Matches! Matches! Here's your nice matches! was heard in a shrill treble, proceeding from a little boy on Clark Street, in Chicago.
He looked thin and pale, and it was easy to see the poor little fellow was poorly fed, as well as ill-clad.
Only five cents a package! the little fellow continued to cry; and he looked wistfully in the faces of those who passed him, hoping for a possible purchaser.
Clear out of my way there, you brat! said a rough voice. "Do you want to take up the whole sidewalk?"
The boy shrank timidly, as the man who had addressed him swaggered by. He would not have dared to resent the rudeness, but another did. It was a stout, and healthy-looking woman, with a large basket on her arm, whose heart warmed towards the poor little match boy, sent out so early to earn his livelihood.
You ought to be ashamed to speak to the poor boy that way! she said, warmly.
Mind your business, woman! retorted Lyman Taylor, for it was he whose rough speech had been quoted.
I always do, said the woman. "It's my business to speak my mind to such brutes as you!"
Lyman vented his wrath in a volley of oaths, for his language was by no means choice, when his anger was excited. He might have been more prudent, if he had known that a policeman was just behind.
Stop that, my man, unless you want me to take you in! said the burly officer.
Lyman Taylor turned sharply round, but quailed when he saw the officer.
This woman has insulted me, he said, sullenly.
I just spoke to him for abusin' that poor match boy, said the good woman.
I heard it all, said the officer. "Move on, my man, and behave yourself, if you don't want to get into trouble."
Such a scene was sure to attract a small crowd. One kind-hearted man drew out a dime from his pocket and handed it to the match boy.
Here, my lad, he said; "take this, and I hope it'll do you good."
Here are two boxes of matches for you, sir.
No, keep them. I give you the money.
Here's another dime, said a young man, of literary aspect. He was a reporter on one of the Chicago daily papers, who, in spite of the cases of poverty and privation that came under his notice every day, still preserved a warm and sympathetic heart.
Then a lady followed his example, and in the end, the match boy had received a sum much larger than the value of his small stock-in-trade.
Lyman Taylor's rudeness had proved to him a piece of good luck, in opening the hearts of those who would otherwise have passed him by without notice.
Smiling with pleasure at the child's good fortune, the good woman who had resented Lyman's rudeness so warmly, went on her way. If all had hearts as warm, there would be little misery or suffering in the world. It is often those who have little, that are most ready to help others poorer than themselves. I must not omit to add, that among the contributors to the little match boy's fund was the policeman, who placed a nickel in his hands, with the admonition to "brace up and be a good boy!" This was true charity, for out of his salary the officer had to support a large family of his own, and therefore had very few nickels to spare. He was bluff of aspect, but kind of heart.
It's a shame to send out such a child on the streets, he said to himself. "Think of my Rob having to lead such a life!"
The policeman looked sober, for, should anything happen to him, as in his exposed life might very well happen, he knew not what would be the fate of his little ones. They might be as badly off as the poor match boy.
The little match boy's thin face showed signs of satisfaction as he looked at the collection of small coins which had been given him by the pitying crowd. He turned into an alleyway and counted it. It amounted to seventy-six cents. This was a phenomenal sum for the small merchant. And the best of it was, he had his stock of merchandise left.
A thought entered the little boy's mind, prompted by his craving for food.
Would it be wrong for me to take a little of this money and buy me some dinner? he said to himself. "I am so hungry. Aunt Peggy only gave me a slice of bread for breakfast, and it's most two o'clock now."
Only a slice of bread, and he had been walking about for hours, trying to sell matches. The fruit of all his labor was the sale of two boxes at five cents each. But he had seventy-six cents besides, and they were his. They had not been given to Aunt Peggy, but to him. So, at least, he reasoned. Not that he meant to keep it all himself. He intended to give the greater part to the woman who was the only guardian he knew, but he thought he had a right to use fifteen cents for himself. It wasn't much, but he knew a place—a cheap place—where for this sum he could get a cup of coffee and a plate of beefsteak. At the thought of this delicious repast the match boy's mouth watered. When had he eaten meat? Three days ago Peggy had given him a bone to pick. There was not much on it, but when he had got through with it there was none at all.
Johnny could not resist the temptation. He suspended sales, and made his way to a cheap restaurant on a side street. With eager steps he entered, and sat down at a wooden table from which nearly all the paint had been worn off, and scanned the bill of fare.
It seemed to him that there was nothing better than the dish he had already mentally selected.
A greasy looking waiter approached, and said sharply, "What'll you have, kid?"
Cup o' coffee an' plate of beefsteak! answered Johnny.
Sure yer got money enough to pay for it?
I wouldn't have asked for it if I hadn't, said Johnny, emboldened by his unusual wealth.
All right, then! Sometimes chaps come in and order their dinner, and skip off before it comes time to pay.
The greasy looking waiter went to the back of the room, and soon returned with the banquet Johnny ordered.
He set it down with a jerk.
No patron of Delmonico's probably ever contemplated his sumptuous meal with more satisfaction than shone in the little match boy's eyes, as he gazed with watering mouth at the overdone, tough-looking steak, the mashed potato, the three slices of stale bread and dab of butter, which furnished the solid material of his meal. A cup of muddy coffee completed the bill of fare. After all, appetite is the best sauce, and Johnny had appetite enough to make his meal seem palatable.
Johnny did not stand upon ceremony, but "pitched in." It is not an elegant expression, but it describes accurately the energy with which the boy disposed of his dinner. Ten minutes sufficed for its entire disappearance. There was not even a crumb left.
That was bully! said Johnny to himself, with a sigh of supreme satisfaction "I wish I could have such a lay out every day."
But he evidently thought this was unattainable happiness. He did not even think of reserving from his little fund, enough to provide a similar feast on the following day—partly because he was an honest little fellow, and partly because he stood in fear of the burly woman whom he called Aunt Peggy.
I wouldn't have Aunt Peggy know I've been here for something, he thought.
There seemed little chance of it, but, as ill luck would have it, as he was emerging from the restaurant, a boy he knew passed with a blacking-box on his shoulder.
What have you been doin' in there? asked Tim Roach. "Been havin' yer dinner?"
