Rufus and Rose; Or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready
Mingled with Smith's anger was a feeling of surprise. Humpy had been a good while in his employ, and he had reposed entire confidence in his fidelity. He might have continued to do so but for the brutal assault upon the boy recorded in a previous chapter. He did not think of this, however, or guess the effect it had produced on the mind of the deformed errand-boy.
"I think I had better get out of the city a week or two till this blows over," thought Smith. "I guess I'll take the afternoon train for Philadelphia."
This was a wise resolution; but Smith made one mistake. He ought to have put it into effect at once. At that very moment information was lodged at the office of police, which threatened serious consequences to him; but of this he was ignorant. He had no idea that Rufus would act so promptly.
In spite of his anger Smith was hungry. His morning walk had given him an excellent appetite, and he began to think about dinner. As, on account of the unlawful occupation in which he was engaged, he did not think it prudent to employ a cook, who might gossip about his affairs, he generally devolved the task of preparing the dinner upon Humpy, whom he had taught to cook eggs, broil beef-steak, make coffee, fry potatoes, and perform other simple culinary duties. Now that Humpy was gone, he was obliged to do this work himself.
He looked into the pantry, and found half-a-dozen eggs, and a slice of steak. These he proceeded to cook. He had nearly finished his unaccustomed task when the door opened, and Martin returned, with his nose a little redder than usual, and his general appearance somewhat disordered by haste.
"What brings you here so soon?" asked Smith, in surprise. "What's the matter?"
"I came near gettin' nabbed; that's what's the matter," said Martin.
"How did that happen?"
"I went into a cigar-store near the ferry in Jersey City," said Martin, "and asked for a couple of cigars,—twenty-cent ones. I took 'em, and handed in one of your ten-dollar bills. The chap looked hard at it, and then at me, and said he'd have to go out and get it changed. I looked across the street, and saw him goin' to the police-office. I thought I'd better leave, and made for the ferry. The boat was just goin'. When we'd got a little ways out, I saw the cigar man standin' on the drop with a copp at his elbow."
"You'd better not go to Jersey City again," said Smith.
"I don't mean to," said Martin. "Have you got enough dinner for me? I'm as hungry as a dog."
"Yes, there's dinner enough for two, and that's all there is to eat it."
Something significant in his employer's tone struck Martin.
"There's the boy upstairs," he said.
"There isn't any boy upstairs."
"You haven't let him go?" queried Martin, staring open-mouthed at the speaker.
"No, he got away while I was out this morning,—the more fool I for leaving him."
"But there was Humpy. How did the boy get away without his seeing him?"
"Humpy's gone too."
"You don't say!" ejaculated Martin.
"Yes, I do."
"What you goin' to do about it?" inquired Martin, hopelessly.
"I'll half kill either of the little rascals when I get hold of them," said Smith, spitefully.
"I'd give something out of my own pocket to get that undootiful son of mine back," chimed in Martin.
"I'll say this for him," said Smith, "he's a good sight smarter than his father."
"I always was unlucky," grumbled Martin. "I aint been treated right."
"If you had been you'd be at Sing Sing," returned Smith, amiably.
"Smith," said Martin, with drunken dignity, for he was somewhat under the influence of a liberal morning dram, "you'd ought to respect the feelin's of a gentleman."
"Where's the gentleman? I don't see him," responded Smith, in a sarcastic tone. "If you aint too much of a gentleman to do your share of the work, just draw out the table and put the cloth on."
This Martin, who was hungry, did with equal alacrity and awkwardness, showing the latter by over-turning a pile of plates, which fell with a fatal crash upon the floor.
"Just like your awkwardness, you drunken brute!" exclaimed Smith, provoked.
Martin did not reply, but looked ruefully at the heap of broken crockery, which he attributed, like his other misfortunes, to the ill-treatment of the world, and meekly got upon his knees and gathered up the pieces.
At length dinner was ready. Martin, in spite of an ungrateful world, ate with an appetite truly surprising, so that his companion felt called upon to remonstrate.
"I hope you'll leave a little for me. It's just possible that I might like to eat a little something myself."
"I didn't eat much breakfast," said Martin, apologetically.
"You'd better lunch outside next time," said his employer. "It will give you a good chance to change money."
"I've tried it at several places," said Martin; "I could do it better if you'd give me some smaller bills. They don't like to change fives and tens."
After dinner was despatched, and the table pushed back, Smith unfolded his plans to Martin. He suggested that it might be a little unsafe to remain at their present quarters for a week or fortnight to come, and counselled Martin to go to Boston, while he would go to Philadelphia.
"That's the way we'll dodge them," he concluded.
"Just as you say," said Martin. "When do you want me back?"
