CHAPTER XXII.
MICKY MAGUIRE RETURNS FROM THE ISLAND
For three months Micky Maguire was not seen in his accustomed haunts. During his involuntary residence at the Island he often brooded over the treachery of Gilbert, to whom his present misfortune was due. He felt that he had been selfishly left to his fate by his equally guilty confederate. It had certainly been a losing speculation for poor Micky. He had received but a paltry dollar for his services, and in return he was deprived of his liberty for three months.
The disgrace of being sent to the Island Micky did not feel as Dick would have done. He had been there too many times to care for that. But he did not like the restraints of the place, and he did like the free and independent life of the streets from which for a time he was debarred.
The result of Micky's brooding was a strong thirst for vengeance upon the author of his misfortunes. He could do nothing at present, but only bide his time.
Meanwhile things went on pretty much as usual at the establishment in Pearl Street. Gilbert liked Dick no better than he had done. In fact, he disliked him more, but, seeing the friendly relations between Dick and his employer, found it prudent to treat him well whenever Mr. Rockwell was by. At other times he indulged in sneers and fault-finding, which Dick turned off good-humoredly, or returned some droll answer, which blunted the edge of the sarcasm, and made the book-keeper chafe with the feeling that he was no match for the boy he hated. Dick, by faithful attention to his duties, and a ready comprehension of what was required of him, steadily advanced in the good opinion of every one except Gilbert.
"Keep on as you have begun, Richard," said Mr. Murdock to him, "and you'll be a member of the firm some time."
"Do you really think so, Mr. Murdock?" asked Dick, with a flush of gratification.
"I really do. You have excellent abilities, Mr. Rockwell likes you, and you have only to continue steady and faithful, and you'll be sure to rise."
"You know what I was, Mr. Murdock."
"You are none the worse for that, Richard. It is a great credit to a boy to earn his own living when circumstances force it upon him. If his employment is an honest one, it is an honorable one."
By such remarks as these Dick was encouraged, and he felt that Mr. Murdock was a true friend to him. Meanwhile a way was opening for his advancement.
One day Micky Maguire appeared in his old haunts. The second day he met Gilbert in the street; but the book-keeper took not the slightest notice of him. That touched Micky's pride, and confirmed him in his resolution. He decided to make known to Mr. Rockwell Gilbert's share in the little plot, thinking that this would probably be the best method of injuring him.
He ascertained, by means of a directory, with some difficulty, for Micky's education was rather slight, the residence of Mr. Rockwell, and about eight o'clock in the evening ascended the steps and rang the bell. He might have gone to his place of business, but Gilbert would be there, and he preferred to see Mr. Rockwell at home.
The servant stared at the odd and not particularly prepossessing figure before her.
"Is Mr. Rockwell at home?" asked Micky.
"Yes."
"I want to see him."
"Did he tell you to call?"
"It's on particular business," said Micky.
"Stop here and I'll tell him," said the girl.
"There's a boy at the door wants to see you, Mr. Rockwell," said the girl.
"Did you ask him in?"
"No sir. He looks like a suspicious carakter," said Bridget, laying the stress on the second syllable.
Mr. Rockwell rose, and went to the door.
"What is your business?" he asked.
"It's about Dick,—Ragged Dick we used to call him," said Micky.
"You mean Richard Hunter."
"Yes," said Micky. "He was took up for stealin' a gentleman's pocket-book three months ago."
"But he was proved innocent," said Mr. Rockwell, "so, if you have anything to say against him, your time is thrown away."
"I know he was innocent," said Micky; "another boy took it."
"Who was he?"
"I did it."
"Then you did a wicked thing in stealing the money, and a mean thing in trying to get an innocent boy into trouble."
"I wouldn't have done it," said Micky, "if I hadn't been paid for it."
"Paid for stealing!" said Mr. Rockwell, astonished.
"Paid for tryin' to get Dick into trouble."
"That does not seem to be a very likely story," said Mr. Rockwell. "Who would pay you money for doing such a thing?"
"Mr. Gilbert."
"My book-keeper?"
"Yes," said Micky, vindictively.
"I can hardly believe this," said Mr. Rockwell.
"He paid me only a dollar for what I did," said Micky, in an injured tone. "He'd ought to have given me five dollars. He's a reg'lar mean feller."
"And is this why you betray him now?"
"No," said Micky; "it isn't the money, though it's mean to expect a feller to run the risk of bein' nabbed for a dollar; but when the 'copp' had got hold of me I met him, and he said I was a young scamp, and he didn't know anything about me."
"Is this true?" asked Mr. Rockwell, looking keenly at Micky.
Micky confirmed his statement by an oath.
"I don't want you to swear. I shall not believe you the sooner for that. Can you explain why Mr. Gilbert should engage in such a base conspiracy?"