I just got a little to eat, answered Johnny, ill at ease.
Got any more money?
A little.
Then just treat a feller, won't yer? I'll do as much for you to-morrer.
I can't, Tim, the money isn't mine.
You won't, you mean.
I would if the money belonged to me.
Does Peggy know yer went in there? asked Tim, slyly.
Don't tell her, Tim! I was so hungry.
Then treat!
I can't, Tim!
All right! replied Tim, nodding. "I'll let Peggy know how you spend her money."
Poor Johnny! These last words alarmed him terribly.
Lyman Taylor's stock of money was getting low. He was not a good financial manager. But even if he had been, he would not have been able long to live without work. When his stock of ready money was reduced to five dollars, he began to consider anxiously where he could obtain a further supply. It is not strange that his thoughts should have reverted to his uncle.
I wonder if Uncle Anthony is well fixed or not. He got considerable money in California, but may have lost it. The old man is close-mouthed, and I can't worm the secret out of him. If I had any hold on him—— continued Lyman, thoughtfully.
He sauntered along till he came to a pool-room, connected with a cheap hotel, of the kind he was in the habit of frequenting. No one chanced to be playing, and by way of filling up the time he took up a St. Louis paper, and ran his eye listlessly over it.
But at one place in the advertising columns, his listlessness suddenly vanished, and his face assumed a look of eager interest. This was the advertisement that attracted his attention:
Information Wanted.—Any one who can give information concerning a child named Jack Ransom, who was brought to St. Louis a little more than five years since, is desired to communicate with Mark Manning, at the Planters' Hotel. The boy, if living, is now seven or eight years of age.
Well, I'll be——hanged! ejaculated Lyman Taylor. "How, in the name of all that's mysterious, has my uncle got hold of a clue to little Jack's existence?
"So he's sent that country cub—Mark Manning—out to investigate. He must be crazy to trust a green boy, who has always lived in the country. But what beats me, is how he learned so much. I did take the boy to St. Louis, and placed him with an old woman, who very likely has starved or beaten him to death by this time. But suppose she hasn't,"" continued Lyman, after a pause.
"Suppose the child is still living. If I could only find out, then I would have the hold on my uncle that I require. I would kidnap the boy, and not part with him under a good round sum.
Lyman's face brightened, but only for an instant. It was a capital scheme, but how was he to get hold of the boy? How did he know if he were living?
He would have been amazed if he had known that he had seen the boy that very day, selling matches in the streets.
There was one thing, however, that seemed clear to Lyman. His uncle must still have a comfortable property, or he would not be able to send a messenger to St. Louis in search of his lost grandson.
The old man may have twenty thousand dollars, for aught I know, reflected Lyman; "and doesn't spend the income of half that as he lives now. No doubt that country boy has an inkling of it, and is planning to get hold of it. That boy is foxy, and knows what he is about, I'll be bound."
This estimate did not exactly agree with the one Lyman had recently expressed of Mark, but he did not think it necessary to be consistent.
Twenty thousand dollars! he repeated, and his nephew almost starving here in Chicago. Oh, it was a cunning scheme to buy me off for a paltry sum, and give a free field to that boy. That's a pretty way for a man to treat his only living relation.
But who could have put it into his head that his grandson was alive? I presume the little beggar has kicked the bucket before this. If I only could get hold of him, I would make the old man pay handsomely for his return.
The chances, however, did not seem very flattering, and Lyman had no money to expend in searching for the boy, apart from the doubt whether he was still living. Gradually a new idea came to him. He might pick up some boy who would answer the purpose, whom he could palm off on his uncle as his grandson. True, it would be raising up a rival heir; but he was thoroughly persuaded that in no case did he himself stand any chance of succeeding to his uncle's property.
It will be worth something, he muttered, "to cut out that country boy. All I have to do, is to find a boy who is without relatives, and I can concoct some story that will impose upon Uncle Anthony. That little match boy, for instance! Why wouldn't he do?"
Lyman became so excited by his castle building, that he determined to lose no time in carrying out his design. He left the tavern, and retraced his steps to the place where he had encountered the match boy. Johnny, after eating his dinner, had resumed his business, and was within a block of the same place offering his wares to the passers by.
He was a little worried by Tim's threat to expose his extravagant dinner to the old woman with whom he lived, but persistently refused to buy off his persecutor.
I say, little boy, what's your name?
Johnny turned round at these words, and recognized in the man addressing him, the one with whom he had already had trouble. His face showed the fear which he not unnaturally felt.
Don't be frightened, my boy! said Lyman, with an ingratiating smile. "I am afraid I was rough to you this morning. Don't mind it! I was worried about my business affairs, and didn't mean what I said. Shake hands, and let us be friends."
With rather a bewildered look, Johnny allowed Lyman to take his small, thin hand, and looked perplexed.
Come, you don't harbor no malice, my lad, do you? said Lyman with a smile.
No—o, answered Johnny, doubtfully.
The fact is, I feel an interest in you, my boy. You look like a little cousin of mine that I haven't seen since he was a baby.
Johnny was more and more puzzled. The neglected little match boy was not used to such attention.
Did you ever live in St. Louis? asked Lyman, at a venture.
Yes, answered the match boy.
Lyman opened his eyes in surprise. He had not expected such an answer. Even then he did not suspect that Chance had led him to the very boy whom he desired to meet.
Have you any father or mother? he asked.
No sir.
Good!
Johnny could not understand why his questioner should be pleased to hear that he was an orphan. Lyman Taylor seemed to him a very incomprehensible man. He felt rather uncomfortable in his presence, and hoped the man would go away, and leave him to attend to his business.
Who do you live with, then, sonny? was Lyman's next question.
With my aunt.
What is your aunt's name?
I always call her Aunt Peggy.
What? exclaimed Lyman, in a tone that made the little match boy jump. "You live with an old woman named Peggy?"
Yes, sir.
Is she your aunt?
I suppose so. I always call her Aunt Peggy.
It's the very boy! was Lyman's exulting thought. "I'm in luck at last. Lyman, old man, your plans are going to be realized."
Were you ever called Jack? he asked, anxiously.