"I will write you from Philadelphia. You can call at the post-office for a letter in a few days."
"When had I better sell the bond?"
"That reminds me," said Smith. "I will take the box with me."
He went and unlocked the drawer in which the box had been secreted. To his dismay he discovered that it was gone.
"Have you taken the tin box?" he demanded, turning upon Martin with sudden suspicion.
"Isn't it there?" gasped Martin.
"No, it isn't," said Smith, sternly. "Do you know anything about it?"
"I wish I may be killed if I do!" asserted Martin.
"Then what can have become of it?"
"It's my undootiful boy that took it,—I'm sure it is," exclaimed Martin, with sudden conviction.
"He had no key."
"Humpy got him one, then."
Just then Smith espied on the floor some scraps of wax. They told the story.
"You're right," he said, with an oath. "We've been taken in worse than I thought. The best thing we can do is to get away as soon as possible."
They made a few hurried preparations, and left the house in company. But they were too late. A couple of officers, who were waiting outside, stepped up to them, as they set foot on the sidewalk, and said, quietly, "You must come with us."
"What for?" demanded Smith, inclined to show fight.
"You'd better come quietly. You are charged with stealing a box containing valuables."
"That's the man that did it," said Smith, pointing to Martin. "He's the one you want."
"He put me up to it, and shared the money," retorted Martin.
"You're both wanted," said the officer. "You'll have a chance to tell your story hereafter."
As this winds up the connection of these two worthies with our story, it may be added here that they were found guilty, not only of the robbery, but of manufacturing and disseminating counterfeit money, and were sentenced to Sing Sing for a term of years. The bonds were found upon them, and restored to Mr. Vanderpool.
Thus the world persists in its ill-treatment of our friend, James Martin. Still I cannot help thinking that, if he had been a sober and industrious man, he would have had much less occasion to complain.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION
In the course of an hour Humpy was provided with a new suit, which considerably improved his appearance. Rufus accompanied him to the Erie Railway Station, where he purchased for him a through ticket to Chicago, and saw him enter the cars.
"Good-by, William, and good luck!" said Rufus.
"Good-by," said Humpy. "You're a trump. You're the first friend I ever had."
"I hope I shan't be the last," said Rufus. "Shall I give your love to Smith, if I see him?"
"Never mind about it."
Rufus was compelled to leave the station before the cars started, in order to hurry back to the office. Arrived there a new errand awaited him.
"Rufus," said Mr. Turner, "do you remember where Mr. Vanderpool lives?"
"The owner of the tin box? Yes, sir."
"You may go up at once, and let him know that his property is recovered."
This task Rufus undertook with alacrity. He had been pleased with what he saw of Mr. Vanderpool on his first visit, and was glad to be able to tell him that the box, for whose loss he felt partly to blame, was recovered.
He was soon ringing the bell of the house in Twenty-Seventh Street.
Mr. Vanderpool was at home, the servant told him, and he was ushered immediately into his presence.
The old gentleman, who had been writing, laid aside his pen, and, looking up, recognized Rufus.
"You're the boy that came to tell me about my property being stolen, are you not?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; but it's found."
"Bless my soul, you don't say so! Did the thief give it up?"
"No," said Rufus. "I took it from him."
"Is it possible? Why, you're only a boy," said Mr. Vanderpool, regarding him with interest.
"Boys can do something as well as men," said Rufus, with pardonable pride.
"Tell me all about it."
Rufus told his story as briefly as possible. When he described how he had been entrapped and imprisoned, Mr. Vanderpool said, "Bless my soul!" several times.
"You're a brave boy!" he said, when the story was finished.
"Thank you, sir," said Rufus, modestly.
"Were you not afraid when you were locked up by those bad men?"
"Not at all, sir."
"I should have been. I don't think I am very brave. You've behaved very well indeed, Master – I don't remember your name."
"Rufus Rushton."
"Master Rushton, I must make you a present."
"I have only done my duty, Mr. Vanderpool. I don't want any present for that."
"We'll talk about that afterwards. By the way, have you thought anything more about the question whether the planets are inhabited?"
"I can't say I have, sir. I've had so much else to think about."
"Very true, very true. I've written a few pages more, which I will read to you if you have time."
"I should like very much to hear them, sir; but I am afraid I must hurry back to the office."
"Ah, I am sorry for that," said the old gentleman, in a tone of disappointment, but he brightened up immediately.
"I'll tell you what, my young friend," he said; "you shall come and dine with me next Saturday at six, and then we will have the evening to ourselves. What do you say?"
"I shall be very happy to come, sir," said Rufus, not quite sure whether he would be happy or not.
