Rufus and Rose; Or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready
Meaning it to be a surprise, he said nothing to Rose or Martha, but before going down town the next day, went to the box-office, and secured three reserved seats in an excellent situation. They were expensive; but Rufus was resolved that he would not spare expense, for this occasion at least.
When he reached home at half-past five in the afternoon, he went up at once to Martha's room.
"Miss Manning," he said, "have you any engagement this evening?"
"It is hardly necessary to ask, Rufus," she replied; "my company is not in very great demand."
"You have heard of the Japanese jugglers at the Academy of Music?"
"Yes; Mrs. Florence was speaking of them this morning. She and her husband went last evening."
"And we are going this evening. Wouldn't you like to go, Rosy?"
"Ever so much, Rufie. Will you take me?"
"Yes, I have got tickets: see here;" and Rufus drew out the three tickets which he had purchased in the morning.
"Thank you, Rufus," said Miss Manning; "I shall like very much to go. It is long since I went to any place of amusement. How much did the tickets cost?"
"A dollar and a half apiece."
"Isn't that rather extravagant?"
"It would be if we went every week; but now and then we can afford it."
"You must let me pay for my ticket, Rufus."
"Not if I know it," said Rufus. "It's a pity if a Wall Street banker can't carry a lady to a place of amusement, without charging her for the ticket."
"If you put it that way, I suppose I must yield," said Miss Manning, smiling.
Rose was highly excited at the idea of going to see the Japanese, whose feats, as described by Mrs. Florence at the breakfast-table, had interested her exceedingly. The prospect of sitting up till eleven in the evening also had its charm, and she was quite too excited to eat much dinner.
"Really," said Mrs. Clifton, "I quite envy you, Miss Manning. I tried to get Mr. Clifton to buy tickets, but he hasn't done it."
"First time I heard of it," said her husband.
"You pay very little attention to what I ask,—I am aware of that," said Mrs. Clifton, in an aggrieved tone.
"We'll go now, if you say so."
"We couldn't get any decent seats. When did you buy yours, Mr. Rushton?"
"This morning."
Mrs. Clifton, who was thoroughly selfish, hinted that probably Rose wouldn't care about going, and that she should be glad to buy the ticket, and accompany Rufus and Miss Manning; but this hint failed to be taken, and she was forced unwillingly to stay at home.
To tell the truth, Miss Manning was scarcely less pleased than Rose at the idea of going. Until recently she had been a poor seamstress, earning scarcely enough to subsist upon, much less to pay for amusements. Sometimes in the early evening she had passed the portals of places of amusement, and wished that she were able to break the tedious monotony of her daily life by entering; but it was quite out of the question, and with a sigh she would pass on. Now she was very differently situated, and her life was much pleasanter.
"Can I wear my new dress, Martha?" asked Rose.
"Yes, Rosy. It was fortunate that I got it finished to-day."
"And will you wear yours, too, Martha?"
"Yes, I think so," she said. "Rufus has bought us nice seats, and we must look as well as we can."
When both were dressed, they surveyed themselves with satisfaction. Miss Manning was not above the weakness, if it is a weakness, of liking to appear well dressed, though she was not as demonstrative as Rose, who danced about the room in high enjoyment.
When they were quite ready, Rufus came into the room. He had a pair of kid gloves in his hand, which he twirled about in rather an embarrassed way.
"I can't get the confounded things on, Miss Manning," he said. "I've been trying for some time, but it's no go. The fact is, I never owned a pair of kid gloves before. I'd enough sight rather go without any, but I suppose, if I am going to sit in a fashionable seat, I must try to look fashionable."
Miss Manning soon explained to Rufus how the gloves should go on. This time the success was better, and he was soon neatly gloved.
"They are pretty gloves, Rufus," she said.
"I don't like the feeling of them," said Rufus; "they feel strange."
"That is because you are not used to them. You'll like them better soon."
"I wonder what some of my old street friends would say to see me now," said Rufus, smiling. "They'd think I was a tip-top swell."
Though the gloves did not feel comfortable, Rufus looked at his hands with satisfaction. Step by step he was getting into the ways of civilized life, and he was very anxious to leave as far behind him as possible his street experiences.