Yes; that's what Aunt Peggy calls me. Other people call me Johnny.
My boy, said Lyman, fervently, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. I am sure now you are my little cousin. Where does Peggy live?"
The match boy named the place—a poor street in a poor neighborhood.
Take me there at once. I want to see your Aunt Peggy.
But Peggy will be mad if I don't stay and sell matches, sir.
Come along; I will make it right with her.
Lyman took the little boy's hand, and the two turned off Clark Street, and went in pursuit of Peggy.
Tim Roach was not only selfish, but liked to make mischief. He resolved to be revenged upon Johnny for declining to "treat" him to a dinner, and having plenty of time on his hands, took pains to seek out the humble home tenanted by old Peggy.
It was on the third floor of a tall, shabby brick house, not far from the Chicago and Alton depot. Tim had been there before, and didn't require directions. He ascended the rickety staircase, nearly treading on two dirty faced children belonging to a neighbor of Peggy's, who were playing on the landing. As a third child, older, made her appearance, Tim stopped long enough to inquire, "Is Peggy at home?"
Yes, answered the girl. "She's home, but, oh my, ain't she tight!"
That's nothin' new, said Tim, composedly.
He knocked at Peggy's door, and receiving no answer, opened it.
The old woman had thrown herself on a truckle bed at one corner of the room, and was breathing noisily with her eyes half closed.
Is it you, Johnny! she asked, without turning her head.
No, it's me!
Who's me?
Tim Roach.
What do you want?
I've just seed Johnny, Peggy.
Has he sold many matches? Where is he?
I seed him in an eatin' house. He was eatin' a bully dinner.
What! exclaimed Peggy, now thoroughly roused, raising herself on her elbow. "What's that you say, Tim Roach?"
Tim, quite enjoying the commotion he had raised, repeated his information.
So he's spendin' my money in fillin' his stomach, the little wretch! exclaimed Peggy. "That's why he brings home so little money. The ungrateful little imp that I've slaved and slaved for these last six years, takin' advantage of a poor old woman when her back's turned! Where was it, Tim, dear?"
Tim mentioned the restaurant.
And what was he eatin', Tim?
He ordered a cup o' coffee and beefsteak—I don't know what else he had.
I'll learn him to chate and decave me! said the old woman, angrily. "He only brought home twenty-five cents yesterday, and I takin' care of him, and buyin' him close and vittles."
I guess he buys some dinner every day, said Tim.
And I never to suspect it! Tim, dear, you're a good boy to come and tell me. You wouldn't treat your best friend that way?
No, I wouldn't! said Tim, virtuously. "What are you goin' to do to him, Peggy?"
Where's my stick, Tim? Do you see it anywhere?
No, I don't, answered Tim, after a search.
Some of them children downstairs must have carried it off.
I can buy you a cane for ten cents.
And where would the ten cents come from I would like to know. I'll bate him wid my fists, the ongrateful young kid.
What are you goin' to give me for tellin' you, Peggy? asked Tim.
I'll give you a penny the next time I see you, said Peggy, vaguely.
That isn't enough. Give me a nickel to buy a glass of beer?
I haven't got it, Tim. I wish I had, for I'm awful dhry myself.
I wouldn't have come all the way to tell you if I'd know'd that, said Tim, discontentedly.
Just then a noise was heard on the stairs, and Tim, opening the door wider, looked out.
Here's Johnny now, Peggy! he said in excitement.
Come home the middle of the afternoon, too, the young rascal! ejaculated the old woman. "I'll fix him!"
So here you are, you young——, commenced Peggy, as Johnny made his appearance, but the threat with which she was about to conclude, died in the utterance, when she saw that Johnny was closely followed by a tall man of middle age.
Who are you, sir? she asked irritably, "and what brings you here? If you're the agent, I haven't got any money for you."
Don't you remember me, Peggy? asked Lyman, sinking with rare courage into a chair which cracked under his weight.
No, sir, I don't. If I had my glasses, perhaps——
I see you've got company, Peggy, continued Lyman, with a significant look at Tim. "I would like to speak to you alone. It'll be to your advantage, mind," he added, detecting a suspicious look on the old woman's face. "Just send the two boys out to play, and we'll speak together."
First, hand over what money you've got, Jack, said Peggy. "I ain't goin' to have you wastin' it outside. Let me see your matches! How many boxes did you sell?"
Five, answered Johnny.
Only five! exclaimed the old woman, holding up her hands. "You were playin' in the strates, I'll be bound!"
No, I wasn't, Aunt Peggy. I tried to sell more, but——
Oh, yes, I understand! And you'd done so well you thought you'd buy yourself a dinner off my money. Come here and let me shake you!
Tim told you! said the little boy, with a reproachful look at his betrayer.
Yes, he told me, and he was a good bye for doin' it.
He said he'd tell if I didn't buy him some, too.
Is that threu? asked Peggy.
Hark to him! said Tim, with virtuous indignation. "It's a lie, and he knows it."
Did you spend all the money, Jack? demanded Peggy. "If you did——"
But I didn't, Aunt Peggy. Some good people gave me some money, and——
It was for me, then. How dared you spind it?
I've brought most of it home, Peggy. See here! and Johnny took out a handful of small silver coins and pennies, and poured them into the old woman's lap.
Peggy was agreeably surprised. She saw that there was nearly a dollar, much more than Johnny generally brought home, and it put her in a good humor.
You've done well, Jack! she said. "I won't grudge the money you spent for a bit of dinner. Now go out and play wid Tim."
I don't want to play with him. He told on me.
My lad, said Lyman, "can't you bring a bottle of beer for your good aunt and myself. Here's money; you can bring back the change."
You go, Jack, for the gentleman, said Peggy, quite restored to good humor. "I don't mind sayin' that my throat is just parched with bein' so dhry."
Johnny went out, and soon returned, for he had not far to go. In spite of his company being so unwelcome, Tim went and returned with him.
Won't you give me a little, Peggy, he asked.
No, I won't. You wanted Jack to trate you on my money. Now clear out, and never let me see your ugly face here ag'in.
That's the thanks I get for tellin' you! complained Tim. "And after runnin' myself out of breath, too!"
