The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the Streets

by Jr. Horatio Alger

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  PIPKIN'S DINING-ROOMS.

  Sunday is a dull day with the street-boys, whatever their business maybe. The boot-blacks lose least, but if the day be unpropitious theirearnings are small. On such a day the Newsboys Lodge is a greatresource. It supplies all that a boy actually needs--lodging and twomeals--for the small sum of eighteen cents, and in cases of need willtrust boys to that amount.

  Sam naturally had recourse to this hold on finding himself out of asituation. He had enough to pay his expenses, and did not feelcompelled to go to work till Monday. Monday morning, however, thereduced state of his finances compelled him to look for employment. Ifhe had had a little capital he might have set up as a newsboy orboot-black, but five cents can hardly be considered sufficient capitalfor either of these lines of business. Credit is the next best thingto capital, but Sam had no credit. He found that out, after anineffectual attempt to borrow money of a boot-black, who, having tendollars in a savings-bank, was regarded in his own class with highrespect as a wealthy capitalist. The name of this exceptional youngman was William Clark, better known among the boys as Ready MoneyBill.

  When twelve o'clock came, and Sam had earned nothing, he bethoughthimself of Bill, the capitalist.

  "Bill," he said, "I want to borrer a dollar."

  "You do!" said Bill, sharply. "What for?"

  "To set me up in business."

  "What business?"

  "Evenin' papers."

  "Haven't you got no stamps?"

  "No."

  "What have you been doin'?"

  "I've been in an office."

  "Why didn't you stay?"

  "The boss thought he wouldn't need me no longer."

  "I see," said Bill, nodding. "You got sacked."

  "Not exactly."

  "Same thing."

  "Will you lend me the money?"

  "I'd never get it back ag'in."

  "Yes, you would."

  "I dunno about that. Where'd you get money to pay me back?"

  "The boss owes me two dollars."

  "Why don't he pay you?"

  "One of my friends cheated him out of it, and he won't pay me tillit's paid back."

  "May be he won't pay it back."

  "Yes, he will. Will you lend me the money?"

  "No, I won't. You'd ought to have saved money like I have."

  "I'd have had two dollars, if Jim hadn't stolen money."

  "That aint my fault. I aint goin' to lose my money for you. You cansave like I do."

  Bill was right, no doubt. He was a bee, and Sam was a drone, and thedrones are always ready to avail themselves of the accumulations oftheir more industrious brothers.

  Sam began to feel hungry. However irregular he might be in other ways,his appetite was surprisingly regular. He paused in front of arestaurant, and looked wistfully in at the windows.

  "I wish I was a waiter," he thought. "They have all they want to eatevery day."

  It will be seen that Sam's ambition was not a lofty one. But then hewas practical enough to see that three square meals a day are more tobe desired than empty fame.

  As he was standing at the window a man from within came to the door.Being without a hat, Sam supposed him to be connected with therestaurant, as, indeed, he was. Sam drew back, supposing that he wasto be sent off. But here he was mistaken.

  "Come here, Johnny," said the proprietor, for it was the owner of therestaurant who addressed our hero.

  Sam approached wondering.

  "Have you had dinner?"

  "No," said Sam, promptly.

  "Would you like some?"

  Sam's answer, in the affirmative, was equally prompt.

  "But you haven't any money, eh?"

  "That's so," said Sam. "Wonder how he found out?" he thought.

  "We don't give away dinners, but you can earn one," said Mr. Pipkin,for it was Pipkin's restaurant.

  "Do you want me for a waiter?" asked Sam, hopefully.

  "No; you wouldn't do. You haven't had experience. I want a boy todistribute handbills in front of the saloon. Can you do that?"

  "Yes, I can," said Sam, eagerly. "I've done that before."

  "All right. Come in."

  Sam entered. He hoped that a preliminary dinner would be offered him,but Mr. Pipkin was not in the habit of paying in advance, and,perhaps, he was right. He brought forward a pile of circulars aboutthe same size as Dr. Graham's, and handed them to Sam.

