CHAPTER XXII.
THE YOUNG DOCTOR
The fact that he had obtained a place gave Sam a new sense of importance. Having drifted about the city streets for six months, never knowing in the morning where his meals were to come from during the day, or whether he was to have any, it was pleasant to think that he was to have regular wages. He presented himself in good season the next morning.
He was waiting outside when the doctor arrived.
"So you are on hand," said Dr. Graham.
"Yes, sir."
"By the way, what is your name?"
"Sam Barker."
"Very well, Sam, come upstairs with me."
Sam followed the doctor to his office.
The doctor surveyed his young assistant with critical eyes.
"Where do you buy your clothes?" he asked.
"I haven't bought any," said Sam. "I brought these from the country."
"They seem to be considerably the worse for wear. In fact, your appearance doesn't do credit to my establishment."
"I do look rather ragged," said Sam; "but I haven't got enough money to buy any new clothes."
"I have a son two years older than you. He may have some old clothes that would suit you. I'll have a bundle made up, and brought down to the office to-morrow."
"Thank you, sir," said Sam.
The doctor kept his promise, and the next day our hero was enabled to throw aside his rags, and attire himself in a neat gray suit, which considerably improved his outward appearance.
"Now," said the doctor, "I would suggest that a little more attention to washing would be of advantage to you."
"All right, sir; I'll remember."
Sam scrubbed himself to a considerable degree of cleanness, and combed his hair. The ultimate result was a very creditable-looking office boy.
"Now," said the doctor, "I expect you to be faithful to my interests."
Sam readily promised this. Already he formed glowing anticipations of learning the business, and succeeding the doctor; or, at any rate, being admitted to partnership at some future day.
Several weeks passed by. Considering his previous course of life, Sam acquitted himself very well. He opened the office in the morning, swept it out, and got it in order before the doctor arrived. During the day he ran on errands, distributed circulars, in fact made himself generally useful. The doctor was rather irregular in coming in the morning, so that Sam was sometimes obliged to wait for him two or three hours. One morning, when sitting at his ease reading the morning paper, he was aroused by a knock at the door.
He rose and opened it.
"Is the doctor in?" asked a young man of Irish extraction.
"Hasn't come yet," said Sam. "Would you like to see him?"
"I would thin. He's the man that cures corns, isn't he?"
"Yes," said Sam. "He's the best corn-doctor in the city."
"Thin I've come to the right place, sure."
"Have you got one?"
"I've got a murtherin' big one. It almost kills me."
"Step in and wait for the doctor. He'll be in soon."
"I'm in a great hurry," said the young man. "It's porter I am in a store down town, and I can't stay long. How much does the doctor charge?"
"A dollar for each corn."
"O murder! does he now?"
"Isn't it worth that?"
"It's a mighty big price to pay."
"You see," said Sam, "he's a famous doctor; that's why he charges so much."
"I don't care for that at all. I'm a poor man, and it's hard on me payin' that much."
Here an idea struck Sam. He had often witnessed the doctor's operations, and to his inexperienced mind they seemed easy enough to perform. Why couldn't he operate a little on his own account before the doctor came? By so doing he would make a little money, and if successful he would have a future source of revenue, as patients often came when he was alone.
"I'm the doctor's assistant," he commenced.
"Are you now? So you're the young doctor?"
"Yes," said Sam.
"Then it's a mighty young doctor ye are."
"I know it," said Sam. "I've learnt the trade of Dr. Graham."
"Do you work at it much?" asked the patient.
"Yes," said Sam, "when the doctor's away. I aint as good as he is," he admitted candidly, "and that is why I work cheaper."
"You work cheaper, do yer?"
"Yes," said Sam. "I only charge half price."
"That's fifty cents."
"Yes."
"And do you think you could cure me?"
"Of course I could," said Sam, confidently.
"Then go ahead," said the Irishman, in a fit of reckless confidence which he was destined to repent.
"Sit down there," said Sam, pointing out the patient's chair.
The patient obeyed.
"Now take off your boots. You don't think I can cut through the boot, do you?"
He was obeyed.
Sam began to fumble among the sharp instruments.
"What are you goin to do?" asked the patient, rather alarmed.
"Oh, don't be afraid," said Sam. "You won't feel it."
