Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Brave Tom; Or, The Battle That Won by Edward Sylvester Ellis (most important books of all time TXT) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «Brave Tom; Or, The Battle That Won by Edward Sylvester Ellis (most important books of all time TXT) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
"Why don't you come in?" asked Tom, never lowering his weapon.
"Put him down!" said the foremost of the villains, in broken English, hoping to frighten the lad.
"I don't feel like doing it just now," was the reply, while the arm remained as fixed as a bar of iron.
Tom did not intend to shoot unless they advanced upon him; but, not being accustomed to the weapon, he was unaware that a very slight pressure was enough to discharge it. Unconsciously he exerted that slight pressure, and, while the miscreants were glaring in the door, the pistol was fired.
What was more, the bullet struck one of the Italians, who, with a howl of pain, wheeled about and hurried down-stairs, followed by his terror-stricken companion.
Tom was half-frightened out of his wits, and made up his mind that the best thing he could do was to get out of the place without any further delay.
The only way to escape was to go down the stairs, the same as his assailants had done.
It was not a pleasant duty; but, remembering what the Irishman had told him, and filled with an uncontrollable aversion against staying any longer, he hurried out, pausing only long enough to catch up his small bundle of clothing.
In the smoky, hot room down-stairs, the scene was nearly the same as when he left it a couple of hours before to go to bed. The two Italians were invisible, and the little affray up-stairs seemed to have attracted no attention at all. The bartender was too much occupied to notice the lad, who made his way outside into the clear, frosty air, where he inhaled a few deep draughts to give him new life and courage.
He knew not which way to turn, but he was confident he could find some safe lodging-place without going far, and he moved along the street, where there were plenty of pedestrians abroad, even though the hour was so late.
He was quite near the river, and determined not to be caught in such a trap again. He walked slowly, scrutinizing as well as he could the exterior of each building in sight, where the wayfarer and traveler was invited to step within and secure food and lodging.
In this manner he passed several houses, and was on the point of turning into one which seemed to have an inviting look, when his attention was arrested by a lad who was running toward him from the rear.
He was panting and laboring along as though about exhausted.
As he reached the wondering Tom, who stopped and turned aside to let him pass, the stranger paused and said,--
"Say, sonny, just hold that watch, will you, till I come back?"
And before the boy fairly understood the question, the other shoved a gold watch and chain into his hands, then darted into an alleyway and disappeared.
He had scarcely done so when two swift footed policemen came dashing along, as if in pursuit.
"Here he is!" exclaimed one, catching hold of Tom's arm, and dealing him a stunning blow on the head with his locust.
"That's the little imp," added the other, the two guardians of the law pouncing upon the lad as if he were a Hercules, who meant to turn upon and rend them.
"I haven't done anything," remonstrated Tom, feeling that some fearful mistake had been made.
"Shut up, you little thief!" yelled the policeman, whacking him on the head again with his club. "Ah, here is the watch on him! We've been looking for you, my boy, for a month, and we've got you at last."
When Tom Gordon comprehended that the two policemen had arrested him on the charge of stealing a gold watch, he understood the trick played upon him by the lad who had handed him the timepiece and then, darted into the alley.
Instead of throwing the property away, as a thief generally does under such circumstances, the young scamp preferred to get a stranger into difficulty.
"I didn't take the watch; that boy handed it"--
"Shet up!" broke in the burly officer.
"But let me finish what I want"--
"Shet up! Heavens and earth! have I got to kill you before you stop that clack of yours?"
The lad saw that the only way to save his crown was to keep quiet, and he did so, trusting that in some way or other the truth would become known, the guilty punished, and the innocent allowed to go free.
One policeman grasped his right and the other his left arm, and they held on like grim death as they marched off toward the station-house.
Turning the next corner, they entered a still lower part of the city, where the darkest crimes of humanity are perpetrated.
Within ten feet of where Tom was walking, he saw under the gas-lamp a poor wretch on the pavement, with two others pounding him.
"Murder! murder!" groaned the victim, with fast-failing strength, vainly struggling to free himself from his assassins.
Tom paused, expecting the policemen, or at least one of them, would rush in and save the man.
On the contrary, they strode along as if they were unconscious of the crime going on right before their eyes.
"They'll kill him," said the horrified boy, "why don't you stop"--
"Shet up!" and down came the club again.
Just then the second policeman added in a severe tone,--
"Young man, we know you; we understand the trick you are trying to play on us; you want us to let go of you and rush in there, and then you'll skip; we're too old birds to be caught with such chaff; we are convinced that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and so, understand, sir, we'll hold on to you!"
But at this juncture, fortunately for the under man, a champion appeared in the person of an Irishman, who with one blow knocked the largest of the assailants so violently backward that he turned a complete reverse somersault, and then lay still several minutes to try and understand things.
The other assailant was using his boot-heel on the prostrate man at that moment, when the Hibernian gave him a couple of blows in lightning-like succession. They landed upon the face of the coward with a sensation about the same as if a well-shod mule had planted his two hind feet there.
