"You mean begging?"
"Yes; you lead him into stores and countin' rooms, and he asks formoney."
"I don't like it much," said Frank, slowly, "but I must do something.After all, it'll be he that's begging, not I."
"I'll take you right round where he lives," said Dick. "Maybe he'll goout this evenin'. His other boy give him the slip, and he hasn' got anew one yet."
CHAPTER III.
FRANK FINDS AN EMPLOYER.
A stone's throw from Centre street stands a tall tenement-house,sheltering anywhere from forty to fifty families in squalidwretchedness. The rent which each family pays would procure a neat housein a country town, with perhaps a little land beside; but the city has amysterious fascination for the poorer classes, and year after year manywho might make the change herd together in contracted and noisomequarters, when they might have their share of light and space in countryneighborhoods.
It was in front of this tenement-house that Dick halted, and plungedinto a dark entrance, admonishing Frank to follow. Up creaking anddilapidated staircases to the fourth floor the boys went.
"Here we are," said Dick, panting a little from the rapidity of hisascent, and began a vigorous tattoo on a door to the left.
"Is this where the blind gentleman lives?" asked Frank, looking aroundhim dubiously.
"He isn't much of a gentleman to look at," said Dick, laughing. "Do youhear him?"
Frank heard a hoarse growl from the inside, which might have been "Comein." At any rate, Dick chose so to interpret it, and opened the door.
The boys found themselves in a scantily furnished room, with a close,disagreeable smell pervading the atmosphere. In the corner was a lowbedstead, on which lay a tall man, with a long, gray beard, and adisagreeable, almost repulsive, countenance. He turned his eyes, which,contrary to Frank's expectations, were wide open, full upon hisvisitors.
"What do you want?" he asked querulously. "I was asleep, and you havewaked me up."
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mills," said Dick; "but I come on business."
"What business can you have with me?" demanded the blind man. "Who areyou?"
"I am Dick Rafferty. I black boots in the Park," replied Dick.
"Well, I haven't got any money to pay for blacking boots."
"I didn't expect you had. I hear your boy has left you."
"Yes, the young rascal! He's given me the slip. I expect he's robbed metoo; but I can't tell, for I'm blind."
"Do you want a new boy?"
"Yes; but I can't pay much. I'm very poor. I don't think the place willsuit you."
"Nor I either," said Dick, frankly. "I'd rather make a living outside.But I've got a boy with me who has just come to the city, and is out ofbusiness. I guess he'll engage with you."
"What's his name? Let him speak for himself."
"My name is Frank Kavanagh," said our hero, in a clear, distinct voice.
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Do you know what your duties will be?"
"Yes; Dick has told me."
"I told him you'd want him to go round on a collecting tour with youevery day," said Dick.
"That isn't all. You'll have to buy my groceries and all I need."
"I can do that," said Frank, cheerfully, reflecting that this would bemuch more agreeable than accompanying the old man round the streets.
"Are you honest?" queried the blind man, sharply.
Frank answered, with an indignant flush, "I never stole a cent in mylife."
"I supposed you'd say that," retorted the blind man, with a sneer. "Theyall do; but a good many will steal for all that."
"If you're afraid I will, you needn't hire me," said Frank,independently.
"Of course I needn't," said Mills, sharply; "but I am not afraid. If youtake any of my money I shall be sure to find it out, if I am blind."
"Don't mind him, Frank," said Dick, in a low voice.
"What's that?" asked the blind man, suspiciously. "What are you twowhispering about?"
"I told Frank not to mind the way you spoke," said Dick.
"Your friend will lend you some, then."
"Not much," answered Dick, laughing. "I'm dead-broke. Haven't you gotany money, Mr. Mills?"
"I have a little," grumbled the blind man; "but this boy may take it,and never come back."
"If you think so," said Frank, proudly, "you'd better engage some otherboy."
"No use; you're all alike. Wait a minute, and I'll give you some money."
He drew from his pocket a roll of scrip, and handed one to Frank.
"I don't think that will be enough," said Frank. "It's only five cents."
"Are you sure it isn't a quarter?" grumbled Mills.
"Yes, sir."
"What do you say,--you, Dick?"
"It's only five cents, sir."
"Is that twenty-five?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then take it, and mind you don't loiter."
"Yes, sir."
"And be sure to bring back the change."
"Of course I will," said Frank indignantly, resenting his employer'ssuspicion.
"What do you think of him, Frank?" asked Dick, as they descended thestairs.
"I don't like him at all, Dick," said Frank, decidedly. "I wish I couldget something else to do."
"You can, after a while. As you have no capital you must take what youcan get now."
"So I suppose; but I didn't come to the city for this."
"If you don't like it you can leave in a few days."
This Frank fully resolved to do at the first favorable opportunity.
Dick showed him where he could buy the articles he was commissioned topurchase; and Frank, after obtaining them, went back to thetenement-house.