Clear out wid you! And you, Jack, go back and see if you can't sell some more matches. It's only the middle of the afternoon, and there's plenty of time before sunset to sell half-a-dozen boxes.
Johnny obeyed, not unwillingly, for he was not partial to home, nor did he enjoy Peggy's company. Tim accompanied him, but Johnny, gentle as he was, refused to have anything to say to him. Tim felt that he was badly treated. Johnny turned his back on him, and Peggy had utterly failed to acknowledge the service he had rendered her. Tim was of opinion that it was a cold world, and that there was little encouragement to be virtuous.
Here's your health, Peggy! said Lyman, emptying his glass.
Thank you, sir! said Peggy, following his example. "You're very kind, I'm sure, and I ought to remember you, but my memory ain't what it was."
So you don't remember me?
I can't remimber that I iver set eyes on your face before, sir.
Then you don't remember the man that brought you a small child to take care of near six years ago?
Shure it's himself! ejaculated the old woman, peering curiously into Lyman's face. "I only saw you twice, and that's why I forgot. Shure it was a cruel thrick you played upon a poor old woman, when you gave her a baby to take care of, and then, five long years never sent her even a penny. It's hundreds and hundreds of dollars I've spent on little Jack, and he no kin to me!"
No doubt he has been brought up in the lap of luxury! He looks like it, said Lyman with an amused smile.
And now you've come to pay me all I spent on the child? insinuated Peggy.
Well, not just yet. The fact is, Peggy, unavoidable circumstances prevented my communicating with you, and the same won't admit of my paying over the hundreds of dollars that Jack has cost you.
Then what do you want of me? inquired the old woman disappointed.
I think I can see a way by which both of us can make something out of the boy. By-the-way, it strikes me just at present that he is supporting you instead of you taking care of him.
He only brings in a few pennies a day, said Peggy. "Shure it's hardly enough to pay his salt."
Then Jack must be immoderately fond of salt. However, I'll let you into a secret. His grandfather is looking for him.
His grandfather?
Yes; no doubt you are surprised that Jack possesses a grandfather, but that is a fact. His grandfather is my uncle, and what is more to the purpose he has a fair property.
And little Jack is goin' to be rich? gasped Peggy in amazement.
Well, I don't know! That depends on whether we allow his grandfather to find him.
And why shouldn't he? Wouldn't he be givin' a big reward?
That is where you come to the point, my good Peggy. If he will make it worth our while, we may restore him to the old gentleman.
And how much would he be givin', d'ye think? asked Peggy, her bead-like eyes sparkling with greed.
I shouldn't wonder, Peggy, if you might get a hundred dollars out of it.
A hundred dollars—after my takin' care of the boy ever since he was a babby. Now you're jokin'.
Well, you see, his grandfather isn't a rich man— explained Lyman, fearing he had unduly raised the expectations of the old woman.
You said he was! retorted Peggy sharply.
I said he had a comfortable property—for a country town. That means a few thousand dollars.
He sha'n't have him for such a thrifle, snapped Peggy.
The police might take him from you, without your getting a cent.
How would they know, unless you told 'em? asked Peggy suspiciously.
Look here, Peggy! said Lyman in a conciliatory tone. "We've got to stand by each other in this thing. Just leave the matter in my hands, and I'll manage it as well as I can. I'll get as much money from the old gentleman as I can."
And you'll give me half?
Of course—that is, after necessary expenses are paid.
And what am I to do then?
Nothing, except to stay here, and see that nobody gets hold of Jack. Does he know who he is?
He thinks I'm his aunt.
And is proud of the connection, no doubt, said Lyman, who could not restrain his tendency to sarcasm. "Well, perhaps that is as well. Don't let any one know that it is not true. We can keep quiet till the time comes to make it known. Now, I'll leave you, and take the first step by writing to my uncle. Good afternoon, Peggy! I'll call again in a day or two."
Couldn't you leave me a dollar or two before you go? whined Peggy. "Me health is very poor, and I can't work, and it's only a few pennies the boy brings in."
You're better off than I am, said Lyman curtly, "for I am out of employment and I have no boy to bring me in pennies. I don't know but I'd better take Jack at once, and then you won't have to take care of him."
I'll kape him, said the old woman hurriedly—for she had no wish to lose the income the match boy brought in, small as it was. "I'll kape him, for he's used to me life, and he's happier here."
Just as you like, Peggy! returned Lyman with a smile at the success of his stratagem. "I'd help you if I could, but I'm almost at the bottom of my purse as it is. I'll see you again in a day or two, and report progress."
I've done a good day's work, reflected Lyman, as he picked his way downstairs, nearly slipping on a piece of orange peel on one of the steps. "It was a piece of good luck, my finding Jack so soon after seeing that St. Louis paper—but I must write an effective letter to my uncle."
Lyman went to the Sherman House, and entering the writing-room procured a sheet of note paper, and penned the following note:
"Chicago, September 7, 18—. My Dear Uncle:
" "I am afraid you are feeling anxious about me, and I will therefore relieve your affectionate solicitude, by saying that I am well in health, but low—very low in pocket. It costs more to live in Chicago than in Pocasset, and the sum of money with which you provided me is nearly gone. As I am a little afraid this hint won't be sufficient to open your heart, let me add that I can make it worth your while to be generous. It has come to my knowledge that you have sent out Mark Manning in search of your grandson. How you came to suspect that my cousin left a boy I can't imagine, but I don't mind telling you that you are correct. She did leave a boy, whose name is Jack Ransom. He is now about eight years of age. I know where he is and can lay my hands upon him at any moment. Whether I will or not depends on how you propose to deal with me. Of course it isn't to my interest that the boy should be found, as outside of him I am your natural and legal heir. I know that Mark Manning is scheming to get possession of your property when you are gone, but I am sure you wouldn't throw it away on a stranger, when your brother's son is living.