He, too, collapsed on the instant, and for a considerable time lost all interest in worldly affairs.
It is hard work to kill a drunken man; and, despite the terrible beating the victim had suffered, he was scarcely relieved of his foes when he staggered to his feet.
"I'm obleeged to ye, young man, for assisting me, as ye did"--
"Dry up!" broke in the impatient Hibernian.
"Talk of being obleeged to me, 'cause I interfared. What did ye let them git ye down fur? That's what I want to know. Git out wid yees!"
And the disgusted champion turned the other fellow about and expressed his opinion of him by delivering a kick, which landed him several feet away.
"That was kind in yees," said the recipient, looking back with the droll humor of the Irish people. "They did their hammering in front, while I resave yees in the rear, and I fale as though they was about equal."
"What's this? what's this?" demanded one of the policemen in a brisk, business-like tone, swinging his locust, and looking sharply about him, as if in quest of some desperado upon whom to vent his wrath.
"It looks as if there was some trouble here."
"It's all done with now," replied the man that had finished it, and then, recognizing the officer, he extended his hand.
"How are ye, Billy?"
"Hello, Pat, is that you?"
"So it is, me, Patsey McConough, that happened down this way on the lookout for a wee boy, when I saw two men beating one, and I jist restored the aquilibrium, as ye may say. But what have ye there?" asked Patsey, peering through the gloom at the figure of a boy in the grip of the other policeman.
"A chap that we jerked for picking pockets; we've been shadowing him for a long time."
The Irishman seemed to suspect the identity of the boy, and, going forward, he took him by the hand, and asked him how it all came about.
Tom told the story as it is known to the reader, when Patsey turned to the policeman.
"There's some mistake here, Billy; that boy never took that watch--I'll bet my life on that. I know him, and the story he tells is the true one, and no mistake."
It didn't take the policeman long to agree with Patsey, and a satisfactory arrangement was made, by which the faithful guardian kept the gold timepiece, and the boy was allowed to go free.
"I didn't feel aisy," said Patsey, as he walked off in company with his young friend, "when I left ye in that place, and I hadn't been gone long whin I made up me mind to go back and fix it, whither the boss was mad or no. Whin I arrived the throuble was over, and ye had started out. I had to guess which way ye wint, but I seemed to hit it, and I was able to do ye a little hilp."
"That you did, indeed," replied the grateful boy. "I would have gone to jail but for you."
"Ye same to be a wide-awake boy, and ye kape yer sinses about ye at all times. Ye are looking for a place to stay?"
"Yes."
"There isn't much of the night left, but I'll find ye what ye want."
A couple of blocks farther, Patsey conducted him into just the house the boy would have picked out for himself, had he been given a week in which to hunt.
Patsey accompanied Tom to his room, where he gave him some earnest advice.
"This is a moighty avil village, is New York, and ye had better get out of the same while ye have the money to do it. It isn't a good thing for a lad to carry a pistol, but I wish ye to kaap the one I lint ye as long as ye are in danger, which is loikely to be all yer life."
"My money is nearly all gone," replied Tom, "and unless I get at something pretty soon, I shall have to beg. I would go out of the city to-morrow if I only had Jim."
"Perhaps it is as well that ye wait where ye are for a few days for him, spinding yer laisure in looking for a job. I'm a coochman in the employ of an old rapscallion of a lawyer, who's stingy enough to pick the sugar out of the teeth of the flies he cotches in his sugar-bowl. I darsn't bring ye there, but if the worst comes and ye haven't anything to ate, I'll fix it some way."
The plan was that Tom should stay in this house, visiting the other morning and evening in quest of information of Jim, while the sunlight would be spent in hunting for work.
It would be useless to dwell on the particulars of the several days which followed. Morning and night Tom went over to the other saloon and inquired after his missing friend. Each time the bartender replied he had not seen him, and it was his belief that the boy had "skipped the town," as he expressed it. The little bundle containing all of Jim's possessions was given to Tom, who took it away with him, leaving word where his friend could find him.
Dull, leaden despair filled his heart; and, as he paid his board-bill each evening, he saw with feelings which can scarcely be pictured, the steady decrease of his pile, until it was close to the vanishing point.
Five days had passed since he entered the new hotel, during which not a word was heard of Jim, nor had he seen anything of his friend Patsey McConough.
It seemed to the boy that he had tramped New York from one end to the other in his search for work, and in not a single instance had he received the slightest encouragement. Two vocations, it may be said, were open to him from the beginning; they were to sell newspapers or to black shoes. To one of Tom's education and former life, it was the most bitter humiliation to contemplate adopting either of these employments. But the night came when he felt he must do it or beg.
He naturally preferred the newspaper line to that of polishing shoes, and he resolve to make his venture early the following morning.
Tom was unusually strong and active for one of his years, and he
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