Ragged Dick - Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks

MICKY MAGUIRE’S SECOND DEFEAT

Dick was no coward.  Nor was he in the habit of submitting passively to an insult.  When, therefore, he recognized Micky as his assailant, he instantly turned and gave chase.  Micky anticipated pursuit, and ran at his utmost speed.  It is doubtful if Dick would have overtaken him, but Micky had the ill luck to trip just as he had entered a narrow alley, and, falling with some violence, received a sharp blow from the hard stones, which made him scream with pain.

“Ow!” he whined.  “Don’t you hit a feller when he’s down.”

“What made you fire that stone at me?” demanded our hero, looking down at the fallen bully.

“Just for fun,” said Micky.

“It would have been a very agreeable s’prise if it had hit me,” said Dick.  “S’posin’ I fire a rock at you jest for fun.”

“Don’t!” exclaimed Micky, in alarm.

“It seems you don’t like agreeable s’prises,” said Dick, “any more’n the man did what got hooked by a cow one mornin’, before breakfast.  It didn’t improve his appetite much.”

“I’ve most broke my arm,” said Micky, ruefully, rubbing the affected limb.

“If it’s broke you can’t fire no more stones, which is a very cheerin’ reflection,” said Dick.  “Ef you haven’t money enough to buy a wooden one I’ll lend you a quarter.  There’s one good thing about wooden ones, they aint liable to get cold in winter, which is another cheerin’ reflection.”

“I don’t want none of yer cheerin’ reflections,” said Micky, sullenly.  “Yer company aint wanted here.”

“Thank you for your polite invitation to leave,” said Dick, bowing ceremoniously.  “I’m willin’ to go, but ef you throw any more stones at me, Micky Maguire, I’ll hurt you worse than the stones did.”

The only answer made to this warning was a scowl from his fallen opponent.  It was quite evident that Dick had the best of it, and he thought it prudent to say nothing.

“As I’ve got a friend waitin’ outside, I shall have to tear myself away,” said Dick.  “You’d better not throw any more stones, Micky Maguire, for it don’t seem to agree with your constitution.”

Micky muttered something which Dick did not stay to hear.  He backed out of the alley, keeping a watchful eye on his fallen foe, and rejoined Henry Fosdick, who was awaiting his return.

“Who was it, Dick?” he asked.

“A partic’lar friend of mine, Micky Maguire,” said Dick.  “He playfully fired a rock at my head as a mark of his ’fection.  He loves me like a brother, Micky does.”

“Rather a dangerous kind of a friend, I should think,” said Fosdick.  “He might have killed you.”

“I’ve warned him not to be so ’fectionate another time,” said Dick.

“I know him,” said Henry Fosdick.  “He’s at the head of a gang of boys living at the Five-Points.  He threatened to whip me once because a gentleman employed me to black his boots instead of him.”

“He’s been at the Island two or three times for stealing,” said Dick.  “I guess he won’t touch me again.  He’d rather get hold of small boys.  If he ever does anything to you, Fosdick, just let me know, and I’ll give him a thrashing.”

Dick was right.  Micky Maguire was a bully, and like most bullies did not fancy tackling boys whose strength was equal or superior to his own.  Although he hated Dick more than ever, because he thought our hero was putting on airs, he had too lively a remembrance of his strength and courage to venture upon another open attack.  He contented himself, therefore, whenever he met Dick, with scowling at him.  Dick took this very philosophically, remarking that, “if it was soothin’ to Micky’s feelings, he might go ahead, as it didn’t hurt him much.”

It will not be necessary to chronicle the events of the next few weeks.  A new life had commenced for Dick.  He no longer haunted the gallery of the Old Bowery; and even Tony Pastor’s hospitable doors had lost their old attractions.  He spent two hours every evening in study.  His progress was astonishingly rapid.  He was gifted with a natural quickness; and he was stimulated by the desire to acquire a fair education as a means of “growin’ up ’spectable,” as he termed it.  Much was due also to the patience and perseverance of Henry Fosdick, who made a capital teacher.

“You’re improving wonderfully, Dick,” said his friend, one evening, when Dick had read an entire paragraph without a mistake.

“Am I?” said Dick, with satisfaction.

“Yes.  If you’ll buy a writing-book to-morrow, we can begin writing to-morrow evening.”

“What else do you know, Henry?” asked Dick.

“Arithmetic, and geography, and grammar.”

“What a lot you know!” said Dick, admiringly.

“I don’t know any of them,” said Fosdick.  “I’ve only studied them.  I wish I knew a great deal more.”

“I’ll be satisfied when I know as much as you,” said Dick.

“It seems a great deal to you now, Dick, but in a few months you’ll think differently.  The more you know, the more you’ll want to know.”

“Then there aint any end to learnin’?” said Dick.

“No.”

“Well,” said Dick, “I guess I’ll be as much as sixty before I know everything.”

