CHAPTER XIX.
ANOTHER ARREST.
Micky Maguire, as the reader will remember, was by no means satisfiedwith the compensation he received from Gilbert for his share in the plotwhich came so near proving disastrous to our friend Dick.
He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant tohave his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was verymuch disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had sethis heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples againststealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he hadkept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buythe watch.
But, in spite of his disappointment, he had one satisfaction. He hadavenged himself upon Dick, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing ofTim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of Dick'sconviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial;but he had unpleasant associations connected with the court-room at theTombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but notvery enviable capacity.
As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend andadmirer, Limpy Jim, came up.
"Mornin', Jim," said Micky. "What luck?"
"None at all," said Jim. "I haven't had a shine yet, and I'm precioushungry."
"Come and take breakfast with me," said Micky, in an unusual fit ofgenerosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated than totreat.
"Have you got stamps enough?"
"Look at this," and Micky displayed the bill which he had received fromGilbert.
"You're in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by shines?"
"Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you'rehungry."
Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheaprestaurant on Nassau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and theywere soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were notvery fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory.
"I've got some news," said Micky, after he had drained his cup ofcoffee. "You haven't forgot Ragged Dick, have ye?"
"He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as ifhe lived on Fifth Avenue."
"Well, he's set up for something else now."
"What's that?"
"A pick-pocket."
"What?" asked Jim, amazed.
"He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed apoliceman haulin' him off to the p'lice station."
"That's where he gets his good clo'es from?" suggested Jim.
"Most likely. I expect he's on his way to the Island by this time."
"Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so muchbetter than the rest of us now."
"Wonder what Tom Wilkins'll say? He's a great friend of Dick's."
"He's a sneak," said Micky.
"That's so. I wanted to borrer a shillin' of him last week, and hewouldn't lend it to me."
This Tom Wilkins was a boot-black like the two who were expressing sounfavorable an opinion of his character. He had a mother and two sisterspartially dependent upon him for support, and faithfully carried homeall his earnings. This accounts for his being unwilling to lend LimpyJim, who had no one to look out for but himself, and never considered itnecessary to repay borrowed money. Tom had reason to feel friendly toDick, for on several occasions, one of which is mentioned in the firstvolume of this series, Dick had given him help in time of need. He wasalways ready to defend Dick, when reviled by Micky and his followers,and had once or twice been attacked in consequence. Limpy Jim was rightin supposing that nothing would disturb Tom more than to hear that hisfriend had got into trouble.
Micky, who was in a generous mood, bought a couple of cheap cigars, ofwhich he presented one to his satellite. These were lighted, and bothboys, feeling more comfortable for the hearty meal of which they hadpartaken, swaggered out into the street.
They re-entered the park, and began to look out for patrons.
"There's Tom Wilkins now," said Limpy Jim.
Tom was busily engaged in imparting a scientific shine to the boots ofan old gentleman who was sitting on one of the wooden seats to be foundin the neighborhood of the City Hall.
When he had completed his task, and risen from his knees, Limpy Jimadvanced towards him, and said, with a sneer, "I've heard fine newsabout your friend Dick."
"What's that?" asked Tom.
"He's got nabbed by a 'copp.'"
"I don't believe it," said Tom, incredulously.
"Isn't it so, Micky?" said Jim, appealing to his friend.
"Yes, it's true. I seed him hauled off for pickin' an old fellow'spocket in Chatham Street."
"I don't believe it," repeated Tom; but he began to feel a littleuneasy. "I saw him and spoke to him yesterday mornin'."
"What if you did? It didn't happen till afternoon."
"Dick wouldn't steal," said Tom, stoutly.
"He'll find it mighty hard work provin' that he didn't," said Micky."You won't see him for the next three months."
"Why won't I?"
"Because he'll be at the Island. Maybe you'll go there yourself."
"If I do, it'll be for the first time," retorted Tom; "and that's morethan either of you can say."
As this happened to be true, it was of course regarded as offensive.
"Shut up, Tom Wilkins!" said Micky, "if you don't want a lickin'."
"None of your impudence!" said Limpy Jim, emboldened by the presence andsupport of Micky, who was taller and stronger than Tom.
"I've only told the truth," said Tom, "and you can't deny it."
"Take that for your impudence!" said Micky, drawing off, and hitting Toma staggering blow on the side of the head.
Limpy Jim was about to assist Micky, when there was a very unlooked-forinterruption. Micky Maguire was seized by the collar, and, turningindignantly, found himself in the grip of a policeman.
"So you are fighting, are you, my fine fellow?" demanded the guardian ofthe public peace.
"He insulted me," said Micky, doggedly, not attempting resistance, whichhe knew would be ineffectual. "Didn't he, Jim?"
But Jim had already disappeared. He had a prejudice, easily accountedfor, against the metropolitan police, and had as little communicationwith them as possible.
"I don't know anything about that," said the policeman. "All I know isthat you're wanted."
"Just for hittin' him? I didn't hurt him any."
"He didn't hurt me much," said Tom, generously, not desiring to seeMicky get into trouble on his account.
"He says I didn't hurt him," urged Micky. "Can't you let me go?"
"That isn't what I want you for," said the policeman.
Micky was astonished. The real cause of his arrest never once occurredto him, and he could not understand why he was "wanted."
"What is it, then?" he asked in some surprise. "What 'ave I been doin'?"
"Perhaps you don't remember relieving an old gentleman of hispocket-book yesterday in Chatham Street."
"'Twasn't me."
"Who was it then?"
"Ragged Dick,--the feller that was took at the time. I seed him pick theman's pocket."
"It seems that you remember something about it."
"But it was Dick that did it. If he says I did it, he lies."
"I've nothing to do with that. You must tell your story to the judge."
"Has he let Dick go?"
"Yes."
Micky received this intelligence with dismay. Somehow it had got outthat he was the real thief, and he began to think that his chance ofgetting off was small. Just then, while in custody of the policeman, hesaw advancing towards him the man who had inveigled him into theplot,--Gilbert, the book-keeper. His anger against Gilbert overcame hisprudence, and he said, "Well, if I did take the pocket-book, I was paidfor doin' it, and that was the man that hired me."
With some surprise, the policeman listened to this story.
"If you don't believe me, just wait
till I speak to him."
"Mr. Gilbert!" called Micky.
Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up, and,rapidly understanding what had happened, determined upon his course.
"Who speaks to me?" he said, quietly.
"You've got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert," said Micky, "and I want youto get me out of it."
"What does he mean?" asked Gilbert, coolly, addressing the policeman.
"You hired me to steal a man's pocket-book, and I'm took up for it,"said Micky. "I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the Island."
"The boy must be crazy," said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders.
"You give me a dollar to do it," said Micky, very much incensed at thedesertion of his confederate.
"Do you know the boy?" asked the policeman respectfully, for he put nofaith in Micky's statement.
"He blacked my boots once," said Gilbert. "That's all I know about him.What is he arrested for?"
"For picking pockets. There was another boy arrested on suspicion, butit appeared on trial that he was innocent, and that this boy really tookthe wallet."
"He looks like a young scamp," said Gilbert, coolly. "I'm much obligedto him for introducing my name into the matter. I hope he'll get hisdesserts."
This was too much for Micky's patience. He assailed Gilbert with such ashower of oaths that the policeman tightened his grip, and shook himvigorously. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, and walked off with apparentunconcern.
"Wait till I get free," said Micky, furiously. "I'll fix him."
In regard to Micky, I have only to say further at this time, that he wasat once conveyed to the Tombs, summarily tried and convicted, and spentthe same night on Blackwell's Island, where we leave him for threemonths.
Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter Page 19