"He told me that he hated Dick," said Micky.
"Do you like him?"
"No, I don't," said Micky, honestly; "but I hate Mr. Gilbert worse."
"Why do you hate Richard?"
"Because he puts on airs."
"I suppose," said Mr. Rockwell, smiling, "that means that he wears good clothes, and keeps his face and hands clean."
"He wasn't nothin' but a boot-black," said Micky, in an injured tone.
"What are you?"
"I'm a boot-black too; but I don't put on airs."
"Do you mean to be a boot-black all your life?"
"I dunna," said Micky; "there aint anything else to do."
"Tell me truly, wouldn't you rather wear good clothes than poor ones, and keep yourself clean and neat?"
"Yes, I should," said Micky, after a slight hesitation.
"Then why do you blame Dick for preferring to do the same?"
"He licked me once," said Micky, rather reluctantly, shifting his ground.
"What for?"
"I fired a stone at him."
"You can't blame him much for that, can you?"
"No," said Micky, slowly, "I dunno as I can."
"For my own part I have a very good opinion of Richard," said Mr. Rockwell. "He wants to raise himself in the world, and I am glad to help him. If that is putting on airs, I should be glad to see you doing the same."
"There aint no chance for me," said Micky.
"Why not?"
"I aint lucky as Dick is."
"Dick may have been lucky," said Mr. Rockwell, "but I generally find that luck comes oftenest to those who deserve it. If you will try to raise yourself I will help you."
"Will you?" asked Micky, in surprise.
The fact was, he had been an Ishmaelite from his earliest years, and while he had been surrounded by fellows like Limpy Jim, who were ready to encourage and abet him in schemes of mischief, he had never had any friends who deserved the name. That a gentleman like Mr. Rockwell should voluntarily offer to assist him was indeed surprising.
"How old are you?" asked Mr. Rockwell.
"Seventeen," said Micky.
"How long have you blacked boots?"
"Ever since I was eight or nine."
"I think it is time for you to do something else."
"What will I do?"
"We must think of that. I must also think of the information you have given me in regard to Mr. Gilbert. You are certain you are telling the truth."
"Yes," said Micky; "it's the truth."
Micky did not swear this time, and Mr. Rockwell believed him.
"Let me see," he said, reflecting; "can you be at my store to-morrow morning at ten o'clock?"
"I can," said Micky, promptly.
"What is your name?"
"Micky Maguire."
"Good-night, Michael."
"Good-night, sir," said Micky, respectfully.
He walked away with a crowd of new thoughts and new aspirations kindling in his breast. A gentleman had actually offered to help him on in the world. Nobody had ever taken any interest in him before. Life to him had been a struggle and a conflict, with very little hope of better things. He had supposed he should leave off blacking boots some time, but no prospect seemed open before him.
"Why shouldn't I get up in the world?" he thought, with new ambition.
He half confessed to himself that he had led a bad life, and vague thoughts of amendment came to him. Somebody was going to take an interest in him. That was the secret of his better thoughts and purposes.
On the whole, I begin to think there is hope for Micky.
CHAPTER XXIII.
FAME AND FORTUNE
Mr. Gilbert chanced to be looking out of the window of Mr. Rockwell's counting-room, when he was unpleasantly surprised by the sudden apparition of Micky Maguire. He was destined to be still more unpleasantly surprised. Micky walked up to the main entrance, and entered with an assured air. Gilbert hastened to meet him, and prevent his entrance.
"Clear out of here, you young rascal!" he said, in a tone of authority. "You're not wanted here."
"I've come on business," said Micky, with a scowl of dislike, showing no intention of retreating.
"I have no business with you," said Gilbert.
"Perhaps you haven't," said Micky, "but Mr. Rockwell has."
"Mr. Rockwell will have nothing to say to a vagabond like you."
"He told me to come," said Micky, resolutely, "and I shan't go till I've seen him."
Gilbert did not believe this, but suspected that Micky intended to betray him, and to this of course he had a decided objection.
"Go out!" he said, imperiously, "or I'll make you."
"I won't then," said Micky, defiantly.
"We'll see about that."
Gilbert seized him by the shoulders; but Micky was accustomed to fighting, and made a vigorous resistance. In the midst of the fracas Mr. Rockwell came up.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, in a quiet but authoritative tone.
"This young rascal has attempted to force his way in," said the book-keeper, desisting, and with a flushed face.
"I asked to see you," said Micky, "and he said I shouldn't."
"I told him to come," said Mr. Rockwell. "You may come into the counting-room, Michael. Mr. Gilbert, I should like your presence also."
In surprise, not unmingled with foreboding, Mr. Gilbert followed his employer and Micky Maguire into the counting-room.
