Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

CHAPTER IV
TEDDY GIVES UP BUSINESS

“Have you sold all your packages, Paul?” asked Jimmy, as our hero entered the humble room, where the table was already spread with a simple dinner.

“No,” said Paul, “I only sold twenty. I begin to think that the prize-package business will soon be played out.”

“Why?”

“There’s too many that’ll go into it.”

Here Paul related his experience of the morning, explaining how it was that Teddy had managed to distance him in the competition.

“Can’t you do the same, Paul?” asked Jimmy. “Mother’s got a gold dollar she could lend you.”

“That might do,” said Paul; “but I don’t know any boy I could trust to draw it except you, and some of them would know we were brothers.”

“I think, Paul, that would be dishonest,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I would rather make less, if I were you, and do it honestly.”

“Maybe you’re right, mother. I’ll try it again this afternoon, keeping as far away from Teddy as I can. If I find I can’t make it go, I’ll try some other business.”

“Jimmy, have you shown Paul your drawing?” said his mother.

“Here it is, Paul,” said Jimmy, producing his drawing-book, from which he had copied a simple design of a rustic cottage.

“Why, that’s capital, Jimmy,” said Paul, in real surprise. “I had no idea you would succeed so well.”

“Do you really think so, Paul?” asked the little boy, much pleased.

“I really do. How long did it take you?”

“Only a short time—not more than half an hour, I should think,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I think Jimmy succeeded very well.”

“You’ll make a great artist some time, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I wish I could,” said the little boy. “I should like to earn some money, so that you and mother need not work so hard.”

“Hard work agrees with me. I’m tough,” said Paul. “But when we get to be men, Jimmy, we’ll make so much money that mother needn’t work at all. She shall sit in the parlor all day, dressed in silk, with nothing to do.”

“I don’t think I would enjoy that,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“Will you be in the candy business, then, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, Jimmy. It would never do for the brother of a great artist to be selling candy round the streets. I hope I shall have something better to do than that.”

“Sit down to dinner, Paul,” said his mother. “It’s all ready.”

The dinner was not a luxurious one. There was a small plate of cold meat, some potatoes, and bread and butter; but Mrs. Hoffman felt glad to be able to provide even that, and Paul, who had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, did full justice to the fare. They had scarcely finished, when a knock was heard at the door. Paul, answering the summons, admitted a stout, pleasant-looking Irishwoman.

“The top of the mornin’ to ye, Mrs. Donovan,” said Paul, bowing ceremoniously.

“Ah, ye’ll be afther havin’ your joke, Paul,” said Mrs. Donovan, good-naturedly. “And how is your health, mum, the day?”

“I am well, thank you, Mrs. Donovan,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Sit down to the table, won’t you? We’re just through dinner, but there’s something left.”

“Thank you, mum, I’ve jist taken dinner. I was goin’ to wash this afternoon, and I thought maybe you’d have some little pieces I could wash jist as well as not.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan, you are very kind; but you must have enough work of your own to do.”

“I’m stout and strong, mum, and hard work agrees with me; but you’re a rale lady, and ain’t used to it. It’s only a thrifle, but if you want to pay me, you could do a bit of sewin’ for me. I ain’t very good with the needle. My fingers is too coarse, belike.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan; on those terms I will agree to your kind offer. Washing is a little hard for me.”

Mrs. Hoffman collected a few pieces, and, wrapping them up in a handkerchief, handed them to her guest.

“And now what have you been doin’, Jimmy darlint?” said Mrs. Donovan, turning her broad, good-humored face toward the younger boy.

“I’ve been drawing a picture,” said Jimmy. “Would you like to see it?”

“Now, isn’t that illigant?” exclaimed Mrs. Donovan, admiringly, taking the picture and gazing at it with rapt admiration. “Who showed you how to do it?”

“Paul bought me a book, and I copied it out of that.”

“You’re a rale genius. Maybe you’ll make pictures some time like them we have in the church, of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints. Do you think you could draw me, now?” she asked, with curiosity.

