CHAPTER XVI
THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT
Dick did not have to ask any directions to find Jimmy when he reached the Battery, which, as most of my readers may know, is a small park at the lower end of the metropolis. He saw a crowd of lads gathered in a secluded corner, and he at once knew them to be newsboys and bootblacks, for he recognized a number of them.
"That's where they are probably pitching pennies," he thought. "I must get Jimmy away from there."
His approach was unnoticed, so intent were the lads on the game, and not until Dick called Jimmy's name was the latter aware that his partner was present. Even then, beyond a first start of surprise, he showed no astonishment.
"Hello, Dick," he called. "How'd you find me?"
"Sam Schmidt told me."
"Sam Schmidt! I'll punch his head fer squealin' on us!" exclaimed a red-haired lad. "What right's he got t' butt in?"
"That's all right," responded Jimmy with an air of superior knowledge. "He's a partner of mine. Dick's all right. Did you want me, Dick?"
"Yes, you'd better come with me."
"Aw, an' break up de game!" expostulated several. "Why, Jimmy is winners, an' he can't go until we gits our stakes out."
"Sure I'm winnin'!" said Jimmy proudly. "I'm forty-two cents to the good now."
"I'd like to talk to you," went on Dick to his chum.
"All right, I'll come."
"Naw; stay!" called Pete Lanson. "Here, have a cigarette, Bricks."
Jimmy stretched out his hand to take one of the paper and tobacco rolls. For an instant he forgot his promise to Dick. Then he remembered it and shook his head.
"Gee! Youse must 'a' turned inter a Sunday-school kid," sneered Pete.
"I cut out smokin'," declared Jimmy, with a slight blush. "Me an' me partner can't afford it," he went on. "We're savin' – I mean saving – up for to buy a regular stand."
"Git on t' his sassiry language!" remarked another, with a mean laugh. "Fust we know Bricks'll be shakin' us all togedder."
"Dat's right," chimed in one or two.
"Go on, Bricks; it's your shot," advised Pete. "I t'ink I kin win from youse now."
"Are you coming with me?" asked Dick in a low tone.
"Say, kid, be youse his guardian?" inquired a big lad. "Why didn't youse tie a string t' Bricks if yer so careful of him as all dat."
"Guess I'll have to go, fellers," spoke up Jimmy, rather regretfully, it must be admitted.
"What? An' not give us a chance t' git some of our money back?" came from three or four.
"Some other day I will."
"Naw, I want t' pitch some more now," declared Pete.
There were angry murmurs at Dick's interference, and several scowled at Jimmy. It looked as if there might be trouble, but just then a policeman opportunely came in sight. Some one spied him, and there was a cry:
"Cheese it, de cop!"
Instantly the penny-pitching crowd dispersed as if by magic. Most of the boys jumped through the railings, cut across the grass plots and were lost to sight among the trees. The bigger lads walked more slowly, with an assumed air of innocence. As for Jimmy, he joined Dick, and the two strolled over to the edge of the Battery wall, looking down into the swirling waters of the bay.
"Did you want anything special?" asked Jimmy.
"Yes, I did."
"What is it? Is there a big extra out?"
"No. I heard you were gambling, and I came down to stop you."
"Gambling? You don't call pitchin' pennies gambling, do you, Dick?"
"What else is it?"
"Well, I s'pose it is, in a way. But that's no harm. All the fellows does it."
"I'm afraid that doesn't make it good, Jimmy. I don't want to be finding fault all the while, and I'm sure I don't set up to be any better than you are, but I know gambling is bad. You'll never win in the long run, and it will do you harm. Besides, you can't afford to lose, even if it is not wrong."
"But I won to-day."
"Do you often win?"
"Naw, this is the first time I ever made much. Most times I lose."
"I thought so. I hope you don't do it much."
"Not very often. De cops – I mean the policemen – are too strict. I do it once in a while."
"I wish you'd give it up," went on Dick. "I know I'm asking a lot of you. First you gave up smoking for me, then the use of slang and rough expressions, and now I ask you this. But I do it for your own good and because I like you, Jimmy."
