43
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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44
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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45
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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46
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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47
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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