"Mr. Gilbert," commenced Mr. Rockwell, "are you acquainted with this boy?"
"He blacked my boots on one occasion," said the book-keeper; "I know no more of him except that he is a young vagabond and a thief."
"Who hired me to steal?" retorted Micky.
"I don't think you would need any hiring," said Gilbert, with a sneer.
Micky was about to retort in no choice terms, but Mr. Rockwell signed to him to be silent.
"This boy has made a charge against you, Mr. Gilbert," he said, "which you ought to be made aware of."
"He is capable of any falsehood," said the book-keeper; but he began to be nervous.
"I thought your acquaintance with him was very slight."
"So it is; but it is easy to judge from his looks what he is."
"That is not always a safe guide. But to the charge. He asserts that you hired him to fix the charge of theft upon Richard, on account of your dislike to him."
"So he did, and all he give me was a dollar," said Micky, aggrieved. "That was mean."
"Do you believe this story?" asked Gilbert, turning to Mr. Rockwell.
"I know that you dislike Richard, Mr. Gilbert."
"So I do. He's artful and bad; but you'll find him out some day."
"I don't think you do him justice. Artful is the very last word I should apply to him."
"You may be deceived."
"If I am, I shall never put confidence in any boy again. But you haven't answered the charge, Mr. Gilbert."
"It isn't worth answering," said the book-keeper, scornfully.
"Still, I would be glad to have you give an answer one way or the other," persisted Mr. Rockwell.
"Then it's a lie, of course."
"It's true," said Micky.
"I hope you consider my word as of more value than this vagabond's," said Gilbert, contemptuously.
"Why were you so anxious to prevent his entering, Mr. Gilbert?"
"I didn't see what business he could possibly have here."
"Michael, will you give an account of all that has taken place between Mr. Gilbert and yourself? I do not yet feel satisfied."
"Mr. Rockwell," said Gilbert, in a passion, "I do not choose to submit to the insulting investigation you propose. My month is out next Thursday; I beg leave to resign my situation."
"Your resignation is accepted," said Mr. Rockwell, quietly.
"If it is convenient to you, I should like to leave at once," said the book-keeper, livid with passion.
"As you please," said his employer. "Your salary shall be paid up to the end of the month."
To this Gilbert offered no opposition. The balance of his salary was paid him, and he left the warehouse in a very unpleasant frame of mind, much to the gratification of Micky Maguire, who felt that his vengeance was complete.
"Now, Michael," said Mr. Rockwell, "I must see what I can do for you. Do you wish to give up your present business?"
"Yes," said Micky, "I don't like it."
"I can give you a situation as errand-boy in my own employ," said Mr. Rockwell. "My head clerk will explain your duties."
"What wages will I get?" asked Micky, anxiously.
"For the present you shall have a dollar a day, or six dollars a week. I will besides give you a new suit of clothes. Will that suit you?"
"Yes," said Micky, feeling as if he had unexpectedly become heir to a fortune. "When will I begin?"
"To-morrow if you like. Come here this afternoon at three, and I will send Richard with you to a clothing-house."
Just then Dick, who had been to the post-office, entered, and Mr. Rockwell in a few words informed him of the changes that had taken place.
"I believe you and Michael haven't been very good friends," he added; "but I trust you will get over that."
Dick promptly offered his hand to his old enemy.
"I am glad you are coming here, Micky," he said "I'll do all I can to help you on, and if we are not good friends it won't be my fault."
"Do you mean that, Dick?" said Micky, almost incredulous.
"Yes, I do."
"I've acted mean by you more'n once."
"If you have, it's all over now," said Dick. "There's no use in remembering it."
"You're a good fellow, Dick," said Micky, "an' I ought to have known it before."
Dick was gratified by this testimony from one who for years had been his active opponent, and he determined to help Micky to turn over the new leaf which was to bear a very different record from the old one.
When Micky had gone out, Mr. Rockwell said, "Well, Richard, I have lost my book-keeper."
"Yes, sir," said Dick.
"And I can't say I am sorry. I will do Mr. Gilbert the justice to say that he understood his business; but he was personally disagreeable, and I never liked him. Now I suppose I must look out for a successor."
"Yes, sir, I suppose so."
"I know a very competent book-keeper, who is intending to go into business for himself at the expiration of six months. Until that time I can secure his services. Now, I have a plan in view which I think you will approve. You shall at once commence the study of book-keeping in a commercial school in the evening, and during the day I will direct Mr. Haley to employ you as his assistant. I think in that way you will be able to succeed him at the end of his term."
Dick was completely taken by surprise. The thought that he, so recently plying the trade of a boot-black in the public streets, could rise in six months to the responsible post of a book-keeper in a large wholesale house, seemed almost incredible.