“I haven’t got a piece of paper big enough,” said Jimmy, slyly.

“Ah, it’s pokin’ fun at me, ye are,” said Mrs. Donovan, good-humoredly. “Just like my Pat; he run into the room yesterday sayin’, ‘Mother, there’s great news. Barnum’s fat woman is dead, and he’s comin’ afther you this afternoon. He’ll pay you ten dollars a week and board.’ ‘Whist, ye spalpeen!’ said I; ‘is it makin’ fun of your poor mother, ye are?’ but I couldn’t help laughing at the impertinence of the boy. But I must be goin’.”

“Thank you for your kind offer, Mrs. Donovan. Jimmy shall go to your room for the sewing.”

“There’s no hurry about that,” said Mrs. Donovan. “I’ll jist bring it in meself when it’s ready.”

“She is very kind,” said Mrs. Hoffman, when Bridget Donovan had gone. “I shall be glad to have her wash. I am apt to feel weak after it. What are you going to do this afternoon, Paul?”

“I’ll try to sell out the rest of my stock of packages. Perhaps I shan’t succeed, but I’ll do my best. Shall you have another picture to show me when I come back tonight, Jimmy?”

“Yes, Paul; I love to draw. I’m going to try this castle.”

“It’s rather hard, isn’t it?”

“I can do it,” said Jimmy, confidently.

Paul left the room with his basket on his arm.

He was drawn by curiosity to the spot where he had met with his first success, as well as his first failure—the front of the post office. Here he became witness to an unexpectedly lively scene; in other words, a fight, in which Teddy O’Brien and his confederate, Mike, were the contestants. To explain the cause of the quarrel, it must be stated that it related to a division of the spoils.

Teddy had sold out his last package, seventy-five in number. For these he had received five cents apiece, making in all three dollars and seventy-five cents, of which all but a dollar and seventy-five cents, representing the value of the prizes and the original cost of the packages and their contents, was profit. Now, according to the arrangement entered into between him and Mike, the latter, for his services, was to receive one cent on every package sold. This, however, seemed to Teddy too much to pay, so, when the time of reckoning came, he stoutly asseverated that there were but sixty packages.

“That don’t go down,” said Mike, indignantly; “it’s nearer a hundred.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s only sixty. You’ve got the fifty cents, and I’ll give you ten more.”

“You must give me the whole sixty, then,” said Mike, changing his ground. “I drawed the fifty as a prize.”

Teddy was struck with astonishment at the impudence of this assumption.

“It wasn’t no prize,” he said.

“Yes, it was,” said Mike. “You said so yourself. Didn’t he, Jim?”

Jim, who was also a confederate, but had agreed to accept twenty-five cents in full for services rendered, promptly answered:

“Shure, Mike’s right. It was a prize he drew.”

“You want to chate me!” said Teddy, angrily.

“What have you been doin’ all the mornin’?” demanded Mike. “You’re the chap to talk about chatin’, ain’t you?”

“I’ll give you twenty-five cents,” said Teddy, “and that’s all I will give you.”

“Then you’ve got to fight,” said Mike, squaring off.

“Yes, you’ve got to fight!” chimed in Jim, who thought he saw a chance for more money.

Teddy looked at his two enemies, each of whom was probably more than a match for himself, and was not long in deciding that his best course was to avoid a fight by running. Accordingly, he tucked all the money into his pocket, and, turning incontinently, fled down Liberty street, closely pursued by his late confederates. Paul came up just in time to hear the termination of the dispute and watch the flight of his late business rival.

“I guess Teddy won’t go into the business again,” he reflected. “I may as well take my old stand.”

Accordingly he once more installed himself on the post office steps, and began to cry, “Prize packages. Only five cents!”

Having no competitor now to interfere with his trade, he met with fair success, and by four o’clock was able to start for home with his empty basket, having disposed of all his stock in trade.

