Fame and Fortune Part 21

But Micky evaded his grasp, and scudded rapidly through the park, pursued by the victim of misplaced confidence.

"Run, Micky; I'll bet on you!" cried Pat Nevins, encouragingly.

"Go it, long legs!" said another, who backed the opposite party. "Give him a good lickin' when you catch him."

"Maybe you'd have to wait too long for that," said Pat.

"Leave yer cigar wid us, mister," said another boy.

James Gilbert, for he was the young man in question, began to find that he was becoming rather ridiculous, and felt that he would rather let Micky go free than furnish a spectacle to the crowd of boot-blacks who were surveying the chase with eager interest. He accordingly stopped short, and, throwing down the "stub," prepared to leave the park.

"Don't give it up, mister! You'll catch him," said his first backer.

"Micky can't run far. Ragged d.i.c.k give him a stretcher once."

"Ragged d.i.c.k!" said Gilbert, turning abruptly at the sound of this name.

"Maybe you know him?"

"Does he black boots?"

"He used to, but he don't now."

"What does he do?"

"Oh, he's a swell now, and wears good clothes."

"How is that?"

"He's in a store, and gets good pay."

"What's the name of the boy that ran away with my cigar?"

"Micky Maguire."

"Was he a friend of Ragged d.i.c.k, as you call him?"

"Not much. They had two or three fights."

"Which beat?"

"d.i.c.k. He can fight bully."

Gilbert felt disappointed. He was in hopes our hero had met with a defeat. Somehow he seemed born for success.

"Then I suppose Maguire hates him?"

"I'll bet he does."

"Humph!" thought Gilbert; "I may turn his enmity to some account. Let me consider a little."

At length a plan suggested itself, and his countenance cleared up, and a.s.sumed an expression of satisfaction. On reaching home he held the conversation with Roswell and his mother which has been recorded at the close of the last chapter.

Meantime Micky went home to a miserable lodging on Worth Street, in the precincts of the Five Points, and very near where the Five Points House of Industry now stands. This admirable inst.i.tution has had a salutary influence, and contributed greatly to the improvement of the neighborhood. Then, however, it was about as vile and filthy as could well be.

Micky exulted not a little at the success of his cunning, and smoked the cigar--an expensive one, by the way--with not a little satisfaction. He recounted the story to a group of admiring friends who had not been fortunate enough to witness it.

"It's you that's got the cheek, Micky," said Teddy Donovan.

"You did it neat," said another. "Maybe I'll try that same, some day."

"You'd better not. The copp might get hold of you."

"Was it a good cigar, Micky?"

"Wasn't it, just! I wish I'd got another. Stand treat, Teddy."

"I would if I had the stamps. I'm savin' up my money to go to the Old Bowery to-night."

The boys were standing in a little group, and in the interest of their discussion did not observe the approach of James Gilbert, who was now visiting the park with a special object in view. With an expression of satisfaction he recognized the boy who had served him a trick the day before. Indeed, it was not easy to mistake Micky. The blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and the faded overalls would have betrayed him, even if his superior height had not distinguished him from his comrades.

Had Micky been aware of Gilbert's approach he would have thought it prudent to "change his base;" but, his back being turned, he was taken by surprise. His attention was drawn by a tap on the shoulder, and, looking round, he recognized his enemy, as he regarded him. He started to run, but was withheld by a strong grasp.

"Leave me alone, will yer?" he said, ducking his head as if he expected a blow.

"I believe you are fond of smoking," said Gilbert, continuing to hold him tight.

Micky maintained silence.

"And sometimes exchange a poor cigar for a good one?" continued his captor.

"It was a mistake," said Micky.

"What did you run for, then?"

"What you going to do about it, mister?" asked one boy, curiously.

"So it was a mistake,--was it?" said Gilbert.

"Yes, sir," said Micky, glibly.

"Take care you don't make the mistake again, then. Now you may black my boots."

Not only the boys who were standing by, but Micky himself, were considerably surprised at this unexpected turn. They confidently expected that Micky would "get a lickin'," and instead of that, he had found a customer. Their respect for Gilbert was considerably diminished for failing to exact punishment, and, their interest in the affair being over, they withdrew.

Micky laid down his box, and commenced operations.

"How long have you been a boot-black?" asked Gilbert.