Mills scrupulously demanded the change, and put it back into his pocket.Then he made Frank pour out the ale into a glass. This he drank withapparent zest, but offered none to Frank.
"Ale isn't good for boys," he said. "You can cut the bread, and eat twoslices. Don't cut them too thick."
The blind man ate some of the bread himself, and then requested Frank tohelp him on with his coat and vest.
"I haven't taken any money to-day," he said "I must try to collect some,or I shall starve. It's a sad thing to be blind," he continued, hisvoice changing to a whine.
"You don't look blind," said Frank, thoughtfully. "Your eyes are open."
"What if they are?" said Mills, testily. "I cannot see. When I go out Iclose them, because the light hurts them."
Led by Frank, the blind man descended the stairs, and emerged into thestreet.
CHAPTER IV.
"PITY THE BLIND."
"Where shall I lead you?" asked Frank.
"To Broadway first. Do you know Broadway?"
"Yes, sir."
"Be careful when we cross the street, or you will have me run over."
"All right, sir."
"If any one asks you about me, say I am your uncle."
"But you are not."
"What difference does that make, you little fool?" said the blind man,roughly. "Are you ashamed to own me as your uncle?"
Frank felt obliged, out of politeness, to say "No;" but in his own mindhe was not quite sure whether he would be willing to acknowledge anyrelationship to the disagreeable old man whom he was leading.
They reached Broadway, and entered a store devoted to gentlemen'sfurnishing goods.
"Charity for a poor blind man!" whined Mills, in the tone of aprofessional beggar.
"Look here, old fellow, you come in here too often," said a youngsalesman. "I gave you five cents yesterday."
"I didn't know it," said Mills. "I am a poor blind man. All places arealike to me."
"Then your boy should know better. Nothing for you to-day."
Frank and his companion left the store.
In the next they were more fortunate. A nickel was bestowed upon theblind mendicant.
"How much is it?" asked Mills, when they were on t
he sidewalk.
"Five cents, sir."
"That's better than nothing, but we ought to do better. It takes a goodmany five-cent pieces to make a dollar. When you see a well-dressed ladycoming along, tell me."
Frank felt almost as much ashamed as if he were himself begging, but hemust do what was expected of him. Accordingly he very soon notified theblind man that a lady was close at hand.
"Lead me up to her, and say, Can you spare something for my poor, blinduncle?"
Frank complied in part, but instead of "poor, blind uncle" he said"poor, blind man." Mills scowled, as he found himself disobeyed.
"How long has he been blind?" asked the lady, sympathetically.
"For many years," whined Mills.
"Is this your boy?"
"Yes, ma'am; he is my young nephew, from the country."
"You are fortunate in having him to go about with you."
"Yes, ma'am; I don't know what I should do without him."
"Here is something for you, my good man," said the lady, and passed on.
"Thank you, ma'am. May Heaven bless you!"
"How much is it?" he asked quickly, when the lady was out of hearing.
"Two cents," answered Frank, suppressing with difficulty an inclinationto laugh.
"The mean jade! I should like to wring her neck!" muttered Mills. "Ithought it was a quarter, at least."
In the next store they did not meet a cordial reception.
"Clear out, you old humbug!" shouted the proprietor, who was inill-humor. "You ought to be put in the penitentiary for begging aboutthe streets."
"I pray to God that you may become blind yourself," said Mills,passionately.
"Out of my store, or I'll have you arrested, both of you!" said theangry tradesman. "Here, you boy, don't you bring that old fraud in thisstore again, if you know what's best for yourself."
There was nothing to do but to comply with this peremptory order.
"He's a beast!" snarled Mills; "I'd like to put his eyes out myself."
"You haven't got a very amiable temper," thought Frank. "I wouldn'tlike to be blind; but even if I were, I would try to be pleasanter."
Two young girls, passing by, noticed the blind man. They weresoft-hearted, and stopped to inquire how long he had been blind.
"Before you were born, my pretty maid," said Mills, sighing.
"I have an aunt who is blind," said one of the girls; "but she is notpoor, like you."
"I am very poor," whined Mills; "I have not money enough to pay my rent,and I may be turned out into the street."
"How sad!" said the young girl, in a tone of deep sympathy. "I have notmuch money, but I will give you all I have."
"May God bless you, and spare your eyes!" said Mills, as he closed hishand upon the money.
"How much is it?" he asked as before, when they had passed on.
"Twenty-five cents," said Frank.
"That is better," said Mills, in a tone of satisfaction.
For some time afterwards all applications were refused; in some cases,roughly.
"Why don't you work?" asked one man, bluntly.
"What can I do?" asked Mills.
"That's your lookout. Some blind men work. I suppose you would ratherget your living by begging."
"I would work my fingers to the bone if I could only see," whined Mills.
"So you say; but I don't believe it. At any rate, that boy of yours cansee. Why don't you set him to work?"
"He has to take care of me."
"I would work if I could get anything to do," said Frank.