" "Now, Uncle Anthony, I am going to make you a proposition. Bear in mind, if you please, that I am the only one who can restore little Jack to you. Only one other person knows about him and she never heard of you, and doesn't know Jack's last name. If you will guarantee me five thousand dollars within three months, two thousand being cash down, I will myself bring on little Jack, and place him in your arms. Now, I am sorry to say that the boy has a miserable home, and is scantily supplied with the necessaries of life. A miserable career of poverty and perhaps crime, awaits him unless you come to my terms. Let me know as soon as possible what you propose to do. A letter directed to me at the Chicago post-office will reach me safely.
" "Your affectionate nephew, Lyman Taylor.""
"Anthony received this letter in due time, and deemed it of sufficient importance to warrant a visit to New York. He wished to lay it before Mr. Hardy, and ask his advice.
My good friend, said Mr. Hardy, "have you any reason to think your nephew's statement is to be relied upon?"
I hope so, answered Anthony. "I am getting to be an old man, and I should like to feel that some one of my own blood would survive me, and profit by a part of the competence which God has bestowed upon me."
It may be simply a money-making scheme on the part of Lyman, said the agent, thoughtfully. "Finding that he has little chance of becoming your heir, he wants to secure a handsome reward for restoring to you your grandson. Why has he not proposed it before?"
Because he did not know I had any property to leave, or else because he supposed his own chances of inheriting good. After the last interview with me, he probably lost the hope of profiting by my death.
There is something in what you say, Mr. Taylor. What is your own idea?
I would give five thousand dollars, if necessary, to secure the return of my grandson. It would give me an object to live for.
I should be exceedingly sorry to see that sum pass into the hands of such a rascal as your graceless nephew.
Would you offer two thousand?
I would hold no serious negotiations with him.
But I would run the risk of leaving the poor boy to a life of poverty, and myself to a lonely old age.
My idea is this. I will telegraph to Mark Manning, who is now in St. Louis, the particulars of your nephew's offer, with instructions to go at once to Chicago, find out Lyman, and put a detective on his track. If his story is true, he probably visits the boy from time to time. In this way it can be discovered where the boy lives, and steps can be taken to secure him.
I approve of your plan, said Anthony. "Let it be carried out at once."
There will be this advantage, added Hardy. "Your enterprising nephew will not realize any benefit from his nice little scheme for trading upon your affections."
Do as you think best, my good friend. Your judgment is always better than mine.
John Hardy rapidly penned the following despatch.
"Mark Manning, Planter's Hotel, St. Louis: Go at once to Chicago and find Lyman Taylor. He knows where child is. Employ a detective, and track him to boy's residence. Don't let him suspect your object. Keep me apprised of your progress. John Hardy.
"This despatch reached Mark within two hours. He had been in St. Louis several days, and had learned nothing. Two or three persons had called upon him with bogus information in the hope of a reward, but he was sharp enough to detect the imposition. He was beginning to despair of success when Mr. Hardy's telegram was received. Mark brightened up. He saw his way clearer now.
He went out to purchase a ticket for Chicago, and on his return found a second telegram in these words:
Lyman admits knowledge of boy, and offers to restore him for five thousand dollars.
I will endeavor to thwart Mr. Lyman Taylor, said Mark to himself. "He is a greater rascal than I thought."
Mark paid his bill and took the next train for Chicago. He arrived late, and registered at the Fremont House, where he prepared himself for the difficult work that lay before him by taking a good night's rest. In the morning he awoke hopeful and determined, and after breakfast went out to walk. He had no clue to the where-abouts of Lyman, but thought it possible he might meet him as he had done before in the streets.
He walked about for two hours, keeping his eyes wide open, but though he scanned many hundreds of faces, that of Lyman Taylor was not among them. Yet his walk was to be more successful than he anticipated.
Little Jack still continued his street trade of selling matches. Peggy was not willing to give up the small revenue she obtained from the boy's sales. Sometimes, also, a compassionate passer-by would bestow a dime or nickel on the boy, pitying him for his thin face and sad expression. Sometimes, if Tim were not by, he would buy a cheap lunch, for the scanty rations which he received from Peggy, left him in a chronic state of hunger.
It was fortunate that the poor boy indulged himself thus, or his feeble strength would hardly have held out against hunger and hard work combined.
Unwittingly Jack had made an active enemy in Tim Roach. His refusal to treat, Tim persuaded himself, was very mean, and his indignation was increased by the ill-success of his attempt to secure pay for the information given to Peggy. He was anxious to be revenged upon Jack, and was only waiting for an opportunity.
Malice generally finds its opportunity after awhile. One day Jack set down his basket of matches a moment while he ran into a shop to change a twenty-five cent piece. Tim was close at hand, and slyly secured the basket, and fled swiftly through a narrow passage-way with his booty. He had not only secured a stock of merchandise, but he had got Jack into trouble.
When Jack came out and found his basket gone he was in dismay.
Who took my basket? he inquired of an applewoman, who kept a stand close by.
There was a bye here just now—bigger than you. He must have run off wid it when my back was turned away.
Where did he go? asked Jack, anxiously.
I didn't mind.
What was he like?
Shure I've seed him here afore wid you. You called him Tim.
It was Tim Roach! exclaimed Jack. "He's a mean boy. He took it to get me into trouble."
Shure he looks like a thafe.
The tears started to Jack's eyes.
I don't know what to do, he said, piteously. "I am afraid Peggy will beat me when I get home."
Who is Peggy? asked a new voice.
Jack looked towards the speaker. He saw a pleasant-faced boy, apparently about sixteen.
She's the woman I live with, answered Jack.
What will she beat you for? asked Mark, for it was he. He had just come up, and hadn't heard of Jack's misfortune, but his heart was stirred to sympathy, by the sadness visible upon the little boy's face.
For losing my matches, and thereupon Jack told his story to his new acquaintance.
How much were the matches worth? asked Mark.
There were fourteen boxes. They cost me three cents a piece. Then there was the basket. That cost a quarter.
Do you know where to buy more?
Yes, sir.
Then take this dollar bill, and get a new supply.
Jack's little face glowed with gratitude.
Oh, how kind you are! he said.
Do you generally stand here? asked Mark.
Yes, sir.
Does this Peggy send you out every day?
Yes, sir.
Is she related to you?