  "I've just opened a new saloon," he said, "and I want to invite thepatronage of the public. Stand here, and distribute these to thepassers-by."

  "All right," said Sam. "When will you give me some dinner?"

  "In about an hour. This is the time when people generally dine, and Iwant to catch as many as I can."

  Sam read one of the circulars rapidly.

  This is the way it read:

  "PIPKIN'S DINING-ROOMS.Unsurpassed for the excellence of cookery, and thecheapness of prices.Call once,And you will be sure to come again."

  "I'm goin' to come once, and I'll call again if they'll let me," saidSam to himself.

  In about an hour he was called in. The customers had thinned out, butthere were a few at the tables. Sam was directed to sit down at atable in the back part of the room.

  "Now, then," said the waiter, "hurry up, young 'un, and tell us whatyou want."

  "Roast turkey and cranberry sauce," ordered Sam.

  "All out. Try again," was the laconic reply.

  "Roast chicken."

  "That's all out too."

  Sam looked disappointed.

  "Oyster stew."

  "All out."

  "Is everything out?"

  "No; there's some roast veal, unless you prefer hash."

  "I don't like hash," said Sam, decidedly. "Bring on your veal, anddon't forget the potatoes, and some bread and butter."

  "You've got a healthy appetite," said the waiter.

  "You bet I have, and I've a right to it. I've earned my dinner, and Iwant it."

  The articles he had ordered were brought, and he attacked them withvigor. Then he called for a second course.

  "A piece of mince-pie."

  "All out," said the waiter.

  "Apple-pie."

  "That's out."

  "I guess your customers all had healthy appetites to-day," said Sam."Bring on something or other, and mind you bring enough of it."

  A plate of rice-pudding was set before him, and speedily appropriated.He tried to get a second plate, but his application was unsuccessful.He was given to understand that he was entitled to only one plate, andwas forced to rise from the table not wholly satisfied.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  CONCLUSION.

  Sam did not retain his new position long. A week later he wasdismissed. Though no reason was assigned, the proprietor probablythought it better to engage a boy with a smaller appetite. But Sam wasby no means discouraged. He was more self-reliant than when nearly ayear before he entered the city, and more confident of rubbing alongsomehow. If he could not sell papers, he could black boots. If whollywithout capital, he could haunt the neighborhood of the piers, andseek employment as a baggage-smasher.

  For the next two years it will be unnecessary to detail Sam'sexperiences. They did not differ materially from those of otherstreet-boys,--now a day of plenty, now of want, now a stroke of luck,which made him feel rich as a millionnaire, now a season of badfortune. Day by day, and week by week, his recollections of hiscountry home became more vague, and he could hardly realize that hehad ever lived anywhere else than in the streets of New York. It wasat this time that the unexpected encounter with Deacon Hopkins broughtback the memories of his early life, and led him to contrast themcuriously with his present experiences. There did not seem much forSam to be proud of, ragged vagabond as he was; but for all that helooked down upon his former self with ineffable contempt.

  "What a greenhorn I was when I first came to the city!" he reflected."How easy I was took in! I didn't know nothin' about lif
e then. Howsick I was when I smoked my first cigar! Now, I can smoke half adozen, one after the other, only I can't raise the stamps to buy 'em.How I fooled the deacon, though!" and Sam laughed in hearty enjoymentof the joke. "I wonder what'll he say of me when he gets back."

  Sam plunged his hands deep down into his pockets. There was nothing tohinder, for, as usual, they were empty. He had spent the small amountobtained from the deacon, and he was just even with the world. He hadneither debts nor assets. He had only daily recurring wants, and thesehe was not always able to supply.

  It was in the afternoon of the day made memorable by his interviewwith the deacon that another adventure befell Sam. As it exhibits himin a more favorable light than usual, I am glad to chronicle it.

  He was lounging about, waiting for something to turn up, when he felta little hand slipped into his, and heard a small voice pleading,"Take me home. I'm lost."