“Yes; as old as that, probably,” said Fosdick, laughing.

“Anyway, you know too much to be blackin’ boots.  Leave that to ignorant chaps like me.”

“You won’t be ignorant long, Dick.”

“You’d ought to get into some office or countin’-room.”

“I wish I could,” said Fosdick, earnestly.  “I don’t succeed very well at blacking boots.  You make a great deal more than I do.”

“That’s cause I aint troubled with bashfulness,” said Dick.  “Bashfulness aint as natural to me as it is to you.  I’m always on hand, as the cat said to the milk.  You’d better give up shines, Fosdick, and give your ’tention to mercantile pursuits.”

“I’ve thought of trying to get a place,” said Fosdick; “but no one would take me with these clothes;” and he directed his glance to his well-worn suit, which he kept as neat as he could, but which, in spite of all his care, began to show decided marks of use.  There was also here and there a stain of blacking upon it, which, though an advertisement of his profession, scarcely added to its good appearance.

“I almost wanted to stay at home from Sunday school last Sunday,” he continued, “because I thought everybody would notice how dirty and worn my clothes had got to be.”

“If my clothes wasn’t two sizes too big for you,” said Dick, generously, “I’d change.  You’d look as if you’d got into your great-uncle’s suit by mistake.”

“You’re very kind, Dick, to think of changing,” said Fosdick, “for your suit is much better than mine; but I don’t think that mine would suit you very well.  The pants would show a little more of your ankles than is the fashion, and you couldn’t eat a very hearty dinner without bursting the buttons off the vest.”

“That wouldn’t be very convenient,” said Dick.  “I aint fond of lacin’ to show my elegant figger.  But I say,” he added with a sudden thought, “how much money have we got in the savings’ bank?”

Fosdick took a key from his pocket, and went to the drawer in which the bank-books were kept, and, opening it, brought them out for inspection.

It was found that Dick had the sum of eighteen dollars and ninety cents placed to his credit, while Fosdick had six dollars and forty-five cents.  To explain the large difference, it must be remembered that Dick had deposited five dollars before Henry deposited anything, being the amount he had received as a gift from Mr. Whitney.

“How much does that make, the lot of it?” asked Dick.  “I aint much on figgers yet, you know.”

“It makes twenty-five dollars and thirty-five cents, Dick,” said his companion, who did not understand the thought which suggested the question.

“Take it, and buy some clothes, Henry,” said Dick, shortly.

“What, your money too?”

“In course.”

“No, Dick, you are too generous.  I couldn’t think of it.  Almost three-quarters of the money is yours.  You must spend it on yourself.”

“I don’t need it,” said Dick.

“You may not need it now, but you will some time.”

“I shall have some more then.”

“That may be; but it wouldn’t be fair for me to use your money, Dick.  I thank you all the same for your kindness.”

“Well, I’ll lend it to you, then,” persisted Dick, “and you can pay me when you get to be a rich merchant.”

“But it isn’t likely I ever shall be one.”

“How d’you know?  I went to a fortun’ teller once, and she told me I was born under a lucky star with a hard name, and I should have a rich man for my particular friend, who would make my fortun’.  I guess you are going to be the rich man.”

Fosdick laughed, and steadily refused for some time to avail himself of Dick’s generous proposal; but at length, perceiving that our hero seemed much disappointed, and would be really glad if his offer were accepted, he agreed to use as much as might be needful.

This at once brought back Dick’s good-humor, and he entered with great enthusiasm into his friend’s plans.

The next day they withdrew the money from the bank, and, when business got a little slack, in the afternoon set out in search of a clothing store.  Dick knew enough of the city to be able to find a place where a good bargain could be obtained.  He was determined that Fosdick should have a good serviceable suit, even if it took all the money they had.  The result of their search was that for twenty-three dollars Fosdick obtained a very neat outfit, including a couple of shirts, a hat, and a pair of shoes, besides a dark mixed suit, which appeared stout and of good quality.

“Shall I sent the bundle home?” asked the salesman, impressed by the off-hand manner in which Dick drew out the money in payment for the clothes.

“Thank you,” said Dick, “you’re very kind, but I’ll take it home myself, and you can allow me something for my trouble.”

“All right,” said the clerk, laughing; “I’ll allow it on your next purchase.”

Proceeding to their apartment in Mott Street, Fosdick at once tried on his new suit, and it was found to be an excellent fit.  Dick surveyed his new friend with much satisfaction.

“You look like a young gentleman of fortun’,” he said, “and do credit to your governor.”

“I suppose that means you, Dick,” said Fosdick, laughing.

“In course it does.”

“You should say of course,” said Fosdick, who, in virtue of his position as Dick’s tutor, ventured to correct his language from time to time.

“How dare you correct your gov’nor?” said Dick, with comic indignation. “‘I’ll cut you off with a shillin’, you young dog,’ as the Markis says to his nephew in the play at the Old Bowery.”