I thought she was my aunt, answered the match boy, "but last evening a gentleman called on Peggy, I heard them talking when they thought I was asleep," Jack continued in a lower tone. "I heard the gentleman say I had a grandfather living at the East, and that he would pay a good sum to get hold of me. I wish he would, for Peggy doesn't give me enough to eat, and sometimes she beats me."
Tell me about this gentleman, said Mark in excitement. "Is he tall?"
Yes, sir.
With black hair and whiskers?
Yes, sir.
Do you know his name?
No, sir; but there he is now!
Mark followed the direction of the boy's finger, and he recognized, though his head was turned, the familiar form of Lyman Taylor on the opposite side of the street.
Mark's excitement was at fever heat. In the most wonderful manner he had succeeded almost without an effort. He could not doubt that this boy was the very one of whom he was in search.
He was apprehensive that Lyman would turn, and on recognizing him penetrate his design and arrange to defeat it. But fortunately the object of his dread appeared to have other business in hand and kept on his way, never turning back.
How old are you? he asked, thinking it best to make assurance doubly sure.
Peggy says I'm goin' on eight, answered the match boy.
That is the right age, thought Mark.
Have you always lived in Chicago? he continued.
No, sir; Peggy brought me from St. Louis when I was a very little child.
I suppose you don't remember much about St. Louis?
I don't remember it at all.
What does Peggy do for a living?
Jack shrugged his shoulders.
Nothing much, he answered; "she says she isn't well enough to work."
Surely she does not depend wholly upon what you earn?
I don't know. Sometimes she gets money in a letter. I think it comes from her son.
Then she has a son?
Yes.
Where does he live?
I saw one of his letters once. It said Fall River on the wrapper. I think he works in a factory.
Fall River is a city in Massachusetts. I have never been there, but I hear that they have factories there.
So you can read writing? asked Mark after a pause.
Yes, a little.
And I suppose you can read books and papers?
A little. I went to a primary school for a little while, and afterwards a lady used to hear my lessons. She lived in the same place with us.
Did you like studying?
Ever so much. I should be happy if I could go to school again, but Peggy says I know enough, and she needs me to earn my living.
Do you know the name of that gentleman you pointed out to me?
No, I don't think I heard Peggy mention his name.
How long has he been in the habit of coming to see you and Peggy?
He has only been there two or three times. Peggy didn't remember him at first. I think they used to know each other a good while ago.
Suppose this gentleman's story were true, and you had a grandfather at the East who could take good care of you, would you be willing to go to him?
Would he be kind to me? Do you know him? asked the little fellow eagerly.
Yes, I know him, and I am sure he would be very kind to you. Would you be willing to leave Peggy?
Yes, answered little Jack promptly.
How does she treat you?
If I bring home a good bit of money, she pats me on the head and says I am a good boy, but if I am not lucky she is very cross, and sometimes she beats me.
Mark's sympathies were aroused. Jack was so small, and weak in appearance, that it seemed to him revolting to think of his being at the mercy of a cruel old woman. Half unconsciously his fist doubled up, his teeth closed firmly together, and he just wished he had the merciless Peggy in his power.
Is Peggy temperate? he asked.
Jack looked at him inquiringly.
Does she drink? Mark asked, changing the form of his question.
She drinks beer, and sometimes whiskey, answered Jack.
Does she get—drunk?
Sometimes.
How does it affect her?
It makes her sleepy or cross. I always run away when she has been drinking—when I can, but sometimes she locks the door and fastens me in. Then, if I can, I hide under the bed.
Poor boy! you have a hard time of it. Now, Jack, can you keep a secret?
Jack nodded, and his face assumed a cunning look, for the poor boy had more than once felt obliged to practice dissimulation, in the rough school in which he had been trained.
Yes, he answered.
Then I am going to tell you a secret. Your grandfather sent me out here to find you.
He sent you! ejaculated Jack.
Yes.
But I thought he sent that gentleman—the one I pointed out to you.
No; that gentleman, as you call him, is your mother's cousin. He is a near relation of yours.
But he spoke to Peggy about carrying me back to my grandfather.
He has an object in view. He won't give you up to your grandfather unless he gets a large sum of money. I suppose he has promised to give Peggy some of the money.
Yes, I heard him promise Peggy a hundred dollars.
Mark smiled.
Then I think he is going to cheat Peggy, he said. "He wants five thousand dollars for himself."
Why, that is a good deal more than a hundred dollars.
Yes, it is fifty times as much. Did Peggy seem to be satisfied with a hundred?
No; she said it was very little, but he said perhaps my grandfather would give her as much as that every year.
It is evident he proposes to take the old woman in.
I don't care, if he will only take me back to my grandfather. Will he give me enough to eat?
My poor child, are you hungry? asked Mark, compassionately.
Yes; I think I am always hungry, sighed Jack. "Peggy says I eat too much."
You don't look much like it. Now Jack, one thing more. Would you be willing to leave Peggy, and go to New York with me?
Would you take me to my grandfather?
Yes; that is just what I want to do.
I am ready to go now, said Jack, putting his hand confidingly in Mark's.
That is well, but it will be better to wait till to-morrow. What time do you get up in the morning?
About eight o'clock. It isn't any use to go out too early.
And at what time do you come here, Jack?
About half-past eight or nine.
Then I will meet you to-morrow, somewhere about that time, and I will have tickets ready to take us to New York. We can catch the ten o'clock train. There isn't any danger of Peggy keeping you, is there?
Not unless she thinks I am goin' to run away.
She mustn't suspect that. We must be sure to keep that from her. I suppose you have no other clothes than those you have on?
No, sir.
I will hunt up a clothing-store, and get you fitted out before we start. I shouldn't like your grandfather to see you in that ragged suit.
Jack looked down at his jacket, frayed, tattered and greasy, and said:
I've often wished I had nice clothes like that boy, and he pointed out a boy of about his own age, dressed in knickerbockers.
You shall have your wish to-morrow, Jack. Now I suppose you had better go and buy some more matches, so that Peggy won't suspect anything.
Yes, sir.
You'll be sure to meet me to-morrow, Jack?
Yes, sir.
And don't let Peggy suspect from your looks that anything is going on.
Yes, sir.
