Brave and Bold Part 30

When the boy got through, he cast a speculative glance at the carpetbag.

"Smash yer baggage?" he asked.

"What's that?"

"Carry yer bag."

"Do you know of any good, cheap hotel where I can put up?" asked Robert.

"Eu-ro-pean hotel?" said the urchin, accenting the second syllable.

"What kind of a hotel is that?"

"You take a room, and get your grub where you like."

"Yes, that will suit me."

"I'll show you one and take yer bag along for two shillings."

"All right," said our hero. "Go ahead."

The boy shouldered the carpetbag and started in advance, Robert following. He found a considerable difference between the crowded streets of New York and the quiet roads of Millville. His spirits rose, and he felt that life was just beginning for him. Brave and bold by temperament, he did not shrink from trying his luck on a broader arena than was afforded by the little village whence he came. Such confidence is felt by many who eventually fail, but Robert was one who combined ability and willingness to work with confidence, and the chances were in favor of his succeeding.

Unused to the city streets, Robert was a little more cautious about crossing than the young Arab who carried his bag. So, at one broad thoroughfare, the latter got safely across, while Robert was still on the other side waiting for a good opportunity to cross in turn. The bootblack, seeing that communication was for the present cut off by a long line of vehicles, was a.s.sailed by a sudden temptation. For his services as porter he would receive but twenty-five cents, while here was an opportunity to appropriate the entire bag, which must be far more valuable. He was not naturally a bad boy, but his street education had given him rather loose ideas on the subject of property. Obeying his impulse, then, he started rapidly, bag in hand, up a side street.

"Hold on, there! Where are you going?" called out Robert.

He received no answer, but saw the baggage-smasher quickening his pace and dodging round the corner. He attempted to dash across the street, but was compelled to turn back, after being nearly run over.

"I wish I could get hold of the young rascal!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Who do you mane, Johnny?" asked a boy at his side.

"A boy has run off with my carpetbag," said Robert.

"I know him. It's Jim Malone."

"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Robert, eagerly. "If you'll help me get back my bag, I'll give you a dollar."

"I'll do it then. Come along of me. Here's a chance to cross."

Following his new guide, Robert dashed across the street at some risk, and found himself safe on the other side.

"Now where do you think he's gone?" demanded Robert.

"It's likely he'll go home."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No.--Mulberry street."

"Has he got any father and mother?"

"He's got a mother, but the ould woman's drunk most all the time."

"Then she won't care about his stealing?"

"No, she'll think he's smart."

"Then we'll go there. Is it far?"

"Not more than twenty minutes."

The boy was right. Jim steered for home, not being able to open the bag in the street without suspicion. His intention was to appropriate a part of the clothing to his own use, and dispose of the rest to a p.a.w.nbroker or second-hand dealer, who, as long as he got a good bargain, would not be too particular about inquiring into the customer's right to the property. He did not, however, wholly escape suspicion. He was stopped by a policeman, who demanded, "Whose bag is that, Johnny?"

"It belongs to a gentleman that wants it carried to the St. Nicholas,"

answered Jim, promptly.

"Where is the gentleman?"

"He's took a car to Wall street on business."

"How came he to trust you with the bag? Wasn't he afraid you'd steal it?"

"Oh, he knows me. I've smashed baggage for him more'n once."

This might be true. At any rate, it was plausible, and the policeman, having no ground of detention, suffered him to go on.

Congratulating himself on getting off so well, Jim sped on his way, and arrived in quick time at the miserable room in Mulberry street, which he called home.

His mother lay on a wretched bed in the corner, half stupefied with drink. She lifted up her head as her son entered.

"What have you there, Jimmy?" she asked.

"It's a bag, mother."

"Whose is it?"

"It's mine now."

"And where did ye get it?"

"A boy gave it to me to carry to a chape hotel, so I brought it home.

This is a chape hotel, isn't it?"

"You're a smart boy, an' I always said it, Jimmy. Let me open it," and the old woman, with considerable alacrity, rose to her feet and came to Jim's side.

"I'll open it myself, mother, that is, I if I had a kay. Haven't you got one?"