"I know youse does – I mean you do, Dick, an' – say – I'll – I'll stop pitching pennies if you don't like it."
"Will you, really?"
"Honest! Here's my hand!"
Jimmy was thoroughly in earnest, and Dick knew his partner would keep his word. It might be well to say right here that from then on Jimmy never gambled, though often he was sorely tempted by his associates.
"What'd I better do with this money?" asked Jimmy after a pause. "I s'pose if it ain't right t' pitch pennies, it ain't right t' keep the money."
"No, it is not. Do you know who you won it from?"
"Sure."
"Then I'd give it back."
"Well, I guess I will, but it comes hard. I was goin' to a good show to-night with it."
"I'll stand treat for the show," said Dick, for he felt that something was coming to Jimmy for giving in about the gambling.
"Bully fer youse – I mean that's fine! But I've got t' pay Sam Schmidt for selling papers for me."
"Yes, you will be a little out of pocket on account of taking the time off, but better that than to get in the habit of gambling."
"Well, I didn't do so much, and I never thought it was wrong. All the fellers does it."
"I suppose so, but if we're going to make a success of this business we can't afford to gamble."
"No, I s'pose not," replied Jimmy a little dubiously.
Dick took his partner to a better class of theatrical performance that night, for the lad who had forgotten his identity did not care much for the moving picture shows.
"How do you like this?" he asked Jimmy.
"Well," was the slow answer, "I s'pose it's swell, an' all that, an' I'll get used to it in time, but I like a prize-fight best."
Dick laughed heartily, but he did not tell his partner the cause of his mirth.
During the days that followed the two newsboys did a good business. They sold many papers, and Dick was now on an equal footing with Jimmy, though the latter had had much more experience. There was more talk of taking Frank Merton into partnership with them, but as the latter had built up a good trade for himself in another part of the city, he did not know whether it would be a wise thing or not to make a new venture.
Meanwhile Dick was no nearer a solution of the mystery than enshrouded him. Night after night he would try and try again to remember who he was and where he came from, but without result. The past was like a sealed book to him, and he had absolutely no recollection of who he was or where he had lived.
"Do you know what I would do?" said Frank one night when, in the room of the partners, the three were talking over the strange case.
"Well, what would you do, Frank?" asked Jimmy.
"I'd take Dick to a doctor."
"A doctor? Why, I'm not sick!" exclaimed Dick.
"No, I suppose not. But I read of a case the other day of a man who was hit on the head and he forgot everything he ever knew. They took him to a hospital, operated on him, and his memory came back to him."
"I wonder if mine would?" asked Dick, with a new look of hope on his face.
"There's nothing like trying," said Frank. "Suppose we ask the superintendent, Mr. Snowden?"
"That's a good idea," came from Jimmy, who was sitting in a corner of the room.
This they did, and Mr. Snowden agreed to have a physician who was a friend of his look at Dick. The superintendent of the lodging-house agreed, in a measure, with Frank that perhaps there might be some injury to Dick's head because of the blow, which, when the resulting depression on the skull was removed, would bring back his memory.
A few days later the doctor examined Dick. The boy waited anxiously for the verdict.
"I am sorry," said the doctor, "but I can do nothing for you. There is no special injury to the head. The skull was not broken by whatever, or whoever, it was that hit you. You suffered some shock, and that took away your memory. Your mind now is as good as it was before the accident, except that everything in the past is blotted out."
"And will I never remember it again?" asked Dick.
"I would not say that. The chances are that some day it will all come back to you with a rush. Some forgotten incident will recall it all to you. It may be a slight thing – the hearing of some forgotten name – the seeing of some forgotten face – and then you may remember who you are and where you lived."
"Oh, I hope it comes soon," said poor Dick. "I am tired of all this uncertainty."
"Never mind," consoled Jimmy. "I'll stick by you to the last."