"Won't feel the knife?"
"No, I'm goin to put on some liquid that'll take away the feeling."
"Shure you ought to know," said the patient, his confidence returning.
"Of course I do," said Sam.
"Now sit still."
[Illustration of Sam and his Patient.]
Thus far Sam was perfectly self-possessed. He went about his preparations with an air that imposed upon the patient. But the difficulty was to come.
Things which look easy often are found difficult when attempted. When Sam began to wield the doctor's instruments he did so awkwardly. He lacked that delicacy of touch which can only be acquired by practice, and the result was tragical. The knife slipped, inflicting a deep gash, and causing a quick flow of blood.
"Oh, murder, I'm kilt!" exclaimed the terrified patient, bounding to his feet, and rushing frantically round the room. "I'm bladin' to death."
Sam was almost equally frightened. He stood, with the knife in his hand, panic-stricken.
"I'll have you up for murder, I will!" shouted Mr. Dennis O'Brien, clutching the wounded member. "Oh, why did I ever come to a boy doctor? Oh, whirra, whirra!"
"I didn't mean to do it," said Sam, frightened.
"You'll be hanged for killin' me, bad 'cess to you. Go for a doctor, quick."
Almost out of his wits Sam was about to obey, when as he opened the door he confronted his employer. Under ordinary circumstances he would have been sorry to have him come in so soon. Now he was glad.
"What's the meaning of all this?" asked Dr. Graham, surveying with astonishment the Irishman prancing around the office, and Sam's scared face.
"He's kilt me, doctor," said Dennis, groaning.
"He? Who?"
"The young doctor, shure."
"Who's he?"
"That's the one," said Mr. O'Brien, pointing to Sam. "He's cut my toe off, and I'm bladin' to death."
"What does this mean, Sam?" said the doctor, sternly.
"He was in a hurry," stammered Sam, "and I didn't want him to go away, so I thought I'd try to cure him, but the knife slipped, and – "
"I'll attend to your case afterwards. Sit down, sir."
"Will I die?" asked Dennis, lugubriously.
"No danger, now. You might, if I hadn't come just as I did."
Matters were soon remedied, and Dennis went away relieved, well satisfied because the doctor declined, under the circumstances, to receive any fee.
"Now, Sam," said the doctor, after he had gone, "what do you mean by such work as this?"
"I thought I could do it," said Sam, abashed.
"I ought to turn you away for this."
"It was only a mistake," said Sam.
"It came near being a very serious mistake. What would you have done if I had not come just as I did?"
"I don't know," said Sam.
"Never touch my instruments again. If you do I shall discharge you at once; that is, after giving you a sound flogging."
Sam felt that he had got off easily, and determined not to set up again as doctor on his own account.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SAM FALLS INTO BAD COMPANY
For a time matters went on smoothly. Sam was abashed by the result of his experiment, and discouraged from making another. He felt that he had a good place. Living chiefly at the lodging-house his expenses were small, and four dollars a week were ample to meet them. There was one thing he missed, however, – the freedom to roam about the streets at will. He felt this the more when the pleasant spring weather came on. There were times when he got sick of the confinement, and longed to leave the office.
It was a bright morning in May when Dr. Graham called from the inner office: – "Sam."
"What, sir?"
"Do you know the way to Brooklyn?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to go over there for me."
"All right, sir."
It may be explained that Dr. Graham, on the first of May, had moved over to Brooklyn, and was occupying a house about a mile from Fulton Ferry.
"I want you to go to my house," said the doctor, "No. – H – street, and carry this letter to my wife."
"Yes, sir."
"I forgot entirely to leave her some money to meet a bill; but if you go at once it will reach her in time. Stay, I will give you the address on a card."
"All right, sir."
"Here is a quarter. It will pay your car-fare, and over the ferry both ways. Now, mind you come back as quick as you can."
This Sam readily promised. He was glad to get away for the morning, as he calculated that the expedition would take him nearly, or quite, three hours. He took a car and got out at the Astor House. On his way down to the ferry he met an old street acquaintance, – Jim Nolan.
"How are you, Sam?" said Jim.
"Tip-top!" answered Sam.
"Where do you keep yourself? Are you blackin' boots, now?"
"No," answered Sam, with rather an important air. "I'm in an office."