His profits, though not so great as the day before, amounted to a dollar.

“If I could only make a dollar every day,” thought Paul, “I would be satisfied.”

CHAPTER V
PAUL LOSES HIS BASKET

Paul continued in the prize-package business for three weeks. His success varied, but he never made less than seventy-five cents a day, and sometimes as much as a dollar and a quarter. He was not without competitors. More than once, on reaching his accustomed stand, he found a rival occupying it before him. In such cases he quietly passed on, and set up his business elsewhere, preferring to monopolize the trade, though the location might not be so good.

Teddy O’Brien did not again enter the field. We left him, at the end of the last chapter, trying to escape from Mike and Jim, who demanded a larger sum than he was willing to pay for their services. He succeeded in escaping with his money, but the next day the two confederates caught him, and Teddy received a black eye as a receipt in full of all demands. So, on the whole, he decided that some other business would suit him better, and resumed the blacking-box, which he had abandoned on embarking in commercial pursuits.

Mike Donovan and Jim Parker were two notoriously bad boys, preferring to make a living in any other way than by honest industry. As some of these ways were not regarded as honest in the sight of the law, each had more than once been sentenced to a term at Blackwell’s Island. They made a proposition to Paul to act as decoy ducks for him in the same way as for Teddy. He liked neither of the boys, and did not care to be associated with them. This refusal Mike and Jim resented, and determined to “pay off” Paul if they ever got a chance. Our hero from time to time saw them hovering about him, but took very little notice of them.

He knew that he was a match for either, though Mike exceeded him in size, and he felt quite capable of taking care of himself.

One day Mike and Jim, whose kindred tastes led them to keep company, met at the corner of Liberty and William streets. Mike looked unusually dilapidated. He had had a scuffle the day before with another boy, and his clothes, always well ventilated, got torn in several extra places. As it was very uncertain when he would be in a financial condition to provide himself with another suit, the prospect was rather alarming. Jim Parker looked a shade more respectable in attire, but his face and hands were streaked with blacking. To this, however, Jim had become so accustomed that he would probably have felt uncomfortable with a clean face.

“How are you off for stamps, Jim?” asked Mike.

“Dead broke,” was the reply.

“So am I. I ain’t had no breakfast.”

“Nor I ‘cept an apple. Couldn’t I eat, though?”

“Suppose we borrow a quarter of Paul Hoffman.”

“He wouldn’t lend a feller.”

“Not if he knowed it,” said Mike, significantly.

“What do you mean, Mike?” asked Jim, with some curiosity.

“We’ll borrow without leave.”

“How’ll we do it?”

“I’ll tell you,” said Mike.

He proceeded to unfold his plan, which was briefly this. The two were to saunter up to where Paul was standing; and remain until the group, if there were any around him should be dispersed. Then one was to pull his hat over his eyes, while the other would snatch the basket containing his prize packages, and run down Liberty street, never stopping until he landed in a certain alley known to both boys. The other would run in a different direction, and both would meet as soon as practicable for the division of the spoils. It was yet so early that Paul could not have sold many from his stock. As each contained a prize, varying from one penny to ten, they would probably realize enough to buy a good breakfast, besides the candy contained in the packages. More money might be obtained by selling packages, but there was risk in this. Besides, it would take time, and they decided that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.

“That’s a good idea,” said Jim, approvingly. “Who’ll knock his hat over his head?”

“You can,” said Mike, “and I’ll grab the basket.” But to this Jim demurred, for two reasons: first, he was rather afraid of Paul, whose strength of arm he had tested on a previous occasion; and, again, he was afraid that if Mike got off with the basket he would appropriate the lion’s share.

“I’ll grab the basket,” he said.

“What for?” said Mike, suspiciously, for he, too, felt some distrust of his confederate.

“You’re stronger’n I am, Mike,” said Jim. “Maybe he’d turn on me, and I can’t fight him as well as you.”