CHAPTER XVII
AN OFFER OF A STAND
The disappointment following the doctor's verdict was keen for Dick. He had hoped that something might be done to aid him, but he found the only thing he could do was to wait, and this was very tedious.
"And maybe it will never happen," he said to Jimmy, that night in their room.
"Yes, it will," declared his partner, with more conviction that he felt. "You'll remember who you are some day, I'm certain."
"Perhaps – when it's too late."
"Well, don't think any more about it," advised Jimmy. "I heard some news to-day I forgot to tell you."
"What was it?"
"Well, a fellow that has a fine news-stand on Sixth Avenue near the elevated road wants to sell out. He's sick, an' he's got to go out West. I thought maybe you and me could buy him out."
"That's so, we might. How much does he want?"
"I don't know. Sam Schmidt was telling me about it. I didn't see the man who owns it."
"Suppose we go and see him," suggested Dick.
It had, for some time, been the ambition of the newsboy partners to own a regular stand, where not only papers but magazines and weeklies could be sold. Jimmy, in his wildest ambition, had sometimes dreamed of such a rise in life, but, until he had met Dick and learned new habits, including the one of saving his money, such a thing had not been possible for him, even to consider. Now he hoped he was in a position to realize his fondest expectation.
They went to see the owner of the stand the next day. The location, they knew from their past experience, was a good one, as it was near several ferries and street-car lines, as well as right under an elevated station. Thus the owner of the stand could always be assured of a large number of customers.
"I wonder how much he'll want for it?" spoke Dick, as they approached.
"Oh, maybe about forty or fifty dollars. How much have we got saved up now?"
"Nearly twenty-five."
"Maybe he'll trust us for what we haven't got, Dick."
"Perhaps, if we give him a mortgage."
"What's a mortgage?"
"Why, it's a paper showing that you owe a man so much money, and you give him a claim on your property as security. You'll soon learn about them in your arithmetic, especially when we get going to night-school."
"I don't care whether I learn or not, if I can be a part-owner in that stand," declared Jimmy, his eyes shining as he noted the pile of papers and magazines and saw the little enclosure where the proprietor of the place sat.
"Oh, but you must," insisted Dick. "Now shall I do the talking, or will you?"
"You'd better. But if he tries to come any 'con' game on us I'll have something to say. I know lots about selling papers, but not much about buying stands."
"I hear this stand is for sale," began Dick, speaking to a young man in charge.
"Who told you?" was the somewhat suspicious answer.
"My partner here, James Small, heard it from another newsboy, Sam Schmidt. Isn't it correct?"
"I suppose it is. I want to sell out. I've got to go West for my lungs."
"That's too bad. How much do you want for the stand?"
"Well, you know this is a good place to do business."
"I'll have to take your word for it," replied Dick. "Still it seems quite a lively place and ought to be good."
"Good? I guess it is!"
"How much do youse – I mean you – take in every week?" asked Jimmy suddenly, for he felt he could safely ask this question.
"What's that got to do with it?" inquired the stand-owner sharply.
"Lots. If me and me partner buys this stand, we want to know how much we're going to make."
"Well, I do a good business. Of course some days it's better than others."
"What does it average?" asked Dick.
"Well," replied the proprietor, after some figuring, "it averages fifty-five dollars a week."
Jimmy uttered a low whistle of surprise. That was higher than he had thought.
"And what are the expenses?" asked Dick quietly.
"I have to pay the elevated railroad company ten dollars a week for having my stand here, and I have to hire a boy to bring me papers and other supplies, for I sell cigars and tobacco. But there aren't many weeks when I don't clear twenty dollars."
Dick thought this was a fine business, but, of course, if he and Jimmy took it there would not be so much profit for each of them as the man got, unless they could increase the business. That was another matter to consider.
"How much do you want for the stand?" asked Dick, while he and Jimmy waited anxiously for the answer.
"Well, I'll take two hundred and fifty dollars cash, and not a cent less."
The figure was so high, and the announcement of it caused the partners such a surprise, that, for a moment, they did not know what to say.
