CHAPTER XII
THE BARREL THIEF
While Mike Donovan was engaged in his contest with Paul, his companionhad quietly walked off with the shirt. It mattered very little to himwhich party conquered, as long as he carried off the spoils. His conductin the premises was quite as unsatisfactory to Mike as it was to Paul.When Mike found himself in danger of being overpowered, he appealedto his companion for assistance, and was incensed to see him coollydisregarding the appeal, and selfishly appropriating the booty.
"The mane thafe!" he exclaimed after the fight was over, and he wascompelled to retreat. "He let me be bate, and wouldn't lift his fingerto help me. I'd like to put a head on him, I would."
Just at that moment Mike felt quite as angry with his friend, JerryMcGaverty, as with his late opponent.
"The shirt's mine, fair," he said to himself, "and I'll make Jerry giveit to me."
But Jerry had disappeared, and Mike didn't know where to look for him.In fact, he had entered a dark alleyway, and, taking the shirt from thepaper in which it was wrapped, proceeded to examine his prize.
The unusual size struck him.
"By the powers," he muttered, "it's big enough for me great-grandfatherand all his children. I wouldn't like to pay for the cloth it tuck tomake it. But I'll wear it, anyway."
Jerry was not particular as to an exact fit. His nether garments wereseveral sizes too large for him, and the shirt would complete hiscostume appropriately. He certainly did need a new shirt, for the onehe had on was the only article of the kind he possessed, and was so fargone that its best days, if it ever had any, appeared to date back toa remote antiquity. It had been bought cheap in Baxter street, itsprevious history being unknown.
Jerry decided to make the change at once. The alley afforded aconvenient place for making the transfer. He accordingly pulled off theragged shirt he wore and put on the article he had purloined from Paul.The sleeves were too long, but he turned up the cuffs, and the amplebody he tucked inside his pants.
"It fits me too much," soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself afterthe exchange. "I could let out the half of it, and have enough left formeself. Anyhow, it's clane, and it came chape enough."
He came out of the alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if ithad been worth carrying away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more thanone shirt. It was his habit to wear one until it was ready to dropoff from him, and then get another if he could. There is a practicalconvenience in this arrangement, though there are also objections whichwill readily occur to the reader.
On the whole, though the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it,he regarded himself complacently.
The superabundant material gave the impression of liberal expenditureand easy circumstances, since a large shirt naturally costs more thana small one. So Jerry, as he walked along the Bowery, assumed a jauntyair, precisely such as some of my readers may when they have a new suitto display. His new shirt was quite conspicuous, since he was encumberedneither with vest nor coat.
Mike, feeling sore over his defeat, met Jerry the next morning onChatham street. His quick eye detected the improved state of hisfriend's apparel, and his indignation rose, as he reflected that Jerryhad pocketed the profits while the hard knocks had been his.
"Jerry!" he called out.
Jerry did not see fit to heed the call. He was sensible that Mike hadsomething to complain of, and he was in no hurry to meet his reproaches.
"Jerry McGaverty!" called Mike, coming near.
"Oh, it's you, Mike, is it?" answered Jerry, unable longer to keep upthe pretense of not hearing.
"Yes, it's me," said Mike. "What made you leave me for last night?"
"I didn't want to interfere betwane two gintlemen," said Jerry, with agrin. "Did you mash him, Mike?"
"No," said Mike, sullenly, "he mashed me. Why didn't you help me?"
"I thought you was bating him, so, as I had some business to attind to,I went away."
"You went away wid the shirt."
"Yes, I took it by mistake. Ain't it an illigant fit?"
"It's big enough for two of you."
"Maybe I'll grow to it in time," said Jerry.
"And how much are you goin' to give me for my share?" demanded Mike.
"Say that ag'in," said Jerry.
Mike repeated it.
"I thought maybe I didn't hear straight. It ain't yours at all. Didn't Itake it?"
"You wouldn't have got it if I hadn't fit with Paul."
"That ain't nothin' to me," said Jerry. "The shirt's mine, and I'll kapeit."
Mike felt strongly tempted to "put a head on" Jerry, whatever that maymean; but, as Jerry was a head taller already, the attempt did not seemquite prudent. He indulged in some forcible remarks, which, however, didnot disturb Jerry's equanimity.
