CHAPTER XXI.
IN A NEW LINE.
"Ten dollars!" said Ben to himself, with exultation. "That's pretty goodpay for a few hours in the station-house. I'd like to board there a weekon the same terms."
Ben's capital now amounted to eleven dollars; but of this sum he decidedto retain one dollar as a reserve to fall back upon in case of need. Theten dollars he determined to deposit at once in a savings-bank. Heaccordingly bent his steps towards one in the course of the forenoon.The business was quickly transacted, and Ben left the building with abank-book containing an entry of his first deposit.
This was a very good beginning, so Ben thought. Fifty dollars, as he hadestimated, would enable him to carry out the plan which he proposed, andhe had already one-fifth of the sum. But the accumulation of the otherforty dollars would no doubt take him a considerable time. The businessof a "baggage-smasher," as Ben knew from experience, is precarious, theamount of gains depending partly upon luck. He had sometimes haunted thesteamboat landings for hours without obtaining a single job. Now that hewas anxious to get on, he felt this to be an objection. He began toconsider whether there was any way of adding to his income.
After considerable thought he decided to buy a supply of weekly papers,which he could sell while waiting for a job. One advantage in selectingweekly papers rather than daily was this, that the latter must be soldwithin a few hours, or they prove a dead loss. A daily paper ofyesterday is as unsalable as a last year's almanac. As Ben was liable tobe interrupted in his paper business at any time by a chance to carryluggage, it was an important consideration to have a stock which wouldremain fresh for a few days.
This idea impressed Ben so favorably that he determined to act upon itat once. In considering where he should go for his supply of papers, hethought of a Broadway news-stand, which he frequently had occasion topass. On reaching it, he said to the proprietor, "Where do you buy yourpapers?"
"What do you want to know for?"
"I thought maybe I'd go into the business."
"You don't think of setting up a stand, do you?" asked the man, with asignificant glance at Ben's ragged attire.
"No," said Ben. "I haven't got capital enough for that, unless you'llsell out for fifty cents."
"I suppose you want a few to carry round and sell?"
"Yes."
"Where do you think of going with them?"
"Down to the wharves. I'm a baggage-smasher, and I thought I might makesomethin' by sellin' papers, when I hadn't any baggage to carry."
"I get my papers from the 'American News Company' on Nassau Street."
"I know the place well enough."
"What papers do you think I could sell best?" asked Ben.
"The picture papers go off as fast as any," said the street dealer."But I'll tell you what, my lad, maybe I can make an arrangement for youto sell papers for me."
"I don't think I'd like to stand here all day," said Ben, supposing theother to mean to engage him to tend the stand.
"I don't mean that."
"Well," said Ben, "I'm open to an offer, as the old maid of sixty told afeller that called to see her."
"I'll tell you what I mean. I'll give you a bundle of papers everymorning to take with you. You will sell what you can, and bring back therest at night."
"I like that," said Ben, with satisfaction. "But how much will I get?"
"It will depend on the price of the papers. 'Harper's Weekly' and 'FrankLeslie' sell for ten cents. I will allow you two cents on each of these.On the 'Ledger' and 'Weekly,' and other papers of that price, I willallow one cent. You'd make rather more if you bought them yourself; butyou might have them left on your hands."
"That's so," said Ben.
"Did you ever sell papers?"
"I used to sell the mornin' and evenin' papers before I went tobaggage-smashin'."
"Then you know something about the business. When do you want to begin?"
"Right off."
"Very well; I will make you up a bundle of a dozen papers to begin on.I'll put in three each of the illustrated papers, and fill up with thestory papers."
"All right, mister, you know better than I what people will buy."
The dealer began to collect the papers, but paused in the middle of histask, and looked doubtfully at our hero.
"Well, what's up?" asked Ben, observing his hesitation.
"How do I know but you'll sell the papers, and keep the money yourself?"said the dealer.
"That's so," said Ben. "I never thought of that."
"That wouldn't be very profitable for me, you see."
"I'll bring back the money or the papers," said Ben. "You needn't beafraid."
"Very likely you would; but how am I to know that?"
"So you don't want to trust me," said Ben, rather disappointed.
"Have you got any money?"
"Yes."
"Very well, you can leave enough with me to secure me against loss, andI will give you the papers."
"How much will that be?"
After a little thought, the dealer answered, "Seventy-five cents." Hehad some doubt whether Ben had so much; but our hero quickly set hisdoubts at rest by drawing out his two half-dollars, and demanding aquarter in change.
The sight of this money reassured the dealer. Ben's ragged clothes hadled him to doubt his financial soundness; but the discovery that he wasa capitalist to the extent of a dollar gave him considerable morerespect for him. A dollar may not be a very large sum; I hope that toyou, my young reader, it is a very small one, and that you have neverbeen embarrassed for the want of it; but it is enough to lift a raggedstreet boy from the position of a penniless vagabond to that of athrifty capitalist. After seeing it, the dealer would almost have feltsafe in trusting Ben with the papers without demanding a deposit oftheir value. Still it was better and safer to require a deposit, and hetherefore took the dollar from Ben, returning twenty-five cents inchange.
This preliminary matter settled, he made up the parcel of papers.
"There they are," he said. "If you're smart, you can sell 'em all beforenight."
"I hope so," said Ben.
With the papers under his arm, Ben made his way westward to theCortlandt Street ferry, which was a favorite place of resort with him.
He did not have long to wait for his first customer. As he was walkingdown Cortlandt Street, he met a gentleman, whose attention seemedattracted by the papers he carried.
