Ragged Dick, or, Street Life in New York

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  In the evening, it occurred to Travis that it might be well to find out whether Dick had discovered his loss. This reflection it was that induced the visit which is recorded at the close of the last chapter. The result was that he was misled by the boys' silence on the subject, and concluded that nothing had yet been discovered.

  "Good!" thought Travis, with satisfaction. "If they don't find out for twenty-four hours, it'll be too late, then, and I shall be all right."

  There being a possibility of the loss being discovered before the boys went out in the morning, Travis determined to see them at that time, and judge whether such was the case. He waited, therefore, until he heard the boys come out, and then opened his own door.

  "Morning, gents," said he, sociably. "Going to business?"

  "Yes," said Dick. "I'm afraid my clerks'll be lazy if I ain't on hand."

  "Good joke!" said Travis. "If you pay good wages, I'd like to speak for a place."

  "I pay all I get myself," said Dick. "How's business with you?"

  "So so. Why don't you call round, some time?"

  "All my evenin's is devoted to literatoor and science," said Dick. "Thank you all the same."

  "Where do you hang out?" inquired Travis, in choice language, addressing Fosdick.

  "At Henderson's hat and cap store, on Broadway."

  "I'll look in upon you some time when I want a tile," said Travis. "I suppose you sell cheaper to your friends."

  "I'll be as reasonable as I can," said Fosdick, not very cordially; for he did not much fancy having it supposed by his employer that such a disreputable-looking person as Travis was a friend of his.

  However, Travis had no idea of showing himself at the Broadway store, and only said this by way of making conversation, and encouraging the boys to be social.

  "You haven't any of you gents seen a pearl-handled knife, have you?" he asked.

  "No," said Fosdick; "have you lost one?"

  "Yes," said Travis, with unblushing falsehood. "I left it on my bureau a day or two since. I've missed one or two other little matters. Bridget don't look to me any too honest. Likely she's got 'em."

  "What are you goin' to do about it?" said Dick.

  "I'll keep mum unless I lose something more, and then I'll kick up a row, and haul her over the coals. Have you missed anything?"

  "No," said Fosdick, answering for himself, as he could do without violating the truth.

  There was a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of Travis, as he heard this.

  "They haven't found it out yet," he thought. "I'll bag the money to-day, and then they may whistle for it."

  Having no further object to serve in accompanying the boys, he bade them good-morning, and turned down another street.

  "He's mighty friendly all of a sudden," said Dick.

  "Yes," said Fosdick; "it's very evident what it all means. He wants to find out whether you have discovered your loss or not."

  "But he didn't find out."

  "No; we've put him on the wrong track. He means to get his money to-day, no doubt."

  "My money," suggested Dick.

  "I accept the correction," said Fosdick.

  "Of course, Dick, you'll be on hand as soon as the bank opens."

  "In course I shall. Jim Travis'll find he's walked into the wrong shop."

  "The bank opens at ten o'clock, you know."

  "I'll be there on time."

  The two boys separated.

  "Good luck, Dick," said Fosdick, as he parted from him. "It'll all come out right, I think."

  "I hope 'twill," said Dick.

  He had recovered from his temporary depression, and made up his mind that the money would be recovered. He had no idea of allowing himself to be outwitted by Jim Travis, and enjoyed already, in anticipation, the pleasure of defeating his rascality.

  It wanted two hours and a half yet to ten o'clock, and this time to Dick was too precious to be wasted. It was the time of his greatest harvest. He accordingly repaired to his usual place of business, succeeded in obtaining six customers, which yielded him sixty cents. He then went to a restaurant, and got some breakfast. It was now half-past nine, and Dick, feeling that it wouldn't do to be late, left his box in charge of Johnny Nolan, and made his way to the bank.

  The officers had not yet arrived, and Dick lingered on the outside, waiting till they should come. He was not without a little uneasiness, fearing that Travis might be as prompt as himself, and finding him there, might suspect something, and so escape the snare. But, though looking cautiously up and down the street, he could discover no traces of the supposed thief. In due time ten o'clock struck, and immediately afterwards the doors of the bank were thrown open, and our hero entered.

  As Dick had been in the habit of making a weekly visit for the last nine months, the cashier had come to know him by sight.

  "You're early, this morning, my lad," he said, pleasantly. "Have you got some more money to deposit? You'll be getting rich, soon."

  "I don't know about that," said Dick. "My bank-book's been stole."

  "Stolen!" echoed the cashier. "That's unfortunate. Not so bad as it might be, though. The thief can't collect the money."

  "That's what I came to see about," said Dick. "I was afraid he might have got it already."

  "He hasn't been here yet. Even if he had, I remember you, and should have detected him. When was it taken?"

  "Yesterday," said Dick. "I missed it in the evenin' when I got home."

  "Have you any suspicion as to the person who took it?" asked the cashier.

  Dick thereupon told all he knew as to the general character and suspicious conduct of Jim Travis, and the cashier agreed with him that he was probably the thief. Dick also gave his reason for thinking that he would visit the bank that morning, to withdraw the funds.

  "Very good," said the cashier. "We'll be ready for him. What is the number of your book?"