“That’s so,” said Mike, who had rather a high idea of his own prowess, and felt pleased with the compliment. “I’m a match for him.”

“Of course you be,” said Jim, artfully, “and he knows it.”

“Of course he does,” said Mike, boastfully. “I can lick him with one hand.”

Jim had serious doubts of this, but he had his reasons for concurring in Mike’s estimate of his own powers.

“We’d better start now,” said Jim. “I’m awful hungry.”

“Come along, then.”

They walked up Liberty street, as far as Nassau. On reaching the corner they saw their unconscious victim at his usual place. It was rather a public place for an assault, and both boys would have hesitated had they not been incited by a double motive—the desire of gain and a feeling of hostility.

They sauntered along, and Mike pressed in close by Paul.

“What do you want?” asked Paul, not liking the vicinity.

“What’s that to you?” demanded Mike.

“Quit crowdin’ me.”

“I ain’t crowdin’. I’ve got as much right to be here as you.”

“Here’s your prize packages!” exclaimed Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“Maybe I’ll buy one if you’ll give me credit till to-morrow,” said Mike.

“Your credit isn’t good with me,” said Paul. “You must pay cash down.”

“Then you won’t trust me?” said Mike, pressing a little closer.

“No, I won’t,” said Paul, decidedly.

“Then, take that, you spalpeen!” said Mike, suddenly pulling Paul’s hat over his eyes.

At the same time Jim, to whom he had tipped a wink, snatched the basket, which Paul held loosely in his hand, and disappeared round the corner.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Paul was at first bewildered. But he quickly recovered his presence of mind, and saw into the trick. He raised his hat, and darted in pursuit of Mike, not knowing in what direction his basket had gone.

“That’s a mean trick!” he exclaimed, indignantly. “Give me back my basket, you thief!”

“I ain’t got no basket,” said Mike, facing round.

“Then you know where it is.”

“I don’t know nothin’ of your basket.”

“You pulled my hat over my eyes on purpose to steal my basket.”

“No, I didn’t. You insulted me, that’s why I did it.”

“Tell me where my basket is, or I’ll lick you,” said Paul, incensed.

“I ain’t nothin’ to do with your basket.”

“Take that, then, for pulling my hat over my eyes,” and Paul, suiting the action to the word, dealt Mike a staggering blow in the face.

“I’ll murder you!” shouted Mike, furiously, dashing at Paul with a blow which might have leveled him, if he had not fended it off.

Paul was not quarrelsome, but he knew how to fight, and he was prepared now to fight in earnest, indignant as he was at the robbery which entailed upon him a loss he could ill sustain.

“I’ll give you all you want,” he said, resolutely, eyeing Mike warily, and watching a chance to give him another blow.

The contest was brief, being terminated by the sudden and unwelcome arrival of a policeman.

“What’s this?” he asked authoritatively, surveying the combatants; Paul, with his flushed face, and Mike, whose nose was bleeding freely from a successful blow of his adversary.

“He pitched into me for nothin’,” said Mike, glaring at Paul, and rubbing his bloody nose on the sleeve of his ragged coat.

“That isn’t true,” said Paul, excitedly. “He came up while I was selling prize packages of candy in front of the post office, and pulled my hat over my eyes, while another boy grabbed my basket.”

“You lie!” said Mike. “I don’t know nothin’ of your basket.”

“Why did you pull his hat over his eyes?” asked the policeman.

“Because he insulted me.”

“How did he insult you?”

“He wouldn’t trust me till to-morrow.”

“I don’t blame him much for that,” said the policeman, who was aware of Mike’s shady reputation, having on a former occasion been under the necessity of arresting him. Even without such acquaintance, Mike’s general appearance would hardly have recommended him to Officer Jones.

“I’ll let you go this time,” he said, “but if I catch you fighting again on my beat I’ll march you off to the station-house.”

Mike was glad to escape, though he would almost have been willing to be arrested if Paul could have been arrested also.

The officer walked away, and Mike started down the street.

Paul followed him.