"How much do you get?"
"Four dollars a week."
"That's good. How'd you get it?"
"Oh, the doctor took a fancy to me, and asked me to come."
"You're in luck. So you're with a doctor?"
"Yes, – Dr. Graham. He's a corn-doctor."
"Where does he hang out?"
"No. – , Broadway."
"Do you have much to do?"
"Not very much."
"How do you come down here, then?"
"I'm takin' a letter to Brooklyn for the doctor."
"Are you?"
"Yes," said Sam; adding unluckily, "There's money in it."
"Is there?" said Jim, pricking up his ears. "How do you know? Let's see the letter."
Sam took the letter from his inside coat-pocket, and passed it to Jim.
The latter held it up to the light, and tried to look inside. Fortune favored his efforts. The envelope was imperfectly fastened, and came open.
"There, Jim," said Sam, "now see what you've done."
"Let's look inside, and see how much money there is," suggested Jim.
Sam hesitated.
"It won't do any harm to look at it," said the tempter.
"That's so," said Sam.
He accordingly drew out the enclosure, and disclosed two ten-dollar bills.
Jim's eyes sparkled with greed.
"Twenty dollars!" he exclaimed. "What a lot of good that would do us!"
Sam's principles were not firm, but he had a good place, and the temptation was not as strong as in Jim's case; so he answered, "Maybe it would, but it aint ours."
Jim fastened his little black eyes on Sam cunningly.
"It might be," he answered.
"How could it be?"
"You could keep it."
"The doctor'd find it out."
"Tell him somebody hooked it out of your pocket. He wouldn't know."
Sam shook his head.
"I aint goin to lose a good place just for that," he said.
"Think what a lot of things you could do for ten dollars," urged Jim.
"Twenty, you mean."
"That's ten apiece, isn't it?"
"Oh, you want some, do you?" inquired Sam.
"Yes; I'll take it from you, and then give you back half. So, it'll be me that stole it. They can't do nothin' to you. Come, I'll go over to Brooklyn with you, and then you can make up your mind."
On board the boat Jim renewed his persuasions, and finally Sam yielded.
"I'm afraid the doctor'll think I took it," he said.
"No matter! He can't prove nothin'."
"We'll find it hard to change the bills."
"No we won't. I'll tell you where to go. Can you play billiards?"
"No; but I'd like to learn."
"I know, and I'll learn you. There's a saloon over in Brooklyn where we can go and have a game. We'll pay out of one of the bills."
Now Sam had long wanted to learn the game of billiards, and this seemed a good opportunity. Perhaps this consideration as much as any determined him to close with his friend's proposal. When, therefore, they had reached the Brooklyn side, instead of taking the horse-cars to Dr. Graham's house, Sam followed his companion to a low billiard saloon not far away.
There were four tables, one of which only was occupied, for it was too early. On one side of the room was a bar, behind which stood a man in his shirt-sleeves.
"Well, boys, what do you want?" he asked.
"We want a table," said Jim. "We're goin to play a game."
The man in the shirt-sleeves produced, from underneath the counter, a green pasteboard box containing four ivory billiard balls.
"What table will you have?" he asked.
"This one here," said Jim, leading the way to one farthest from the door.
"Now take a cue, Sam," he said. "We'll have a jolly game."
"You must tell me how to play."
"Oh, I'll learn you."
Jim was not a very skilful player, but he knew something about the game, and under his instruction Sam made some progress, being able to make a shot now and then. He was very much pleased with the game, and determined to devote his spare earnings to this form of recreation hereafter. When the game was ended, a full hour had passed.
"I didn't think it was so late," said Sam, starting. "I shall have to go."
"Go and pay for the game first."
"You ought to pay half."
"No; I beat. The one that loses the game has to pay."
"Of course you beat. It was my first game."
"Never mind. You'll soon play as well as I, and then I shall have to pay half the time."
"Do you think I'll improve?"
"Of course you will. We'll play again to-night."
"Here?"
"No, in New York. I'll show you a good saloon in Chatham street."
Sam stepped up to the counter.
"How much do you want?" he asked.
"Sixty cents."
"It's only twenty-five cents a game," said Jim Nolan.
"Your game was longer than two ordinary ones. I'll call it fifty cents."