  Sam looked down in surprise to find his hand clasped by a little boy,apparently about four years of age. What attracted him to Sam isuncertain. Possibly his face seemed familiar to the little boy.

  "What's your name, Johnny?" asked Sam, gently.

  "My name aint Johnny; it's Bertie," said the little boy.

  "What's your other name?"

  "Dalton."

  "Bertie Dalton?"

  "Yes. I want to go home."

  "So you shall," said Sam, good-naturedly, "if you'll tell me where youlive."

  "Don't you know?" asked Bertie.

  "No."

  "I thought you did," said Bertie, disappointed. "I want to go home tomamma."

  Sam was puzzled.

  "How did you come to be lost?" he asked.

  "I went out with Marie--that's the nurse--and when she was talkingwith another nurse I went to play. Then I couldn't find her, and I'mso frightened."

  "Don't be frightened, Bertie," said Sam, gently; for his heart wasdrawn to the little fellow. "I guess I'll find your home. Let meguess. Do you live in Twentieth street?"

  Bertie shook his head.

  "Where were you playing?"

  "In the Park."

  "It must be Union Park," thought Sam.

  An idea struck him. He went into a neighboring druggist's, and, askingfor a directory, turned to the list of Daltons. There was only oneliving near Union Park; this one lived on Fourteenth street, betweenSixth and Seventh avenues. Sam decided to take the child into thisstreet, and see if he recognized it. The experiment proved successful.Arrived in the street the child cried joyfully:--

  "This is where I live."

  "Can you find the house?"

  "Yes; it's right on," said Bertie.

  In brief, Sam took Bertie home. He found the family in great distress.The nurse had returned, and declared incoherently that Master Bertiehad been carried off, and she couldn't find him anywhere. A messagewas about to be sent to the police when the young truant was broughthome. The mother clasped him fondly in her arms, and kissed him manytimes. Then she bethought herself of Sam.

  "How can I thank you," she said gratefully, "for bringing my darlinghome?"

  "Oh, it's nothing," said Sam. "I was afraid at first I couldn't findwhere he lived; but he told me his name, and I looked in thedirectory."

  Mrs. Dalton saw that Sam was ragged, and her grateful heart promptedher to do something for him.

  "Have you any place?" she asked.

  "No," said Sam.

  "Wouldn't you like one?"

  "Yes, I should," said Sam, promptly. "It's hard work getting a livingabout the streets."

  "It must be," said the lady, with sympathy. "Have you no friends?"

  "None, except poor boys like I am."

  "You have been kind to my dear Bertie, and I want to do something toshow my gratitude. Without you I shudder to think what might havebecome of him."

  "Nobody'd hurt a little chap like him," said Sam.

  "They might steal him," said Mrs. Dalton. "Have you had any dinner?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Come into the house. Maggie, see that this boy has a good meal. Takecare of him till Mr. Dalton comes home. Then I will see what can bedone for him."

  "All right, mum."

  Sam had no objections to this arrangement. He was never at a loss foran appetite, and the prospect was an attractive one. He made himselfat home in the kitchen, where his rescue of little Bertie and theevident favor of Mrs. Dalton made him the recipient of much attention.He felt that he was in luck for once in his life, and was convinced ofit when, on the arrival of Mr. Dalton, he was offered the post oferrand-boy at five dollars a week, with a present of five dollars inadvance. He asked no time for consideration, but accepted at once.

  "You may report for service to-morrow morning," said Mr. Dalton."There is my business-card. Can you find it?"

  "I know where it is," said Sam. "I'll be there." Sam's chance hadcome. He was invited to fill an humble but respectable position. Wouldhe give satisfaction, or drift back after a while to his vagabondhabits? Young outlaw as he had been, was he likely to grow into anorderly member of society? If any of my readers are curious on thissubject, they are referred to the next volume of this series,entitled

  SAM'S CHANCE;

  AND HOW HE IMPROVED IT.