Soon after dinner they left the house, and, proceeding to Broadway, walked up as far as Union Square. Then they turned down Fourteenth Street, and a few minutes brought them to the Academy of Music.
The entrance and vestibule were brilliantly lighted. On the steps and in front were a number of speculators, who were eagerly offering their tickets to those who appeared unprovided.
Rufus pushed his way through, with Martha and Rose at his side. His tickets were taken at the gate, but the portion indicating the number of their reserved seats was torn off, and given back to them. On showing them to the usher, they were conducted to their seats, which were in the sixth row from the stage, and fronting it.
"We'll have a good view here, Miss Manning," he said.
Soon the curtain rose, and the performance commenced. To those who have not seen the Japanese in their peculiar performance, it is enough to say that they show marvellous skill and agility in their feats, some of which are so difficult as to seem almost impossible.
All three enjoyed the performance. Miss Manning, though so much older, was almost as much unaccustomed as little Rose herself to such scenes, and took a fresh interest in it, which those who go often cannot feel. Every now and then, little Rose, unable to restrain her enthusiasm, exhibited her delight openly.
I should like, for the benefit of my younger readers, to give a detailed account of some portions of the performance which seemed most wonderful; but my memory is at fault, and I can only speak in general terms.
It was a little after ten when the curtain finally fell.
"Is that all?" asked Rose, half in disappointment.
"That's all, Rosy. Are you sleepy?"
"Not a bit," said Rose, vivaciously; "I should like to stay here an hour longer. Wasn't it perfectly beautiful, Rufie?"
"Yes; it was very good," said Rufus; "I don't know but I like it almost as well as the Old Bowery."
Though he had risen in the social scale, he had not quite lost his relish for the style of plays for which the Old Bowery, the favorite theatre with the street boys, is celebrated. But that he had a suspicion that it was not exactly a fashionable place of amusement, he would like to have taken Rose and Miss Manning there this evening. He would hardly have liked to mention it at the table afterwards, however.
The audience rose from their seats, and Rufus with them. Slowly they moved towards the door, and at last made their way to the entrance. Had Rufus known who was waiting there, he might have felt a little nervous. But he did not know, and it devolves upon us to explain.
Three days before, Mr. Martin, who had been sentenced to the penitentiary for three months, on account of his attempt at picking pockets, which we have already chronicled, was released. To say the least, he left the prison no better than he had entered it. Better in one sense he was, for he had been forced for three months to abstain from drink, and this he felt to be a great hardship. But it had a favorable influence upon his health, and his skin was clearer, and his nose not quite so ruddy as when he was arrested. But so far as good intentions went, he had not formed any during his exile from society, and now that he was released he was just as averse to living by honest industry as before.
However, his resources were still limited. Money had never been very plentiful with him, and just at present he was not encumbered with any. It did not occur to him that the shortest way to obtain some was to go to work; or, if it did, the suggestion did not strike him favorably. It did occur to him, however, that there were charitable persons in the metropolis who might be induced to help him, and he resolved to act upon this suggestion. Accordingly, he haunted the neighborhood of the Academy of Music, until the stream of people began to pour out from it, and then he felt that the time had come for him to carry out his plans.
He went up to a gentleman who was coming out with a young lady leaning on his arm.
"Will you listen to me a minute, sir?" he said, in a whining tone. "I haven't eaten anything since yesterday, and I have no money to pay for a night's lodging."
"Why don't you go to work?" said the gentleman.
"I can't get anything to do, sir. I've been trying for something all day."
The fact was that Mr. Martin had been lounging about a low bar-room all day.
"Here, take this, and clear the way."
The gentleman, more to get rid of him than anything else, dropped five cents into his hand, and passed on.
"He might have given a quarter," grumbled Martin; "it wouldn't have hurt him."
He looked up, intending to make a similar application to the next person, when he uttered an exclamation of surprise and exultation. Close before him he saw Rufus and his little sister, accompanied by Miss Manning.
CHAPTER XI.
MR. MARTIN'S WILD-GOOSE CHASE
Probably nothing could have given Martin greater pleasure than this unexpected meeting with his step-children. He did not reflect that the pleasure might not be mutual, but determined to make himself known without delay. Hurrying forward, he placed one hand on the shoulder of Rufus, saying, "Glad to see you, Rufus; what have you been up to lately? Here's Rose too, I expect she's glad to see me."