Sam produced the ten-dollar bill, and received in return nine dollars and a half. The clerk was rather surprised at a boy presenting so large a bill. He suspected that it was not come by honestly; but, as he argued, that was none of his business. What he cared for most was to get paid for the billiards. So Sam, who had felt a little uneasy about offering the money, was more at his ease.
"We had a good game, didn't we?" said Jim.
"Yes," said Sam.
"And you did bully for the first time. I couldn't play so well my first game."
Sam felt flattered by this compliment from his companion.
"Now I must go back," he said.
"I'll go along back with you. But we'll take a drink first. I want to change my bill too."
"Why didn't you do it in the billiard-saloon? They had a bar there."
"They might suspect something if both of us offered tens. Here's a place close by. Come in here."
Jim led the way into a drinking-saloon, and Sam followed.
"It's my treat," said Jim. "What'll you have?"
"What are you goin' to take?"
"A whiskey-punch."
"I'll take one too."
"Two whiskey-punches, and mind you make 'em stiff," said Jim.
He tossed down his glass, but Sam drank more slowly.
Jim paid for the drinks, and they went out into the street.
CHAPTER XXIV.
SAM'S EXCUSES
Sam was not used to liquor, and was more easily affected than most.
When he got out into the street his head spun round, and he staggered.
His companion observed it.
"Why, you don't mean ter say yer tight, Sam?" he said, pausing and looking at him.
"I don't know what it is," said Sam, "but I feel queer."
"Kinder light in the head, and shaky in the legs?"
"Yes, that's the way I feel."
"Then you're drunk."
"Drunk!" ejaculated Sam, rather frightened, for he was still unsophisticated compared with his companion.
"Just so. I say, you must be a chicken to get tight on one whiskey-punch," added Jim, rather contemptuously.
"It was strong," said Sam, by way of apology, leaning against a lamp-post for support.
"It was stiffish," said Jim. "I always take 'em so."
"And don't you feel it at all?" queried Sam.
"Not a bit," said Jim, decidedly. "I aint a baby."
"Nor I either," said Sam, with a spark of his accustomed spirit. "Only I aint used to it."
"Why, I could take three glasses, one after the other, without gettin' tight," said Jim, proudly. "I tell you, I've got a strong stomach."
"I wish I hadn't taken the drink," said Sam. "When will I feel better?"
"In an hour or two."
"I can't go back to the doctor this way. He'll know I've been drinkin'. I wish I could lie down somewhere."
"I'll tell you what. Come round to the ferry-room. You can sit down there till you feel better."
"Give me your arm, Jim. I'm light-headed."
With Jim's assistance Sam made his way to Fulton Ferry, but instead of going over in the next boat he leaned back in his seat in the waiting-room, and rested. Jim walked about on the pier, his hands in his pocket, with an independent air. He felt happy and prosperous. Never before in his life, probably, had he had so much money in his possession. Some men with a hundred thousand dollars would have felt poorer than Jim with nine dollars and a half.
By and by Sam felt enough better to start on his homeward journey. Jim agreed to accompany him as far as the New York side.
"I don't know what the doctor will say when he finds out the money is gone," said Sam, soberly.
"You just tell him it was stolen from you by a pickpocket."
"Suppose he don't believe it?"
"He can't prove nothin'."
"He might search me."
"So he might," said Jim. "I'll tell you what you'd better do."
"What?"
"Just give me the money to keep for you. Then if he searches you, he won't find it."
If Jim expected this suggestion to be adopted, he undervalued Sam's shrewdness. That young man had not knocked about the streets eight months for nothing.
"I guess not," said Sam, significantly. "Maybe I wouldn't find it any easier if you took it."
"You don't call me a thief, do you?" demanded Jim, offended.
"It looks as if we was both thieves," said Sam, candidly.
"You needn't talk so loud," said Jim, hurriedly. "There's no use in tellin' everybody that I see. I don't want the money, only, if the old man finds it, don't blame me."
"You needn't be mad, Jim," said Sam. "I'll need the money myself. I guess I'll have to hide it."
"Do you wear stockin's?" asked Jim.
"Yes; don't you?"
"Not in warm weather. They aint no good. They only get dirty. But if you wear 'em, that's the place to hide the money."