"What papers have you got there, my lad?" he inquired.
"'Harper's Weekly,' 'Frank Leslie,' 'Ledger,' 'Weekly,'" repeated Ben,glibly, adding the names of the other papers in his parcel.
"Give me the two picture papers," said the gentleman. "Twenty cents, Isuppose."
"Yes," said Ben, "and as much more as you want to pay. I don't set nolimit to the generosity of my customers."
"You're sharp," said the gentleman, laughing. "That's worth something.Here's twenty-five cents. You may keep the change."
"I'll do it cheerfully," said Ben. "Thank you, sir. I hope you'll buyall your papers of me."
"I won't promise always to pay you more than the regular price, but youmay leave 'Harper's' and 'Leslie' at my office every week. Here is mycard."
Ben took the card, and put it in his pocket. He found the office to belocated in Trinity Building, Broadway.
"I'll call every week reg'lar," he said.
"That's right, my lad. Good-morning."
"Good-mornin'."
Ben felt that he had started well. He had cleared nine cents by hissale, four representing his regular commission, while the other fivecents might be regarded as a donation. Nine cents was something. But forhis idea about the papers, he would have made nothing so far. It is avery good thing to have two strings to your bow, so Ben thought, thoughthe thought did not take that precise form in his mind. He kept on hisway till he reached the ferry. There was no train in on the other side,and would not be for some time, but passengers came over the ferry, andBen placed himself where he could
be seen. It was some time before hesold another paper however, although Ben, who improved some of his sparetime by looking over the pictures, was prepared to recommend them.
"What papers have you got, boy?" asked a tall, lank man, whose thinlips and pinched expression gave him an outward appearance of meanness,which, by the way, did not belie his real character.
Ben recited the list.
"What's the price of 'Harper's Weekly'?"
"Ten cents."
"Ten cents is too much to pay for any paper. I don't see how they havethe face to ask it."
"Nor I," said Ben; "but they don't consult me,"
"I'll give you eight cents."
"No you won't, not if I know it. I'd rather keep the paper for myprivate readin'," answered Ben.
"Then you are at liberty to do so," said the gentleman, snappishly."You'd make profit enough, if you sold at eight cents."
"All the profit I'd make wouldn't pay for a fly's breakfast," said Ben.
The gentleman deigned no response, but walked across the street in adignified manner. Here he was accosted by a boot-black, who proposed toshine his boots.
"He'll get 'em done at the wholesale price, see if he don't," thoughtBen. He kept an eye on the boot-black and his patron until the job wasfinished. Then he witnessed what appeared to be an angry dispute betweenthe two parties. It terminated by the gentleman lifting his cane in amenacing manner. Ben afterwards gained from the boy particulars of thetransaction, which may be given here in the third person.
"Shine yer boots?" asked the boot-black, as the gentleman reached hisside of the street, just after his unsuccessful negotiations with Ben.
"What do you charge?" he inquired.
"Ten cents."
"That's too much."
"It's the reg'lar price."
"I can get my boots blacked for five cents anywhere. If you'll do it forthat, you can go to work."
The boy hesitated. It was half price, but he had not yet obtained a job,and he yielded. When the task was finished, his generous patron drewfour cents from his pocket.
"I haven't got but four cents," he observed. "I guess that'll do."
The boy was indignant, as was natural. To work for half price, and thenlose one-fifth of his reduced pay, was aggravating. What made it worsewas, that his customer was carefully dressed, and bore every appearanceof being a man of substance.
"I want another cent," he demanded.
"You're well enough paid," said the other, drawing on a kid glove. "Fourcents I consider very handsome pay for ten minutes' work. Many men donot make as much."
This reasoning did not strike the little boot-black as sound. He was nologician; but he felt that he had been defrauded, and that in a verymean manner.
"Give me my money," he screamed, angrily.
"I'll hand you over to the authorities," said the gentleman,--though Ihardly feel justified in calling him such,--lifting his cane menacingly.
What could the boy do? Might was evidently on the side of the man whohad cheated him. But he was quick-witted, and a characteristic mode ofrevenge suggested itself. The street was muddy (New York streets areoccasionally in that condition). The boot-black stooped down andclutched a handful of mire in his hand, fortunately having no kid glovesto soil, and, before his late customer fathomed his intention,plentifully besprinkled one of the boots which he had just carefullypolished.
"That's worth a cent," he remarked, with satisfaction, escaping from thewrath of the injured party.
His victim, almost speechless with rage, seemed disposed to pursue him;but the boy, regardless of the mire, had run across the street, and tofollow would only be to make matters worse.
"If I ever catch you, I'll break every bone in your body, you littlevagabond," he said, in a voice almost choked by passion, shaking hiscane energetically.
Ben, who had witnessed the whole, burst into a hearty laugh, which drewupon his head a portion of wrath. After a pause, the victim of his ownmeanness turned up a side street. The reader will be glad to learn thathe had to employ a second boot black; so that he was not so much betteroff for his economical management after all. It may be added that he wasactuated in all his dealings by the same frugality, if we may dignify itby that name. He was a large dealer in ready-made under-clothing, forthe making of which he paid starvation prices; but, unfortunately, thepoor sewing-girls, whom he employed for a pittance, were not so wellable to defend themselves against imposition as the smart littleboot-black, who "knew his rights, and knowing, dared maintain."
Ben, the Luggage Boy; Or, Among the Wharves Page 21