CHAPTER XVIII
BULLDOG THREATENS DICK
Dick was the first to recover his composure. He had to admit that he had no idea of what a news-stand in New York might be worth. His previous notions, as well as those of Jimmy, had evidently been wrong.
"I'm afraid that figure is too high for us," spoke Dick slowly.
"High? That's dirt cheap," declared the young man. "Why you can make the stand pay for itself in six months. I'd never give it up if it wasn't that my health has failed."
"But we haven't got that much money," said Dick frankly.
"Can't you get it somewhere?"
"I'm afraid not. You see we are in partnership. We haven't been at it very long, but we've managed to save up twenty-five dollars."
"Oh, I couldn't think of taking that and waiting for the rest," declared the stand-owner.
"No, I wouldn't expect you to."
"Maybe you could borrow the rest somewhere. I'd be willing to take two hundred in cash and a mortgage for the balance."
"That would mean we'd have to borrow one hundred and seventy-five dollars somewhere," said Dick. "No, we can't think of it. We'll have to look for a cheaper stand or wait until we have more money saved up."
"You'll never get a cheaper stand. I know something about them, for I tried to buy one when I first went in the business."
"I haven't any doubt but what this stand is worth all you ask for it," went on Dick, "but it's beyond our means. I'm sorry."
"So am I," frankly admitted the young man. "I'd like to sell out to a couple of young fellows, but, of course, if you haven't the money you can't do business. And I need cash to go away with."
"Well, we'll have to look somewhere else," remarked Jimmy, much disappointed. They bade the young man good-bye and started back to resume the selling of papers, which they had interrupted in order to make their inquiries.
"Did you think he'd want so much as that?" asked Jimmy, as they walked up Barclay Street.
"No, I hadn't any idea stands were worth so much."
"Me either. I guess we'll never get one now."
"Yes, we will," declared Dick firmly. "I'm going to have one. If we can't find a cheaper one, we'll save up more money. A stand is the only way to make a good living in this business."
"Oh, we've done pretty well," observed Jimmy. "I've made more money since I've been with you than I ever made before."
"Yes, but it's not enough for a firm like ours," and Dick laughed. "We want to do three times as much."
During the days that followed the two partners devoted themselves harder than ever to the business of selling papers. They did well, too, for Jimmy had much improved in his methods and had attracted a number of new customers, who regularly bought their papers from him. Dick, also, had increased his trade and was becoming well known in the financial district as "the polite newsboy."
While at first there had been, on the part of other lads selling papers, a disposition to annoy Dick, they now let him alone. One reason for this was a quiet word spoken to the policeman in that district by one or two brokers, who had taken a liking to Dick, and who understood the opposition to him. After that the officer kept his eyes open and, having threatened to arrest several lads who annoyed the newcomer, there was no more trouble.
Meanwhile Dick was no nearer than ever a solution of the mystery that surrounded him. He hoped nothing now from the police, and, as for seeing some notice in the papers describing a missing boy like himself, he had long ago given that up. The two partners continued to live in their room at the lodging-house, and they were slowly accumulating a nice little balance in the bank.
But it grew slowly, too slowly to give them hope that they would reach the figure demanded by the news-stand owner in time to buy him out.
They heard, incidentally, that several of the bigger newsboys were thinking of consolidating and purchasing the place, and Jimmy suggested that he and Dick take Frank into partnership, but when the matter was explained to him, Frank, while grateful for the offer, said he could not afford to go into the scheme. He had some money saved up, but he said he had to help support a widowed aunt, a sister of his dead mother, and, as she would soon have to undergo an operation in the institution where she was, he was saving his money to help pay for it, as the old lady was destitute.
So that practically shattered the hopes of the two partners of owning the stand. Nor could they find one any cheaper that would suit their purpose.
"Never mind," said Dick. "We'll be ready to buy one next year."
But if Dick had ceased, save at odd times, to make some effort at discovering his identity, this was not true of two other persons. These were Bulldog Smouder and Mike Conroy. The two plotters had not forgotten their plan.