When Saturday came he presented himself, and was very cordially received by the old gentleman. The dinner was a capital one, and served in excellent style. Mr. Vanderpool paid Rufus as much attention as if he were a guest of distinction,—read him his essay on the planets, and showed him some choice engravings. The evening passed very agreeably, and Rufus was urged to come again. He did so, and so won the favor of the old gentleman that at the end of two months he was invited to come and make his home permanently in the house in Twenty-Seventh Street.
"Thank you, Mr. Vanderpool," said our hero. "You are very kind; but I shouldn't like to leave Miss Manning and my little sister."
"Have you a little sister? Tell me about her."
"Her name is Rose, and she is a dear little girl," said Rufus, warmly.
"How old is she?"
"Eight years old."
"I am glad she is not a young lady. You can bring her too. I've got plenty of room. Who is Miss Manning?"
"She is a friend of mine, and teaches my sister."
"Why can't she come and look after my servants? I have no house-keeper."
"I will mention it to her," said Rufus.
Rufus did mention it to Miss Manning, who by appointment called upon the old gentleman. Mr. Vanderpool repeated the invitation, and offered her ten dollars per week for her services. Such an offer was not to be rejected. Miss Manning resigned her situation as governess to Mrs. Colman's children, greatly to that lady's disappointment, and removed with Rose to the house of Mr. Vanderpool. Elegant chambers were assigned to all three, and they found themselves living in fashionable style. As neither had any board to pay, Rufus felt justified in dressing both Rose and himself in a manner more befitting the style in which they now lived, while Miss Manning also, finding that she was expected to preside at the table, felt called upon to follow their example. It was such a change for all three that it seemed like a dream sometimes when they recalled the miserable attic in Leonard Street, and the humble lodging near the North River.
Rose was sent to school, and had a music-teacher at home. Miss Manning also, having considerable time at her disposal, took lessons in music and French, and soon acquired very respectable proficiency in both. The old gentleman, so long accustomed to solitude, seemed to renew his youth in the cheerful society he had gathered around him, and came to look upon Rufus and Rose as his own children. He was continually loading them with gifts, and his kindness won their gratitude and affection. He tried to induce Rufus to give up his situation with the banker; but our hero was of an independent turn, and had too active a temperament to be content with doing nothing. On the succeeding Christmas he received from Mr. Vanderpool a very costly gold watch, which I need not say was very acceptable.
About six months after her entrance into the house, Miss Manning was profoundly astonished by receiving from the old gentleman an offer of marriage.
"I don't ask for romantic love, my dear Miss Manning," said Mr. Vanderpool, "but I hope you will not find it hard to like me a little, and I'll try to make you happy. I don't want to hurry you. Take a week to think of it."
Miss Manning did take a week to think of it. She was not in love with Mr. Vanderpool,—that was hardly to be expected, as he was thirty years older than she,—but she did respect and esteem him, and she knew that he would be kind to her. So she said yes, after consulting with Rufus, and one morning, without any fuss or ostentation, she was quietly married, and transformed from plain Miss Manning into the rich Mrs. Vanderpool. I may say here that neither she nor her husband has seen cause to repent the match, so unexpectedly brought about, but live in harmony and mutual friendship, as I hope they may continue to do to the end of their days.
When Rufus reached the age of twenty-one, he was agreeably surprised by an offer from Mr. Turner to take him into partnership.
"But, Mr. Turner," he said, "I have very little capital,—far too little for a partner in such a large business."
"You have fifty thousand dollars. That will answer very well."
"I don't understand you, sir," said Rufus, suspecting that Mr. Turner was crazy, or was dreaming.
"You remember the tin box which you recovered five years ago?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Vanderpool has made it over with its contents to you as a free gift. Its value, as you remember, is fifty thousand dollars, or rather more now, some of the stocks having risen in value."
Rufus was quite affected by this munificent gift, and no longer objected to the plan proposed. Shortly after, the style of the firm was changed, and now, as you pass through Wall Street, if you will closely examine the signs on either side of the street, your eyes may light on this one:—
Turner and Rushton,
Bankers.
You will have no trouble in conjecturing that the junior partner in this firm is the same who was first known to you as Rough and Ready. If you think that our young friend, the newsboy, has had rare luck, I hope you will also admit that, by his honesty, industry, and generous protection of his little sister, he has deserved the prosperity he has attained.
George Black has long since bought out his partner's interest in the periodical store, and now carries on quite a flourishing trade in his own name. Smith and Martin are still in prison, their term of confinement not yet having expired. What adventures yet remain in store for James Martin I am unable to say, but I doubt if he will ever turn over a new leaf. His habits of indolence and intemperance are too confirmed to give much hope of amendment.
