The Newsboy Partners; Or, Who Was Dick Box? Part 22

"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 d.i.c.k. "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, d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k 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 a.s.sociates.

"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 d.i.c.k, 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.

d.i.c.k took his partner to a better cla.s.s of theatrical performance that night, for the lad who had forgotten his ident.i.ty 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."

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k to a doctor."

"A doctor? Why, I'm not sick!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"No, I suppose not. But I read of a case the other day of a man who was. .h.i.t 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k. The superintendent of the lodging-house agreed, in a measure, with Frank that perhaps there might be some injury to d.i.c.k'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 d.i.c.k. 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 d.i.c.k.

"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 d.i.c.k. "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 d.i.c.k.