At the first sound of his voice poor Rose began to tremble. Clinging closer to her brother, she said, "Don't let him take me, Rufie."
"He shan't touch you, Rose," said Rufus, manfully.
"You don't seem very glad to see me," said Martin, smiling maliciously.
"That's where you're right," said Rufus, bluntly. "We are not glad to see you. I suppose that don't surprise you much. Come along, Rose."
He tried to leave Martin, but Martin did not choose to be left. He shuffled along by the side of our hero, considerably to the disgust of the latter, who was afraid he might fall in with some acquaintance whose attention would be drawn to the not very respectable-looking object who had accosted him, and learn the relationship that existed between them.
"You seem to be in a hurry," sneered Martin.
"I am in a hurry," said Rufus. "It's late for Rose to be out."
"That's what I was thinking," said Martin. "Considerin' that I'm her natural protector, it's my duty to interfere."
"A pretty sort of protector you are!" retorted Rufus, scornfully.
"You're an undootiful boy," said Martin, "to speak so to your father."
"Who do you mean?"
"Aint I your father?"
"No, you are not. If you were, I'd be ashamed of you. Mr. Martin, we haven't anything to do with each other. You can go your way, and I'll go mine. I shan't interfere with you, and I shan't allow you to interfere with me."
"Ho, ho!" said Martin, "when was you twenty-one, I'd like to know?"
"It doesn't make any difference when. Good-night."
"You don't get rid of me so easy," said Martin. "I'll follow you home."
By this time they had reached the corner of Broadway and Union Square. Rufus was placed in an awkward position. He had no authority to order Martin away. He might follow them home, and ascertain where they lived, and probably would do so. Rufus felt that this would never do. Were their home known to Mr. Martin, he would have it in his power to lie in wait for Rose, and kidnap her as he had done once before. He would never feel easy about his little sister under these circumstances. Yet what could he do? If he should quicken his pace, Martin would do the same.
"What do you want to follow us for?" he asked. "What good is it going to do you?"
"Don't you trouble yourself about that," said Martin, exulting in our hero's evident perplexity. "Considerin' that you two are my children, I may want to come and see you some time."
Here Rose began to cry. She had always been very much afraid of Martin, and feared now that she might fall into his hands.
"Don't cry, Rose," said Rufus, soothingly. "He shan't do you any harm."
"Maybe he won't if you treat him well," said Martin. "Look here, Rufus. I'm hard up—dead broke. Haven't you a dollar to spare?"
"Are you going to follow us?"
"Maybe I won't if you'll give me the dollar."
"I can't trust you," said Rufus, suspiciously. "I'll tell you what," he added, after a little thought; "go up to Madison Park, and sit down on one of the seats, and I'll come up in half an hour, or three quarters at most, and give you the dollar."
"Do you think I'm so green?" sneered Martin. "I might stop there all night without seein' you. All you want is a chance to get away without my knowin' where."
"No," said Rufus; "I'll do what I promise. But you must go up there now, and not follow us."
"That don't go down," said Martin. "You don't ketch a weasel asleep."
"Well," said Rufus, coolly, "you can do just as you please. If you accept my offer, you shall have a dollar inside of an hour. If you don't, you won't get a penny."
Still Martin was not persuaded. He felt sure that Rufus meant to mislead him, and, being unreliable himself, he put no confidence in the promise made by our hero. He prepared to follow him home, as the knowledge of where Rose lived would probably enable him to extort more than a dollar from the fear and anxiety of Rufus. So he repeated:—
"That don't go down! You aint quite smart enough to take me in. I'm goin' to follow you, and find out where you live."
"Better give him the dollar now, Rufus," suggested Miss Manning, who felt nearly as anxious as Rose.
"No," said Rufus, decidedly; "I shan't gain anything by it. As soon as he got the money, he'd follow us all the same."
"What will you do?" asked Miss Manning, anxiously.
"You'll see," said Rufus, composedly.