"Say, Bulldog," said Mike, one night not long after Dick's and Jimmy's attempt to buy the stand, "ain't dere nuttin' doin' in gittin' de reward fer dat kid?"
"Sure dere is."
"What?"
"Well, I've got me plans all made."
"'Bout time youse said somethin'. Did de detective know anyt'ing?"
"Not a t'ing. Dere ain't been no reward offered."
"Den what's de good of bodderin' wid it?"
"Dis good. I'm satisfied dat kid run away from home somewhere a good ways off. Dat's why nuttin' ain't been heard of it here in N'York. But I'll bet his folks, whoever dey are, wants him back. He's one of dem nice kids. He ain't fit fer dis business."
"He seems t' sell a lot of papers," remarked Mike.
"Yep. Too many. I'd like t' git him outer de way an' I could make more money down Wall Street way. So if we kin find out where he belongs we'll git de reward an' business'll be better fer us."
"Dat's so. How youse goin' t' do it?"
"Listen, an' I'll tell ye."
Then the two cronies whispered together for come time.
"Dat's a good plan," said Mike at length. "I'll do me share. When youse goin' t' try it?"
"T'-night. Once youse gits Jimmy outer de way de rest'll be plain sailin' fer me."
"Oh, I'll do it."
Soon after this the two plotters separated. Meanwhile Dick and Jimmy, all unconscious of what was being planned against them, were doing business as usual.
When Dick got back to the room, late that afternoon, having been out selling extras after their regular work in the financial district, he was surprised not to find Jimmy. He had seen the latter, not an hour before, and his partner had said he was, even then, on his way to the lodging-house to get ready for supper. Jimmy had promised to wait for Dick.
"I hope he hasn't gone off with some of those boys, pitching pennies," thought Dick. For he never could be quite sure of Jimmy, who was easily tempted, though, of late, he had been very good indeed.
But Dick's wonderment over his chum's absence was cut short by the entrance of Bulldog into the room, when, in answer to a knock on the door, Dick had called an invitation to enter.
"Evenin'," said Bulldog shortly. "Jimmy sent me fer youse, Dick. He want's youse t' come."
"Jimmy wants me? Where is he? What has happened?"
Dick felt a sudden fear.
"He's hurted a little bit – not much," went on Bulldog, "and he was took inter a house. He wants youse t' come. Will yer?"
"Of course. Do you know where he is?"
"Sure. I seen him a while ago. He ain't hurt bad. If youse'll come wit' me I'll show youse."
"Wait until I get my coat on and I'll come with you."
Dick followed his former enemy out of the lodging-house. He had no reason to suspect anything, for, of late, Bulldog had been rather friendly than otherwise.
Dick followed his guide into one of the worst parts of New York, but had little fear, as he had, more or less, become used to traveling about the slums with Jimmy. Bulldog led the way down through a dirty alley and into a ramschackle tenement.
"He's right upstairs," he said. "Come on."
Dick followed in the semi-darkness, illuminated by only a flaring kerosene lamp. Bulldog went into a room, and Dick, expecting to see his partner lying hurt on a bed or lounge, was surprised to see no one in the place.
"Why – why – where's Jimmy?" he asked.
"Jimmy is over in Brooklyn," said Bulldog, with a laugh.
"In Brooklyn? I thought you said he was hurt."
"Well, I guess he is, fer he's bound t' fight wid Mike when he finds out he's been fooled, an' Mike's liable t' hurt him."
"But what for? Why should he be in Brooklyn? And why have you brought me here?"
"Jimmy's in Brooklyn t' git him outer de way," explained Bulldog, with an ugly leer, "an' youse is here t' answer me some questions. Now, den, kid, I wants t' know where youse run away from home, who youse be, an' where youse lives. I'm goin' t' take youse back an' git de reward. Now youse can't fool me, an' if youse tries, it'll be bad fer yer. Come now, own up. Didn't youse run away from home? Answer me or I'll punch ye till yer does!" and Bulldog threateningly shook his fist in Dick's face.