That didn’t suit Mike’s ideas, as he was anxious to meet Jim and divide the spoils with him.

“What are you follerin’ me for?” he demanded, angrily.

“I have my reasons,” said Paul.

“Then you’d better stay where you are. Your company ain’t wanted.”

“I know that,” said Paul, “but I’m going to follow you till I find my basket.”

“What do I know of your basket?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

Mike saw, by Paul’s resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous of shaking him of, he started on a run.

CHAPTER VI
PAUL AS AN ARTIST

Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would have had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had been empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot passengers that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. He kept up pretty well, however, until, in turning a street corner, he ran at full speed into a very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was quite knocked out of him by the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but could not at first obtain breath enough to speak.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Paul, who, in spite of his desire to overtake Mike, felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an apology.

“What do you mean, sir,” exploded the fat man, at last, “by tearing through the streets like a locomotive? You’ve nearly killed me.”

“I am very sorry, sir.”

“You ought to be. Don’t you know better than to run at such speed? You ought to be indicted as a public nuisance.

“I was trying to catch a thief,” said Paul.

“Trying to catch a thief? How’s that?” asked the stout gentleman, his indignation giving way to curiosity.

“I was selling packages in front of the post office when he and another boy came up and stole my basket.”

“Indeed! What were you selling?”

“Prize packages, sir.”

“What was in them?”

“Candy.”

“Could you make much that way?”

“About a dollar a day.”

“I’d rather have given you a dollar than had you run against me with such violence. I feel it yet.”

“Indeed, sir, I’m very sorry.”

“Well, I’ll forgive you, under the circumstances. What’s your name?”

“Paul Hoffman.”

“Well, I hope you’ll get back your basket. Some time, if you see me in the street, come up and let me know. Would you know me again?”

“I think I should, sir.”

“Well, good-morning. I hope you’ll catch the thief.”

“I thank you, sir.”

They parted company, but Paul did not continue the pursuit. The conversation in which he had taken part had lasted so long that Mike had had plenty of time to find a refuge, and there would be no use in following him.

So Paul went home.

“You are home early, Paul,” said his mother. “Surely you haven’t sold out by this time.”

“No, but all my packages are gone.”

“How is that?”

“They were stolen.”

“Tell me about it.”

So Paul told the story.

“That Mike was awful mean,” said Jimmy, indignantly. “I’d like to hit him.”

“I don’t think you would hurt him much, Jimmy,” said Paul, amused at his little brother’s vehemence.

“Then I wish I was a big, strong boy,” said Jimmy.

“I hope you will be, some time.”

“How much was your loss, Paul?” asked his mother.

“There were nearly forty packages. They cost me about a dollar, but if I had sold them all they would have brought me in twice as much. I had only sold ten packages.”

“Shall you make some more?”

“No, I think not,” said Paul. “I’ve got tired of the business. It’s getting poorer every day. I’ll go out after dinner, and see if I can’t find something else to do.”

“You ain’t going out now, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, I’ll stop and see you draw a little while.”

“That’s bully. I’m going to try these oxen.”

“That’s a hard picture. I don’t think you can draw it, Jimmy.”

“Yes, I can,” said the little boy, confidently. “Just see if I don’t.”

“Jimmy has improved a good deal,” said his mother.

“You’ll be a great artist one of these days, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I’m going to try, Paul,” said the little boy. “I like it so much.”

Little Jimmy had indeed made surprising progress in drawing. With no instruction whatever, he had succeeded in a very close and accurate imitation of the sketches in the drawing books Paul had purchased for him. It was a great delight to the little boy to draw, and hour after hour, as his mother sat at her work, he sat up to the table, and worked at his drawing, scarcely speaking a word unless spoken to, so absorbed was he in his fascinating employment.

Paul watched him attentively.

“You’ll make a bully artist, Jimmy,” he said, at length, really surprised at his little brother’s proficiency. “If you keep on a little longer, you’ll beat me.”