He had been busily thinking, and a plan had suggested itself to his mind, which he thought offered probably the best way out of the difficulty. He reflected that probably Mr. Martin, judging from his appearance, was penniless, or nearly so. He therefore decided to jump on board a horse-car, and thus elude him.
When they reached the corner of University Place, a car was seen approaching.
Rufus hailed it.
"Are we going to ride?" asked Rose.
"Yes, Rose; and now, whatever I do, I want you to keep perfectly still and say nothing. Will you promise?"
"Yes, Rufie."
Rufus exacted this promise, as Rose might unconsciously, by some unguarded exclamation, betray the very knowledge which he was anxious to conceal.
Martin fathomed the purpose of our hero, and determined not be balked. He had five cents which had just been given him out of charity at the door of the Academy, and, though the fare on the horse-cars was one cent more, he thought he might make it do. Accordingly he got into the car after Rufus.
"I couldn't bear to leave such agreeable company," he said, with a leer. "Horse-cars are free, I believe."
"I believe they are," said Rufus.
"I wonder how much money he's got," thought our hero. "I guess I can drain him after a while."
The conductor came along, and Rufus paid for Miss Manning and Rose, as well as himself. Martin was hanging on a strap near by.
"Your fare," said the conductor.
Martin plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew out five cents. He plunged his hand in again, and appeared to be hunting about for the extra penny.
"I declare," said he, "I believe I've lost the other cent. Won't five cents do?"
"Couldn't let you ride under six cents," said the conductor. "It's against the rules."
"I can't see where it is," said Martin, hunting again.
"I'll pay the other penny," said a gentleman sitting near.
"Thank you, sir," said Martin. "Very much obliged to you. I'm a poor man; but it's on account of some undutiful children that I've spent all my money on, and now they begrudge their poor father a few pennies."
He looked at Rufus; but our hero did not see fit to apply the remark to himself, nor, considering that he used to help support Martin, did he feel any particular remorse.
If Martin had been a more respectable-looking object, if his nose had been a trifle less red, and his whole appearance less suggestive of intemperate habits, the remark he had let fall might have stirred some of his listeners to compassion. But no one, to look at him, would wonder much at a want of filial affection towards such a father. So, though he looked round to notice the effect, hoping that he might elicit some sympathy which should take a pecuniary form, he perceived that his appeal had fallen upon stony ground. Nobody seemed particularly impressed, and the hope of a contribution from some compassionate listener faded out.
Rufus was a witness of this scene, and of course it enabled him to fathom Martin's resources. He congratulated himself that they were so speedily exhausted. He did not get out when the car reached Waverley Place, for obvious reasons, but kept on till they came to Bleecker Street. Rose was about to express surprise, but a look from Rufus checked her.
At Bleecker Street he signalled to the conductor to stop. The latter obeyed the signal, and our hero got out, followed not only by Rose and Miss Manning, but, as might have been expected, also by Martin.
"You don't get rid of me so easy," said the latter, triumphantly.
"Don't I?" asked Rufus, coolly. "Are you going to follow me still?"
Martin answered in the affirmative, with an oath.
"Then," said Rufus, coolly, "I'll give you all the following you want to do."
A car bound in the opposite direction was approaching. Rufus hailed it, and it came to a stop.
Martin, who had not been anticipating this move, stopped a moment, staring, crestfallen, at Rufus; but, recovering himself quickly, jumped on the platform, resolved to try his luck.
Rufus paid his fare. Martin didn't volunteer to pay his, but looked steadily before him, hoping that he might escape the conductor's observation. But the latter was too sharp for that.
"Fare?" he said.
"All right," said Martin, plunging his hand into his pocket. Of course he drew out nothing, as he anticipated.
"I declare," he said; "I believe I haven't any money with me."
"Then get off."
"Couldn't you let me off this time?" asked Martin, insinuatingly; "I'm a poor man."
"So am I," said the conductor, bluntly. "You must get off."
"Isn't there any gentleman that'll lend a poor man six cents?" asked Martin, looking round.
But nobody seemed disposed to volunteer assistance, and Martin was compelled reluctantly to jump off.
But he didn't give up yet. The car didn't go so fast but that he could keep up with it by running. It chafed him that Rufus should get the better of him, and he ran along on the sidewalk, keeping the car continually in sight.