"I'll give you my old shirt, Mike," he said, "if you can find it. I leftit in an alley near the Old Bowery."
"I don't want the dirty rag," said Mike, contemptuously.
Finally a compromise was effected, Jerry offering to help Mike on thenext occasion, and leave the spoils in his hands.
I have to chronicle another adventure of Jerry's, in which he wasless fortunate than he had been in the present case. He was a genuinevagabond, and lived by his wits, being too lazy to devote himself toany regular street employment, as boot blacking or selling newspapers.Occasionally he did a little work at each of these, but regular,persistent industry was out of his line. He was a drone by inclination,and a decided enemy to work. On the subject of honesty his principleswere far from strict. If he could appropriate what did not belong to himhe was ready to do so without scruple. This propensity had several timesbrought him into trouble, and he had more than once been sent to residetemporarily on Blackwell's Island, from which he had returned by nomeans improved.
Mike was not quite so much of a vagabond as his companion. He could workat times, though he did not like it, and once pursued the vocation of abootblack for several months with fair success.
But Jerry's companionship was doing him no good, and it seemed likelythat eventually he would become quite as shiftless as Jerry himself.
Jerry, having no breakfast, strolled down to one of the city markets. Hefrequently found an opportunity of stealing here, and was now in searchof such a chance. He was a dexterous and experienced barrel thief,a term which it may be necessary to explain. Barrels, then, have acommercial value, and coopers will generally pay twenty-five centsfor one in good condition. This is enough, in the eyes of many a youngvagabond, to pay for the risk incurred in stealing one.
Jerry prowled round the market for some time, seeking a good opportunityto walk off with an apple or banana, or something eatable. But theguardians of the stands seemed unusually vigilant, and he was compelledto give up the attempt, as involving too great risk. Jerry was hungry,and hunger is an uncomfortable feeling. He began to wish he had remainedsatisfied with his old shirt, dirty as it was, and carried the new oneto some of the Baxter street dealers, from whom he could perhaps havegot fifty cents for it. Now, fifty cents would have paid for a breakfastand a couple of cigars, and those just now would have made Jerry happy.
"What a fool I was not to think of it!" he said. "The old shirt would dome, and I could buy a bully breakfast wid the money I'd get for this."
Just at this moment he espied an empty barrel--a barrel apparently quitenew and in an unguarded position. He resolved to take it, but the affairmust be managed slyly.
He lounged up to the barrel, and leaned upon it indolently. Then, inapparent unconsciousness, he began to turn it, gradually changing itsposition. If observed, he could easily deny all felonious intentions.This he kept up till he got round the corner, when, glancing around tosee if he was observed, he quickly lifted it on his shoulder and marchedoff.
All this happened without his being observed by the owner of the barrel.But a policeman, who chanced to be going his rounds, had been a witnessof Jerry's little game. He remained quiet till Jerry's intentions becameevident,
then walked quietly up and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Put down that barrel!" he said, authoritatively.
Jerry had been indulging in visions of the breakfast he would get withthe twenty-five cents he expected to obtain for the barrel, and theinterruption was not an agreeable one. But he determined to brazen itout if possible.
"What for will I put it down?" he said.
"Because you have stolen it, that's why."
"No," said Jerry, "I'm carrying it round to my boss. It's his."
"Where do you work?"
"In Fourth street," said Jerry, at random.
"What number?"
"No. 136."
"Then your boss will have to get some one in your place, for you willhave to come with me."
"What for?"
"I saw you steal the barrel. You're a barrel thief, and this isn't thefirst time you've been caught at it. Carry back the barrel to the placeyou took it from and then come with me."
Jerry tried to beg off, but without avail.
At that moment Mike Donovan lounged up. When he saw his friend incustody, he felt a degree of satisfaction, remembering the trick Jerryhad played on him.
"Where are you goin', Jerry?" he asked, with a grin, as he passed him."Did ye buy that barrel to kape your shirt in?"
Jerry scowled but thought it best not to answer, lest his unlawfulpossession of the shirt might also be discovered, and lead to a longersentence.
"He's goin' down to the island to show his new shirt," thought Mike,with a grin. "Maybe he'll set the fashion there."
Mike was right. Jerry was sent to the island for two months, thereintroducing Mr. Preston's shirt to company little dreamed of by itsoriginal proprietor.
Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant Page 12