  "No. 5,678," said Dick.

  "Now give me a litttle description of this Travis whom you suspect."

  Dick accordingly furnished a brief outline sketch of Travis, not particularly complimentary to the latter.

  "That will answer. I think I shall know him," said the cashier. "You may depend upon it that he shall receive no money on your account."

  "Thank you," said Dick.

  Considerably relieved in mind, our hero turned towards the door, thinking that there would be nothing gained by his remaining longer, while he would of course lose time.

  He had just reached the doors, which were of glass, when through them he perceived James Travis himself just crossing the street, and apparently coming towards the bank. It would not do, of course, for him to be seen.

  "Here he is," he exclaimed, hurrying back. "Can't you hide me somewhere? I don't want to be seen."

  The cashier understood at once how the land lay. He quickly opened a little door, and admitted Dick behind the counter.

  "Stoop down," he said, "so as not to be seen."

  Dick had hardly done so when Jim Travis opened the outer door, and, looking about him in a little uncertainty, walked up to the cashier' s desk.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  TRAVIS lS ARRESTED

  Jim Travis advanced into the bank with a doubtful step, knowing well that he was on a dishonest errand, and heartily wishing that he were well out of it. After a little hesitation, he approached the paying-teller, and, exhibiting the bank-book, said, "I want to get my money out."

  The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment, said, "How much do you want?"

  "The whole of it," said Travis.

  "You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires a week's notice."

  "Then I'll take a hundred dollars."

  "Are you the person to whom the book belongs?"

  "Yes, sir," said Travis, without hesitation.

  "Your name is--"

  "Hunter."

  The bank-clerk went to a large folio volume, containing the names of depositors, an
d began to turn over the leaves. While he was doing this, he managed to send out a young man connected with the bank for a policeman. Travis did not perceive this, or did not suspect that it had anything to do with himself. Not being used to savings banks, he supposed the delay only what was usual. After a search, which was only intended to gain time that a policeman might be summoned, the cashier came back, and, sliding out a piece of paper to Travis, said, "It will be necessary for you to write an order for the money."

  Travis took a pen, which he found on the ledge outside, and wrote the order, signing his name "Dick Hunter," having observed that name on the outside of the book.

  "Your name is Dick Hunter, then?" said the cashier, taking the paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles.

  "Yes," said Travis, promptly.

  "But," continued the cashier, "I find Hunter's age is put down on the bank-book as fourteen. Surely you must be more than that."

  Travis would gladly have declared that he was only fourteen; but, being in reality twenty-three, and possessing a luxuriant pair of whiskers, this was not to be thought of. He began to feel uneasy.

  "Dick Hunter's my younger brother," he said. "I'm getting out the money for him."

  "I thought you said your own name was Dick Hunter," said the cashier.

  "I said my name was Hunter," said Travis, ingeniously. "I didn't understand you."

  "But you've signed the name of Dick Hunter to this order. How is that?" questioned the troublesome cashier.

  Travis saw that he was getting himself into a tight place; but his self-possession did not desert him.

  "I thought I must give my brother's name," he answered.

  "What is your own name?"

  "Henry Hunter."

  "Can you bring any one to testify that the statement you are making is correct?"

  "Yes, a dozen if you like," said Travis, boldly. "Give me the book, and I'll come back this afternoon. I didn't think there'd be such a fuss about getting out a little money."

  "Wait a moment. Why don't your brother come himself?"

  "Because he's sick. He's down with the measles," said Travis.

  Here the cashier signed to Dick to rise and show himself. Our hero accordingly did so.

  "You will be glad to find that he has recovered," said the cashier, pointing to Dick.

  With an exclamation of anger and dismay, Travis, who saw the game was up, started for the door, feeling that safety made such a course prudent. But he was too late. He found himself confronted by a burly policeman, who seized him by the arm, saying, "Not so fast, my man. I want you."

  "Let me go," exclaimed Travis, struggling to free himself.

  "I'm sorry I can't oblige you," said the officer. "You'd better not make a fuss, or I may have to hurt you a little."

  Travis sullenly resigned himself to his fate, darting a look of rage at Dick, whom he considered the author of his present misfortune.

  "This is your book," said the cashier, handing back his rightful property to our hero. "Do you wish to draw out any money?"

  "Two dollars," said Dick.

  "Very well. Write an order for the amount."

  Before doing so, Dick, who now that he saw Travis in the power of the law began to pity him, went up to the officer, and said,--

  "Won't you let him go? I've got my bank-book back, and I don't want anything done to him."

  "Sorry I can't oblige you," said the officer; "but I'm not allowed to do it. He'll have to stand his trial."

  "I'm sorry for you, Travis," said Dick. "I didn't want you arrested. I only wanted my bank-book back."

  "Curse you!" said Travis, scowling vindictively. "Wait till I get free. See if I don't fix you."

  "You needn't pity him too much," said the officer. "I know him now. He's been to the Island before."

  "It's a lie," said Travis, violently.

  "Don't be too noisy, my friend," said the officer. "If you've got no more business here, we'll be going."