Everything looks favorable, thought Mark as he walked slowly to his hotel. "To-morrow at this time Peggy and the worthy Lyman will be mourning for a lost boy."
Jack was naturally very much excited by the new prospects that opened out before him. He had seen little happiness in his short life. It is a sad thing to say that he had hardly ever known what it was to eat a full meal. Cold and pinching privation, and long, toilsome days in the streets, had been his portion hitherto. Was it possible, he asked himself, that all this was to be changed.
Was he to have a home like other boys, and a relation who was able to supply him with the comforts of which he knew so little?
It seemed like a dream, and little Jack might have been tempted to distrust the information which had been given to him. But somehow he could not help feeling confidence in what Mark told him. He felt that Mark would not deceive him, and the dream must come true after all.
Jack finished out the day as usual, and went home. Peggy's attention was at once called to the new basket.
Where did that come from? she asked.
My basket was stolen, and a kind gentleman gave me money to buy this. Jack answered.
Was the matches stole too?
Yes; he gave me money enough to buy as many as I lost.
Who stole 'em? Do you know?
I think it was Tim Roach. He was hangin' round, at the time I lost it.
Did he snatch it from you?
No; I laid it down a minute while I went into a cigar store to get a quarter changed for a gentleman who had just bought a box of matches, when Tim picked it up and ran away.
I'd like to get hold of Tim! said Peggy wrathfully. "I'd wring his neck for him, the little wretch!"
Then a new and cunning idea came to Peggy.
I tell you what to do, Jack, she said; "just you go out to-morrow mornin' without any basket, and begin to cry, and tell people that you've had your matches stolen. Then somebody'll give you money, and you can bring it home."
But that would be tellin' a lie, Peggy, objected Jack.
And what if it is! retorted Peggy. "You needn't be so dreadfully good. It ain't a lie that'll hurt anybody, and the gentlemen that gives you the money won't miss it."
It occurred to Jack that it would suit his plans to go out the next morning without the basket. Considering how he had been brought up, his conscience was unusually tender, and he would not have liked to leave the city without returning the basket and his stock-in-trade to Peggy. Besides, she could have him arrested for theft, if she chose. He decided, therefore, that he would make no further objection to Peggy's proposal.
Just as you say, Peggy, he said, submissively.
That's a good boy! said Peggy, good-humoredly. "That's a pretty good snap!" she said to herself, complacently. "I don't know why we shouldn't foller it up. It'll be more than the profit of the matches, and Jack can do it two or three times a day."
It did, indeed, seem a very ingenious method of raising money, and answered the purpose of begging, without being open to the usual objection.
The old woman drawing near the pallet, strove to catch the words that fell from the boy's lips.
Jack usually got tired with being about the streets all day, and after he had eaten the frugal supper with which Peggy had provided him, he lay down on a pallet provided for him in the corner of the room, and was soon asleep. But with such a momentous secret on his mind, it will not be a matter of surprise that Jack's thoughts, even in sleep, were occupied with his new plan. Whenever he was restless he was apt to talk in his sleep, and did so on the present occasion.
Peggy had not gone to bed, but sat in an old wooden rocking-chair, smoking a pipe.
What's the boy sayin'? she asked herself, as Jack began to talk. "I'll listen, and then if he's been up to any mischief, he'll out with it."
She removed the pipe, and drawing near the pallet, bent over, and strove to catch the disconnected words that fell from the boy's lips.
I'm goin'—to—my grandfather! she heard Jack say, and the words startled her.
Who's been talkin' to him about his grandfather? Peggy exclaimed, startled. "I didn't know he'd heard a word about him."
He says—he will—take me! continued Jack, in a drowsy tone.
He says he'll take him! repeated Peggy, in surprise and alarm. "Who's he, I'd like to know."
Her suspicions fell at once upon Lyman. No one, so far as she knew, had any knowledge of Jack's relations except Lyman. Evidently Lyman had been talking to the boy on the sly.
The villain! said Peggy, indignantly; "I know what he's up to. He wants to get the boy away from me, and get all the reward himself. He's going to leave Peggy out in the cowld, and abduct the boy on the sly. I've found him out, the artful schamer. So he thinks he can over-rache ould Peggy, does he? He'll find it's a cowld day when ould Peggy gets left."
Jack began to talk again.
He says he'll take me off in the cars, he continued. "I like to ride in the cars. My grandfather will give me enough to eat, and I won't have to sell matches for a livin'."
The ongrateful young kid, commented Peggy, looking angrily at the sleeping boy. "So he wants to lave me who've took care of him ever since he was a babby, and he don't mind it no more'n if I was a puppy dog. I that have been a mother to him!"
Peggy rocked back and forward, and actually persuaded herself that little Jack was very ungrateful. It is curious how we misrepresent matters from our own point of view. It was Jack who had supported Peggy, and she was far more indebted to him than he was to her, but somehow she could not see it. She did, however, understand fully how unpleasant it would be to lose Jack's services, unless she could receive, as Lyman had led her to expect, an adequate compensation from his grandfather.
Peggy deliberated as to what was best to be done. In the first place, she wanted to find out for a certainty whether Lyman had really entered into a conspiracy against her and meant to abduct Jack without her knowledge or consent. It seemed on the whole, the best thing to get up herself and follow Jack the next morning, and make sure that Lyman did not have a secret conference with him.
When Jack was ready to start out the next morning, Peggy asked with apparent carelessness, "Jack, dear, do you ever see the tall gentleman that calls here sometimes?"
Yes, Peggy; I saw him yesterday, answered Jack, readily.
And what did he say to you? she asked eagerly.
He didn't speak to me at all.
That's a lie! Peggy said to herself. "He told the bye not to tell." But she didn't think it best to charge Jack with it, and so through him put Lyman on his guard.
Remember, lad, you've got no better friend than ould Peggy. If you should lave her, she'd die of grafe.
Thank you, Peggy, said Jack, but he was not much impressed by this declaration of affection from one who often beat and systematically starved him.