As he spoke, he felt his hand pressed forcibly by his companion, who didnot relish his answer.
"I cannot spare him," he whined. "He has to do everything for me."
When they were again in the street, Mills demanded, roughly, "What didyou mean by saying that?"
"What, sir?"
"That you wanted to go to work."
"Because it is true."
"You are at work; you are working for me," said Mills.
"I would rather work in a store, or an office, or sell papers."
"That wouldn't do me any good. Don't speak in that way again."
The two were out about a couple of hours, and very tiresome Frank foundit. Then Mills indicated a desire to go home, and they went back to theroom in the old tenement-house. Mills threw himself down on the bed inthe corner, and heaved a sigh of relief.
"Now, boy, count the money we have collected," he said.
"There's ninety-three cents," Frank announced.
"If I had known it was so near a dollar we would have stayed a littlelonger. Now, get me my pipe."
"Where is it, sir?"
"In the cupboard. Fill it with tobacco, and light it."
"Are you not afraid of setting the bedding on fire, sir?"
"Mind your own business. If I choose to set it on fire, I will," snarledMills.
"Very well, sir; I thought I'd mention it."
"You have mentioned it, and you needn't do it again."
"What a sweet temper you've got!" thought Frank.
He sat down on a broken chair, and, having nothing else to do, watchedhis employer. "He looks very much as if he could see," thought Frank;for Mills now had his eyes wide open.
"What are you staring at me for, boy?" demanded his employer, ratherunexpectedly.
"What makes you think I am staring at you, sir?" was Frank's naturalquestion. "I thought you couldn't see."
"No more I can, but I can tell when one is staring at me. It makes mecreep all over."
"Then I'll look somewhere else."
"Would you like to do some work, as you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then take twenty-five cents, and buy some evening papers and sell them;but mind you bring the money to me."
"Yes, sir," said Frank, with alacrity.
Anything he thought would be better than sitting in that dull room withso disagreeable a companion.
"Mind you don't run off with the money," said the blind man, sharply."If you do I'll have you put in the Tombs."
"I don't mean to run away with the money," retorted Frank, indignantly.
"And when you've sold the papers, come home."
"Yes, sir."
With a feeling of relief, Frank descended the stairs and directed hissteps to the Park, meaning to ask Dick Rafferty's advice about theproper way to start in business as a newsboy.
CHAPTER V.
FRANK THROWS UP HIS SITUATION.
Frank found his friend on Park Row, and made known his errand.
"So old Mills wants you to sell papers for his benefit, does he?"
"Yes, but I'd rather do it than to stay with him."
"How much has he agreed to pay you?"
"That isn't settled yet."
"You'd better bring him to the point, or he won't pay you anythingexcept board and lodging, and mighty mean both of them will be."
"I won't say anything about it the first day," said Frank. "What papersshall I buy?"
"It's rather late. You'd better try for Telegrams."
Frank did so, and succeeded in selling half a dozen, yielding a profitof six cents. It was not a brilliant beginning, but he was late in thefield, and most had purchased their evening papers. His papers sold,Frank went home and announced the result.
"Umph!" muttered the blind man. "Give me the money."
"Here it is, sir."
"Have you given me all?" sharply demanded Mills.
"Of course I have," said Frank, indignantly.
"Don't you be impudent, or I will give you a flogging," said the blindman, roughly.
"I am not used to be talked to in that way," said Frank, independently.
"You've always had your own way, I suppose," snarled Mills.
"No, I haven't; but I have been treated kindly."
"You are only a boy, and I won't allow you to talk back to me. Do youhear?"
"Yes."
"Then take care to remember."
&nbs
p; "You've got a sweet disposition," thought Frank. "I won't stay with youany longer than I am obliged to."
Several days passed without bringing any incidents worth recording.Frank took a daily walk with the blind man, sometimes in the morning,sometimes in the afternoon. These walks were very distasteful to him.The companion of a beggar, he felt as if he himself were begging. Heliked better the time he spent in selling papers, though he reaped nobenefit himself. In fact, his wages were poor enough. Thus far his farehad consisted of dry bread with an occasional bun. He was a healthy,vigorous boy, and he felt the need of meat, or some other hearty food,and ventured to intimate as much to his employer.
"So you want meat, do you?" snarled Mills.
"Yes, sir; I haven't tasted any for a week."
"Perhaps you'd like to take your meals at Delmonico's?" sneered theblind man.
Frank was so new to the city that this well-known name did not conveyany special idea to him, and he answered "Yes."
"That's what I thought!" exclaimed Mills, angrily. "You want to eat meout of house and home."
"No, I don't; I only want enough food to keep up my strength."
"Well, you are getting it. I give you all I can afford."
Frank was inclined to doubt this. He estimated that what he ate did notcost his employer over six or eight cents a day, and he generally earnedfor him twenty to thirty cents on the sale of papers, besides helpinghim to collect about a dollar daily from those who pitied his blindness.