"I guess you're right," said Sam. "I wouldn't have thought of it.
Where can I do it?"
"Wait till we're on the New York side. You can sit down on one of the piers and do it. Nobody'll see you."
Sam thought this good advice, and decided to follow it.
"There is some use in stockin's," said Jim, reflectively. "If I was in your place, I wouldn't know where to stow away the money. Where are you goin' now?"
"I'll have to go back," said Sam. "I've been a long time already."
"I'm goin to get some dinner," said Jim.
"I haven't got time," said Sam. "Besides, I don't feel so hungry as usual. I guess it's the drink I took."
"It don't take away my appetite," said his companion, with an air of superiority.
Sam took the cars home. Knowing what he did, it was with an uncomfortable feeling that he ascended the stairs and entered the presence of Dr. Graham.
The doctor looked angry.
"What made you so long?" he demanded abruptly. "Did you find the house?"
"No," answered Sam, wishing that his embarrassing explanations were fully over. "No, I didn't."
"You didn't find the house!" exclaimed the doctor, in angry surprise.
"Why didn't you?"
"I thought it wasn't any use," stammered Sam.
"Wasn't any use!" repeated the chiropodist. "Explain yourself, sir, at once."
"As long as I hadn't got the letter," proceeded Sam.
Now the secret was out.
"What did you do with the letter?" demanded Dr. Graham, suspiciously.
"I lost it."
"Lost it! How could you lose it? Did you know there was money in it?" said his employer, looking angry and disturbed.
"Yes, sir; you said so."
"Then why were you not careful of it, you young rascal?"
"I was, sir; that is, I tried to be. But it was stolen."
"Who would steal the letter unless he knew that it contained money?"
"That's it, sir. I ought not to have told anybody."
"Sit down, and tell me all about it, or it will be the worse for you," said the doctor.
"Now for it!" thought Sam.
"You see, sir," he commenced, "I was in the horse-cars in Brooklyn, when I saw a boy I knew. We got to talking, and, before I knew it, I told him that I was carryin' a letter with money in it. I took it out of my coat-pocket, and showed it to him."
"You had no business to do it," said Dr. Graham. "No one but a fool would show a money-letter. So the boy stole it, did he?"
"Oh, no," said Sam, hastily. "It wasn't he."
"Who was it, then? Don't be all day telling your story," said the doctor, irritably.
"There was a young man sitting on the other side of me," said Sam. "He was well-dressed, and I didn't think he'd do such a thing; but he must have stole the letter."
"What makes you think so?"
"He got out only two or three minutes afterwards, and it wasn't long after that that I missed the letter."
"What did you do?"
"I stopped the car, and went back. Jim went back along with me. We looked all round, tryin' to find the man, but we couldn't."
"Of course you couldn't," growled the doctor. "Did you think he would stay till you came up?"
"No, sir. That is, I didn't know what to think. I felt so bad about losing the money," said Sam, artfully.
Now this story was on the whole very well got up. It did not do credit to Sam's principles, but it did do credit to his powers of invention. It might be true. There are such men as pickpockets to be found riding in our city horse-cars, as possibly some of my readers may have occasion to know. As yet Dr. Graham did not doubt the story of his young assistant. Sam came very near getting off scot-free.
"But for your carelessness this money would not have been lost," said his employer. "You ought to make up the loss to me."
"I haven't got any money," said Sam.
A sudden thought came to Dr. Graham. "Empty your pockets," he said.
"How lucky I put the bills in my stocking!" thought Sam.
He turned out his pockets, disclosing fifty cents. It was Friday, and to-morrow his weekly wages would come due.
"That's all I've got," he said.
"Twenty dollars is five weeks salary," said Dr. Graham. "You ought to work for me five weeks without pay."
"I'd starve to death," said Sam, in alarm. "I wouldn't be able to buy anything to eat."
"I can keep back part of your salary, then," said his employer. "It is only proper that you should suffer for your negligence."
At this moment a friend of the doctor's entered the office.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
Dr. Graham explained briefly.
"Perhaps," said the visitor, "I can throw some light upon your loss."
"You! How?"
"I happened to be coming over from Brooklyn an hour since on the same boat with that young man there," he said, quietly.
Sam turned pale. There was something in the speaker's tone that frightened him.