  He withdrew with the prisoner in charge, and Dick, having drawn his two dollars, left the bank. Notwithstanding the violent words the prisoner had used towards himself, and his attempted robbery, he could not help feeling sorry that he had been instrumental in causing his arrest.

  "I'll keep my book a little safer hereafter," thought Dick. "Now I must go and see Tom Wilkins."

  Before dismissing the subject of Travis and his theft, it may be remarked that he was duly tried, and, his guilt being clear, was sent to Blackwell's Island for nine months. At the end of that time, on his release, he got a chance to work his passage on a ship to San Francisco, where he probably arrived in due time. At any rate, nothing more has been heard of him, and probably his threat of vengence against Dick will never be carried into effect.

  Returning to the City Hall Park, Dick soon fell in with Tom Wilkins.

  "How are you, Tom?" he said. "How's your mother?"

  "She's better, Dick, thank you. She felt worried about bein' turned out into the street; but I gave her that money from you, and now she feels a good deal easier."

  "I've got some more for you, Tom," said Dick, producing a two-dollar bill from his pocket.

  "I ought not to take it from you, Dick."

  "Oh, it's all right, Tom. Don't be afraid."

  "But you may need it yourself."

  "There's plenty more where that came from."

  "Any way, one dollar will be enough. With that we can pay the rent."

  "You'll want the other to buy something to eat."

  "You're very kind, Dick."

  "I'd ought to be. I've only got myself to take care of."

  "Well, I'll take it for my mother's sake. When you want anything done just call on Tom Wilkins."

  "All right. Next week, if your mother doesn't get better, I'll give you some more."

  Tom thanked our hero very gratefully, and Dick walked away, feeling the self-approval which always accompanies a generous and disinterested action. He was generous by nature, and, before the period at which he is introduced to the reader's notice, he frequently treated his friends to cigars and oyster-stews. Sometimes he invited them to accompany him to the theatre at his expense. But he never derived from these acts of liberality the same degree of satisfaction as from this timely gift to Tom Wilkins. He felt that his money was well bestowed, and would save an entire family from privation and discomfort. Five dollars would, to be sure, make something of a difference in the mount of his savings. It was more than he was able to save up in a week. But Dick felt fully repaid for what he had done, and he felt prepared to give as much more, if Tom's mother should continue to be sick, and should appear to him to need it.

  Besides all this, Dick felt a justifiable pride in his financial ability to afford so handsome a gift. A year before, however much he might have desired to give, it would have been quite out of his power to give five dollars. His cash balance never reached that amount. It was seldom, indeed, that it equalled one dollar. In more ways than one Dick was beginning to reap the advantage of his self-denial and judicious economy.

  It will be remembered that when Mr. Whitney at parting with Dick presented him with five dollars, he told him that he might repay it to some other boy who was struggling upward. Dick thought of this, and it occurred to him that after all he was only paying up an old debt.

  When Fosdick came home in the evening, Dick announced his success in recovering his lost money, and described the manner it had been brought about.

  "You're in luck," said Fosdick. "I guess we'd better not trust the bureau-drawer again."

  "I mean to carry my book round with me," said Dick.

  "So shall I, as long as we stay at Mrs. Mooney's. I wish we were in a better place."

  "I must go down and tell her she needn't expect Travis back. Poor chap, I pity him!"

  Travis was never more seen in Mrs. Mooney's establishment. He was owing that lady for a fortnight's rent of his room, which prevented her feeling much compassion for him. The room was soon after let to a more c
reditable tenant who proved a less troublesome neighbor than his predecessor.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  DICK RECEIVES A LETTER

  It was about a week after Dick's recovery of his bank-book, that Fosdick brought home with him in the evening a copy of the "Daily Sun."

  "Would you like to see your name in print, Dick?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Dick, who was busy at the wash-stand, endeavoring to efface the marks which his day's work had left upon his hands. "They haven't put me up for mayor, have they? 'Cause if they have, I shan't accept. It would interfere too much with my private business."

  "No," said Fosdick, "they haven't put you up for office yet, though that may happen sometime. But if you want to see your name in print, here it is."

  Dick was rather incredulous, but, having dried his hands on the towel, took the paper, and following the directions of Fosdick's finger, observed in the list of advertised letters the name of "RAGGED DICK."

  "By gracious, so it is," said he. "Do you s'poseit means me?"

  "I don't know of any other Ragged Dick,--do you?"

  "No," said Dick, reflectively; "it must be me. But I don't know of anybody that would be likely to write to me."

  "Perhaps it is Frank Whitney," suggested Fosdick, after a little reflection. "Didn't he promise to write to you?"

  "Yes," said Dick, "and he wanted me to write to him."

  "Where is he now?"

  "He was going to a boarding-school in Connecticut, he said. The name of the town was Barnton."

  "Very likely the letter is from him."

  "I hope it is. Frank was a tip-top boy, and he was the first that made me ashamed of bein' so ignorant and dirty."

  "You had better go to the post-office to-morrow morning, and ask for the letter."

  "P'r'aps they won't give it to me."

  "Suppose you wear the old clothes you used to a year ago, when Frank first saw you? They won't have any doubt of your being Ragged Dick then."