"He's running," said Miss Manning, looking out. "What a determined man he is! I'm afraid he'll find us out."
"I'm not afraid," said Rufus. "He'll get tired of running by the time we get to Central Park."
"Shall you ride as far as that?"
"If necessary."
For about a mile Martin held out, but by this time he became exhausted, and dropped behind. The distance between him and the car gradually increased, but still Rufus rode on for half a mile further. By this time Martin was no longer in sight.
"We'll cross over to Sixth Avenue," he said, "so that Martin may not see us on our return."
This suggestion was adopted, luckily, for Martin had posted himself at a favorable place, and was scanning attentively every returning car. But he waited and watched in vain till long after the objects of his pursuit were safe at home and in bed.
CHAPTER XII.
MARTIN'S LUCK TURNS
Martin continued to watch for an hour or two, sitting in a door-way. At length he was forced to conclude that Rufus had given him the slip, and this tended by no means to sweeten his temper. In fact, his position was not altogether a pleasant one. It was now past midnight, and, having no money, he saw no other way than to spend the night in the street. Besides he was hungry, and that was a complaint which was likely to get worse instead of better. As for Rufus, Martin had never before seen him so well dressed, and it seemed clear that he was prospering.
"He's an ungrateful young rascal," muttered Martin,—"livin' in ease and comfort, while I am left to starve in the street!"
It would have been rather hard to tell what Rufus had to be grateful for, unless for the privilege which he had enjoyed for some time of helping support his step-father; but Martin persuaded himself that he was ungrateful and undutiful, and grew indignant over his fancied wrongs, as he lay back in discomfort on the stone step which he had selected as his resting-place.
The night passed slowly away, and when the morning light came Martin got up very stiff and sore, and more hungry than ever, and began to wonder where he was likely to get any breakfast. Begging seemed to him, on the whole, the easiest way of getting along; but it was too early for that. After a while, however, the street began to be peopled, and he walked up to a gentleman who was approaching, and, assuming a look which he thought indicative of wretchedness, whined out, "Would you be willing to help a poor man, sir?"
The gentleman stopped.
"So you are poor?" he said.
"Yes," said Martin, "I have been very unfortunate."
"Why don't you work?"
"I can't find any work to do," answered Martin.
"Haven't you got any friends to help you?"
"They've all turned against me," said Martin. "Even my own children have turned me out of the house to shift for myself."
"How old are your children?" asked the other.
Martin hesitated, for this question was a little embarrassing.
"One of them is sixteen," he said.
"A son?"
"Yes."
"Did you support him, or did he support you?" was the natural inquiry.
"I supported him," said Martin; "but he's an undootiful, ungrateful scamp, and—"
"Then it appears that he has relieved you from taking care of him, and you have only yourself to provide for. It appears to me that you ought to get along better than before."
"If I could get any work."
"What sort of work do you want to do?"
"If I had a few dollars I could set up in some light business."
"You will have to apply elsewhere for the money, my friend," said the gentleman. "To be frank with you, your appearance doesn't speak in your favor;" and he walked on.
"That's the way the rich and prosperous treat the poor," soliloquized Martin, feeling that the whole world was in a conspiracy against him. Those who undertake to live without work are very apt to arrive at such conclusions.
Martin concluded, on the whole, that he wouldn't refer to being turned out of his house next time, as it might lead to embarrassing questions.
He approached another gentleman, and began with the same appeal for assistance.
"What's the matter? Can't you work?" was the reply.
"I've had a severe fit of sickness," said Martin, forcing a cough; "and I'm very feeble. I haint had anything to eat for twenty-four hours, and I've got a wife and five little children dependent on me."
"If that don't bring something," thought Martin, "nothing will."
"Where do you live?"
"No. 578 Twenty-Fourth Street," answered Martin, glibly.
Now the individual addressed was a gentleman of leisure, of a philanthropic turn of mind, and one who frequently visited the poor at their homes. Martin's story seemed pitiful, and he concluded to inquire into it.
"I'm sorry for you," he said. "I'll go round with you and see your family, and see what can be done for them."
This was just what Martin did not want. As the family he spoke of was entirely imaginary, it would only result in exposure and disappointment. Yet he knew not how to refuse.