“I wish you’d draw something, Paul,” said Jimmy. “I never saw any of your drawings.”

“I am afraid, if you saw mine, it would discourage you,” said Paul. “You know, I’m older and ought to draw better.”

His face was serious, but there was a merry twinkle of fun in his eyes.

“Of course, I know you draw better,” said Jimmy, seriously.

“What shall I draw?” asked Paul.

“Try this horse, Paul.”

“All right!” said Paul. “But you must go away; I don’t want you to see it till it is done.”

Jimmy left the table, and Paul commenced his attempt. Now, though Paul is the hero of my story, I am bound to confess that he had not the slightest talent for drawing, though Jimmy did not know it. It was only to afford his little brother amusement that he now undertook the task.

Paul worked away for about five minutes.

“It’s done,” he said.

“So quick?” exclaimed Jimmy, in surprise. “How fast you work!”

He drew near and inspected Paul’s drawing. He had no sooner inspected it than he burst into a fit of laughter. Paul’s drawing was a very rough one, and such a horse as he had drawn will never probably be seen until the race has greatly degenerated.

“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” asked Paul. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s awful, Paul,” said the little boy, almost choking with mirth.

“I see how it is,” said Paul, with feigned resentment. “You’re jealous of me because you can’t draw as well.”

“Oh, Paul, you’ll kill me!” and Jimmy again burst into a fit of merriment. “Can’t you really draw any better?”

“No, Jimmy,” said Paul, joining in the laugh. “I can’t draw any better than an old cow. You’ve got all the talent in the family in that line.”

“But you’re smart in other ways, Paul,” said Jimmy, who had a great admiration of Paul, notwithstanding the discovery of his artistic inferiority.

“I’m glad there’s one that thinks so, Jimmy,” said Paul. “I’ll refer to you when I want a recommendation.”

Jimmy resumed his drawing, and was proud of the praises which Paul freely bestowed upon him.

“I’ll get you a harder drawing book when you’ve got through with these,” said Paul; “that is, if I don’t get reduced to poverty by having my stock in trade stolen again.”

After a while came dinner. This meal in Mrs. Hoffman’s household usually came at twelve o’clock. It was a plain, frugal meal always, but on Sunday they usually managed to have something a little better, as they had been accustomed to do when Mr. Hoffman was alive.

Paul was soon through.

He took his hat from the bureau, and prepared to go out.

“I’m going out to try my luck, mother,” he said. “I’ll see if I can’t get into something I like a little better than the prize-package business.”

“I hope you’ll succeed, Paul.”

“Better than I did in drawing horses, eh, Jimmy?”

“Yes, I hope so, Paul,” said the little boy.

“Don’t you show that horse to visitors and pretend it’s yours, Jimmy.”

“No danger, Paul.”

Paul went downstairs and into the street. He had no definite plan in his head, but was ready for anything that might turn up. He did not feel anxious, for he knew there were plenty of ways in which he could earn something. He had never tried blacking boots, but still he could do it in case of emergency. He had sold papers, and succeeded fairly in that line, and knew he could again. He had pitted himself against other boys, and the result had been to give him a certain confidence in his own powers and business abilities. When he had first gone into the street to try his chances there, it had been with a degree of diffidence. But knocking about the streets soon gives a boy confidence, sometimes too much of it; and Paul had learned to rely upon himself; but the influence of a good, though humble home, and a judicious mother, had kept him aloof from the bad habits into which many street boys are led.

So Paul, though his stock in trade had been stolen, and he was obliged to seek a new kind of business, was by no means disheartened. He walked a little way downtown, and then, crossing the City Hall Park, found himself on Broadway.

A little below the Astor House he came to the stand of a sidewalk-merchant, who dealt in neckties. Upon an upright framework hung a great variety of ties of different colors, most of which were sold at the uniform price of twenty-five cents each.

Paul was acquainted with the proprietor of the stand, and, having nothing else to do, determined to stop and speak to him.