"I should like nothing better," he said, his eyes sparkling with delight, "if you really think I could discharge the duties satisfactorily."
"I think you could. I believe you have the ability, and of your fidelity I feel assured."
"Thank you, sir; you are very kind to me," said Dick, gratefully.
"I have reason to be," said Mr. Rockwell, taking his hand. "Under God it is to your courage that I owe the life of my dear boy. I shall never forget it. One thing more. I intend Michael to undertake most of your present duties, such as going to the post-office, etc. Do you think he will answer?"
"I think so," said Dick. "He has been a rough customer, but then he has never had a chance. I believe in giving everybody a chance."
"So do I," said Mr. Rockwell. "Michael shall have his chance. Let us hope he will improve it."
There are many boys, and men too, who, like Micky Maguire, have never had a fair chance in life. Let us remember that, when we judge them, and not be too hasty to condemn. Let us consider also whether it is not in our power to give some one the chance that may redeem him.
That afternoon Micky Maguire was provided with a new suit of clothes, of which he felt very proud. The next morning, on his way to the post-office, he fell in with his old confederate, Limpy Jim, who regarded him with a glance of the most bewildering surprise.
"It aint you, Micky,—is it?" he asked, cautiously, surveying his old comrade's neat appearance. "When did you come back from the Island?"
"Shut up about the Island, Jim," said Micky. "Do I look as if I had been there?"
"You look nobby," said Jim. "Where's your brush?"
"I've give up the blackin' business," said Micky.
"You have? What are you going to do? Sell papers?"
"No," said Micky, consequentially. "I'm in business on Pearl Street."
"Why," said Limpy Jim, surprised, "that's where that upstart Ragged Dick works."
"He aint an upstart, an' he aint ragged," said Micky. "He's a friend of mine, an' if you insult him, I'll lam' ye."
"O my eyes!" ejaculated Jim, opening the organs of vision to a very wide extent; "that's the biggest joke I ever heerd of."
"You'll hear of a bigger one pretty quick," said Micky, rolling up his sleeves, and squaring off scientifically.
Limpy Jim, who had a respect for Micky's prowess, incontinently fled, surveying Micky from a safe distance, with a look in which surprise seemed to mingle with incredulity.
It may seem strange, but, from that time forth, Dick had no firmer friend than Micky Maguire, who, I am glad to say, though occasionally wayward, improved vastly, and became a useful employé of the establishment which he had entered. Of course both in ability and education, though in the last he gained considerably, he was quite inferior to Dick; but he was advanced as he grew older to the position of porter, where his strength stood him in good stead. His pay increased also, and through Dick's influence he was saved from vicious habits, and converted from a vagabond to a useful member of society.
And now, almost with regret, I find myself closing up the record of Dick's chequered career. The past with its trials is over; the future expands before him, a bright vista of merited success. But it remains for me to justify the title of my story, and show how Dick acquired "Fame and Fortune." I can only hint briefly at the steps that led to them.
In six months, at the age of seventeen, Dick succeeded to Mr. Gilbert's place with a salary, to commence with, of one thousand dollars. To this an annual increase was made, making his income at twenty-one, fourteen hundred dollars. Just about that time he had an opportunity to sell his up-town lots, to a gentleman who had taken a great fancy to them, for five times the amount he paid, or five thousand dollars. His savings from his salary amounted to about two thousand dollars more.
Meanwhile Mr. Rockwell's partner, Mr. Cooper, from ill health felt obliged to withdraw from business, and Richard, to his unbounded astonishment and gratification, was admitted to the post of junior partner, embarking the capital he had already accumulated, and receiving a corresponding share of the profits. These were so large that Richard was able to increase his interest yearly by investing his additional savings, and three years later he felt justified in offering his hand to Ida Greyson, whose partiality to Dick had never wavered. He was no longer Ragged Dick now, but Mr. Richard Hunter, junior partner in the large firm of Rockwell & Hunter. Mr. Greyson felt that even in a worldly way Dick was a good match for his daughter; but he knew and valued still more his good heart and conscientious fidelity to duty, and excellent principles, and cheerfully gave his consent. Last week I read Dick's marriage in the papers, and rejoiced in his new hopes of happiness.
So Dick has achieved Fame and Fortune,—the fame of an honorable and enterprising man of business, and a fortune which promises to be very large. But I am glad to say that Dick has not been spoiled by prosperity. He never forgets his humble beginnings, and tries to show his sense of God's goodness by extending a helping hand to the poor and needy boys, whose trials and privations he understands well from his own past experience. I propose in my next story to give an account of one of these boys, and shall take the opportunity to give further information in regard to some of the characters introduced in this volume. This story, the third in the Ragged Dick series; will be entitled
Mark, the Match Boy;
or,
Richard Hunter's Ward.