Five minutes after Jack had left the house, Peggy threw on her old cloak, and, at a safe distance, followed her youthful charge, meaning to keep him under her eye, and watch lest he should be carried off by Lyman Taylor. But luckily for Jack, whose meeting with Mark would otherwise have been detected, she changed her plan, when she recognized a little in advance Lyman himself on State Street.
It'll be better to watch him, she decided, and gave up following Jack.
Meanwhile Jack had not been at his usual stand more than ten minutes, when Mark came up.
I am glad you are ahead of time, Jack, he said. "Come along with me."
Are you goin' to take me away to-day? asked Jack, who wished to be assured that the dream was coming true.
Yes, Jack, but I can't take you away as you are. I know a place near by where you can take a good bath. I will leave you then, and go round by myself and buy you some clothes. I can guess your size.
He led the way to a barber's shop which advertised baths, procured a ticket, and leaving Jack with strict injunctions to wash himself thoroughly, sallied out in search of an outfit for his young companion. That did not take long. He returned with two good sized bundles, and requested Jack to dress himself in them. When Jack emerged from the bath-room he was quite transformed. He was still thin, and his features looked pinched, but his dress was, in all respects, that of a boy belonging to a well-to-do family.
Now I think I must have your hair cut, and you will do.
In truth, Jack's long, elf-like locks made his face appear even thinner than it really was.
Don't you want to be shaved, too, young man? asked the barber, jocosely.
Perhaps he wants to be shaved, said Jack, pointing to Mark, with a smile.
Mark colored a little, realizing that he scarcely needed that operation any more than Jack.
Now look at yourself in the glass, Jack! said Mark.
Jack obeyed, and looked first bewildered, then pleased. He thought at first that he was looking at another boy.
Is that me? he inquired, almost incredulously.
I think it is. Peggy wouldn't know you, answered Mark, with a smile.
I don't want her to, answered the little boy.
Mark had forgotten one thing—a pair of shoes. As he scanned Jack critically, he noted the omission, and said, "Jack, we must go to a shoe store. It will never do for a young gentleman like you to wear a pair of shoes out at the toes and sides."
They don't look very well, said Jack, with a downward look.
As you may be taken for my son, said Mark gravely, "I want you to look well."
You're only a boy! said Jack, who was inclined to a literal understanding of what was told him.
You wouldn't take me for twenty-five, then, Jack?
No, you're not that, are you?
Well, not quite.
They had not far to go to a shoe store, but it took some time to get fitted to a pair of shoes, on account of Jack's having a high instep. This delay came near wrecking their plans. Tim Roach, who usually passed his time in roaming about the streets, without any special occupation, caught sight of Jack as he entered the shoe store with Mark. He let his eye rest upon him carelessly at first, but his indifferent glance was soon succeeded by a look of the most intense amazement.
My eye! he exclaimed, "if that isn't little Jack dressed out like a prince! What's happened, I wonder, and who's that with him? I jest wish he'd rig me out that way."
Tim did not make himself known, but peered curiously in at the door of the store.
I wonder whether Peggy knows about it? he soliloquized. "I don't believe she does. Wouldn't she open her eyes to see the kid rigged out that way. I'd like to tell her."
Circumstances seemed to favor the gratification of this wish, for not many rods away he caught sight of Peggy and Lyman Taylor talking together.
I'll go and tell her, he said.
We will precede him and relate what had taken place between the two schemers. Peggy had started out with the confident belief that Lyman had played her false, and meant to carry away Jack without her knowledge or consent. It did, indeed, look as if she were correct, for it must be remembered that she knew nothing of Mark's mission to Chicago, Lyman not having thought it necessary to tell her. She wanted to meet Lyman and "have it out with him," if she found any confirmation in her suspicions.
Lyman chanced to turn, and seeing Peggy with her eyes fixed on him, retraced his steps till he reached her.
Do you want to see me, Peggy? he asked.
Yes, I wanted to see you, Mr. Lyman Taylor, and ask what you mane by tryin' to stale away the bye from me?
Lyman stared at her in surprise.
I don't know what you mean, he answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I thought it was understood that we would restore the boy to his grandfather if he would make it worth our while."
And you didn't mane to take away the bye without my knowin' it?
Certainly not. Who told you so?
And you haven't told the bye about goin' back to his grandfather?
I haven't spoken a word to the boy on the subject.
Then how did he know about it?
Does he know about it?
Peggy then told her companion about what she had overheard Jack say in his sleep the night before. Lyman Taylor was surprised and alarmed, and these feelings were so evident on his face that Peggy acquitted him of any breach of faith.
I don't understand it, he said, meditatively. "I have never spoken a word about the matter except in your room. Did you ask him about it?"
I asked him when did he see you, and he said yesterday.
He might have seen me, but I had no conversation with him.
So he said.
He told the truth. I don't think any harm is done, Peggy. He must have overheard what we were talking about when we supposed him asleep.
That's true. Maybe he did.
That won't interfere with our plans that I can see. I have written to my uncle and expect to hear from him in a few days. I will let you know what he says as soon as I get the letter.
Then it was that Tim Roach came up, looking preternaturally knowing.
How are you, Peg? he said. "Are you walkin' wid your beau?"
Go away wid you! You're always botherin'.
You'd orter see what I did jest now, said Tim, wagging his head.
What did you see, then?
I seed your Jack rigged out like a prince in new clothes and a new hat. Didn't he look fine?
You saw Jack dressed that way? gasped Peggy.
Yes, I did.
You're lyin' now.
Wish I may die if I didn't.
Where was he?
In Simpson's shoe store, pickin' out a nice new pair of shoes.
How could the boy get all these things without money? asked Lyman incredulous.
There was a big boy wid him was buyin' the things.
A big boy! repeated Lyman quickly; "how old was he?"
Maybe sixteen or seventeen.
An expression, full of dismay, overspread Lyman Taylor's face.
It is Mark Manning! he exclaimed. "Quick, boy, tell me where he is."
In Simpson's shoe store.
And who is Mark Manning? asked Peggy bewildered.
The boy his grandfather sent out here to find him. It's he that has been telling Jack about his grandfather. Quick, Peggy! we must go and stop him, or he'll take Jack away and leave us out in the cold.
The ill-matched pair hurried to the place indicated by Tim.