CHAPTER IV.
HOW JAMES MARTIN CAME TO GRIEF.
After parting with Ben Gibson, James Martin crossed the street to theCity Hall Park, and sat down on one of the wooden benches placed therefor the public accommodation. Neither his present circumstances nor hisfuture prospects were very brilliant. He was trying to solve the greatproblem which has troubled so many lazy people, of how best to livewithout work. There are plenty of men, not only in our cities, but incountry villages, who are at work upon this same problem, but few solveit to their satisfaction. Martin was a good carpenter, and might haveearned a respectable and comfortable livelihood, instead of wanderingabout the streets in ragged attire, without a roof to shelter him, ormoney to pay for a decent meal.
As he sat on the bench, a cigar-boy passed him, with a box of cigarsunder his arm.
"Cigars," he cried, "four for ten cents!"
"Come here, boy," said Martin. The boy approached.
"I want a cigar."
"I don't sell one. Four for ten cents."
Martin would willingly have bought four, but as his available fundsamounted only to four cents, this was impossible.
"I don't want but one; I've only got four cents in change, unless youcan change a ten-dollar bill."
"I can't do that."
"Here, take three cents, and give me a prime cigar."
"I'll sell you one for four cents."
"Hand over, then."
So Martin found himself penniless, but the possessor of a cigar, whichhe proceeded to smoke with as much apparent enjoyment as if he had alarge balance to his credit at the bank.
He remained in the Park till his cigar was entirely smoked, and thensauntered out with no definite object in view. It occurred to him,however, that he might as well call on the keeper of a liquor saloon onBaxter Street, which he had frequently patronized.
"How are you, Martin?" asked "Jim," that being the name by which theproprietor was generally known.
"Dry as a fish," was the suggestive reply.
"Then you've come to the right shop. What'll you have?"
Martin expressed his desire for a glass of whiskey, which was pouredout, and hastily gulped down.
"I'm out of stamps," said Martin, coolly. "I s'pose you'll trust me tillto-morrow."
"Why didn't you say you hadn't any money?" demanded Jim, angrily.
"Come," said Martin, "don't be hard on an old friend. I'll pay youto-morrow."
"Where'll the money come from?" demanded Jim, suspiciously.
This was a question which Martin was quite unable to answersatisfactorily to himself.
"I'll get it some way," he answered.
"You'd better, or else you needn't come into this shop again."
Martin left the saloon rather disappointed. He had had a little idea ofasking a small loan from his friend "Jim;" but he judged that such anapplication would hardly be successful under present circumstances."Jim's" friendship evidently was not strong enough to justify such adraft upon it.
Martin began to think that it might have been as well, on the whole, toseek employment at his trade in Brooklyn, for a time at least, until hecould have accumulated a few dollars. It was rather uncomfortable beingentirely without money, and that was precisely his present condition.Even if he had wanted to go back to Brooklyn, he had not even the twocents needed to pay the boat fare. Matters had come to a crisis withMartin financially, and a suspension of specie payments was forced uponhim.
He continued to walk about the streets in that aimless way which resultsfrom absence of occupation, and found it, on the whole, rather cheerlesswork. Besides, he was beginning to get hungry. He had eaten a heartybreakfast at his boarding-house in Brooklyn, but it was now one o'clock,and the stomach began to assert its claims once more. He had no money.Still there were places where food, at least, could be had for nothing.He descended into a subterranean apartment, over the door of which was asign bearing the words FREE LUNCH.
As many of my readers know, these establishments are to be found in mostof our cities. A supply of sandwiches, or similar food, is provided freefor the use of those who enter, but visitors are expected to call andpay for one or more glasses of liquor, which are sold at such pricesthat the proprietor may, on the whole, realize a profit.
It was into one of those places that James Martin entered. He went up tothe counter, and was about to help himself to the food supplied. Afterpartaking of this, he intended to slip out without the drink, having nomoney to pay for it. But, unfortunately for the success of his plans,the keeper at the saloon had been taken in two or three times alreadythat day by similar impostors. Still, had James Martin beenwell-dressed, he could have helped himself unquestioned to theprovisions he desired. But his appearance was suspicious. His ragged anddirty attire betokened extreme poverty, and the man in charge saw, at aglance, that his patronage was not likely to be desirable.
"Look here, my friend," he said, abruptly, as Martin was about to helphimself, "what'll you take to drink?"
"A glass of ale," said Martin, hesitatingly.
"All right! Pass over the money."
"The fact is," said Martin, "I left my pocket-book at home this morning,and that's why I'm obliged to come in here."
"Very good! Then you needn't trouble yourself to take anything. We don'tcare about visitors that leave their pocket-books at home."
"I'll pay you double to-morrow," said Martin, who had no hesitation inmaking promises he hadn't the least intention of fulfilling.
"That won't go down," said the other. "I don't care about seeing suchfellows as you at any time. There's the door."
"Do you want to fight?" demanded Martin, angrily.
"No, I don't; but I may kick you out if you don't go peaceably. Wedon't want customers of your sort."
"I'll smash your head!" said Martin, becoming pugnacious.
"Here, Mike, run up and see if you can't find a policeman."
This hint was not lost upon Martin. He had no great love for theMetropolitan police, and kept out of their way as much as possible. Hefelt that it would be prudent to evacuate the premises, and did so,muttering threats meanwhile, and not without a lingering glance at thelunch which was not free to him.
This last failure rather disgusted Martin. According to his theory, theworld owed him a living; but it seemed as if the world were disposed torepudiate the debt. Fasting is apt to lead to serious reflection, and bythis time he was decidedly hungry. How to provide himself with a dinnerwas a subject that required immediate attention.
He walked about for an hour or two without finding himself at the end ofthat time any nearer the solution of the question than before. To workall day may be hard; but to do nothing all day on an empty stomach isstill harder.
About four o'clock, Martin found himself at the junction of Wall Streetand Nassau. I hardly know what drew this penniless man to the streetthrough which flows daily a mighty tide of wealth, but I suspect that hewas hoping to meet Rufus, who, as he had learned from Ben Gibson, wasemployed somewhere on the street. Rufus might, in spite of the manner inwhich he had treated him, prove a truer friend in need than theworthless companions of his hours of dissipation.
All at once a sharp cry of pain was heard.
A passing vehicle had run over the leg of a boy who had imprudentlytried to cross the street just in front of it. The wheels passed overthe poor boy's legs, both of which appeared to be broken. Of course, asis always the case under such circumstances, there was a rush to thespot where the casualty took place, and a throng of men and boysgathered about the persons who were lifting the boy from the ground.
"The boy seems to be poor," said a humane by-stander; "let us raise alittle fund for his benefit."
A humane suggestion like this is pretty sure to be acted upon by thosewhose hearts are made tender by the sight of suffering. So most of thosepresent drew out their pocket-books, and quite a little sum was placedin the hands of the original proposer of the contribution.
Among those who had wedged
themselves into the crowd was James Martin.Having nothing to do, he had been eager to have his share in theexcitement. He saw the collection taken up with an envious wish that itwas for his own benefit. Beside him was a banker, who, from a plethoricpocket-book, had drawn a five-dollar bill, which he had contributed tothe fund. Closing the pocket-book, he carelessly placed it in an outsidepocket. James Martin stood in such a position that the contents of thepocket-book were revealed to him, and the demon of cupidity entered hisheart. How much good this money would do him! There were probablyseveral hundred dollars in all, perhaps more. He saw the banker put themoney in his pocket,--the one nearest to him. He might easily take itwithout observation,--so he thought.
In an evil moment he obeyed the impulse which had come to him. Heplunged his hand into the pocket; but at this moment the banker turned,and detected him.
"I've caught you, you rascal!" he exclaimed, seizing Martin with avigorous grip. "Police!"
Martin made a desperate effort to get free, but another man seized himon the other side, and he was held, despite his resistance, till apoliceman, who by a singular chance happened to be near when wanted,came up.
Martin's ragged coat was rent asunder from the violence of his efforts,his hat fell off, and he might well have been taken for a desperatecharacter, as in this condition he was marched off by the guardian ofthe city's peace.
There was another humiliation in store for him. He had gone but a fewsteps when he met Rufus, who gazed in astonishment at his step-father'splight. Martin naturally supposed that Rufus would exult in hishumiliation; but he did him injustice.
"I'm sorry for him," thought our hero, compassionately; "he's done meharm enough, but I'm sorry."
He learned from one of the crowd for what Martin had been arrested, andstarted for Franklin Street to carry the news to Miss Manning and Rose.
Rufus and Rose; Or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready Page 4
