Ragged Dick, Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks by Jr. Horatio Alger (free ebooks for android .txt) đ
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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âWhere?â
Dick pointed to a hideous old woman, of large proportions, wearing a bonnet of immense size, who presided over an apple-stand close by.
Frank laughed.
âIf that is the case,â he said, âI think I will patronize her.â
âLeave it to me,â said Dick, winking.
He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, âOld lady, have you paid your taxes?â
The astonished woman opened her eyes.
âIâm a govâment officer,â said Dick, âsent by the mayor to collect your taxes. Iâll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay what youâre owinâ to the govâment.â
âI donât know nothing about no taxes,â said the old woman, in bewilderment.
âThen,â said Dick, âIâll let you off this time. Give us two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will pay you.â
Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, Dick remarking, âIf these apples aint good, old lady, weâll return âem, and get our money back.â This would have been rather difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed.
Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted by a cupola.
âThatâs where the mayorâs office is,â said Dick. âHim and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by particâlar appointment. Thatâs the way I pay my city taxes.â
CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY
They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of ready-made clothing shops, many of which had half their stock in trade exposed on the sidewalk. The proprietors of these establishments stood at the doors, watching attentively the passersby, extending urgent invitations to any who even glanced at the goods to enter.
âWalk in, young gentlemen,â said a stout man, at the entrance of one shop.
âNo, I thank you,â replied Dick, âas the fly said to the spider.â
âWeâre selling off at less than cost.â
âOf course you be. Thatâs where you makes your money,â said Dick. âThere aint nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any profit on his goods.â
The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didnât quite comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with his companion.
In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.
âI am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. Itâs a frightful sacrifice. Whoâll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen shillings! Why the cloth cost more by the yard!â
This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three men, holding in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in the legs, and presenting a cheap Bowery look.
Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them knocked down to rather a verdant-looking individual at three dollars.
âClothes seem to be pretty cheap here,â said Frank.
âYes, but Baxter Street is the cheapest place.â
âIs it?â
âYes. Johnny Nolan got a whole rig-out there last week, for a dollar,âcoat, cap, vest, pants, and shoes. They was very good measure, too, like my best clothes that I took off to oblige you.â
âI shall know where to come for clothes next time,â said Frank, laughing. âI had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country. I suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fashionable?â
âIn course they are. Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes. When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I canât go the white hat. It aint becominâ to my style of beauty.â
A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small printed handbills. One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,â
âGRAND CLOSING-OUT SALE!âA variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles for Sale, at a Dollar apiece. Unparalleled Inducements! Walk in, Gentlemen!â
âWhereabouts is this sale?â asked Frank.
âIn here, young gentlemen,â said a black-whiskered individual, who appeared suddenly on the scene. âWalk in.â
âShall we go in, Dick?â
âItâs a swindlinâ shop,â said Dick, in a low voice. âIâve been there. That manâs a regular cheat. Heâs seen me before, but he donât know me coz of my clothes.â
âStep in and see the articles,â said the man, persuasively. âYou neednât buy, you know.â
âAre all the articles worth moreân a dollar?â asked Dick.
âYes,â said the other, âand some worth a great deal more.â
âSuch as what?â
âWell, thereâs a silver pitcher worth twenty dollars.â
âAnd you sell it for a dollar. Thatâs very kind of you,â said Dick, innocently.
âWalk in, and youâll understand it.â
âNo, I guess not,â said Dick. âMy servants is so dishonest that I wouldnât like to trust âem with a silver pitcher. Come along, Frank. I hope youâll succeed in your charitable enterprise of supplyinâ the public with silver pitchers at nineteen dollars less than they are worth.â
âHow does he manage, Dick?â asked Frank, as they went on.
âAll his articles are numbered, and he makes you pay a dollar, and then shakes some dice, and whatever the figgers come to, is the number of the article you draw. Most of âem aint worth sixpence.â
A hat and cap store being close at hand, Dick and Frank went in. For seventy-five cents, which Frank insisted on paying, Dick succeeded in getting quite a neat-looking cap, which corresponded much better with his appearance than the one he had on. The last, not being considered worth keeping, Dick dropped on the sidewalk, from which, on looking back, he saw it picked up by a brother boot-black who appeared to consider it better than his own.
They retraced their steps and went up Chambers Street to Broadway. At the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street is a large white marble warehouse, which attracted Frankâs attention.
âWhat building is that?â he asked, with interest.
âThat belongs to my friend A. T. Stewart,â said Dick. âItâs the biggest store on Broadway.* If I ever retire from boot-blackinâ, and go into mercantile pursuits, I may buy him out, or build another store thatâll take the shine off this one.â
* Mr. Stewartâs Tenth Street store was not open at the time Dick spoke.
âWere you ever in the store?â asked Frank.
âNo,â said Dick; âbut Iâm intimate with one of Stewartâs partners. He is a cash boy, and does nothing but take money all day.â
âA very agreeable employment,â said Frank, laughing.
âYes,â said Dick, âIâd like to be in it.â
The boys crossed to the West side of Broadway, and walked slowly up the street. To Frank it was a very interesting spectacle. Accustomed to the quiet of the country, there was something fascinating in the crowds of people thronging the sidewalks, and the great variety of vehicles constantly passing and repassing in the street. Then again the shop-windows with their multifarious contents interested and amused him, and he was constantly checking Dick to look in at some well-stocked window.
âI donât see how so many shopkeepers can find people enough to buy of them,â he said. âWe havenât got but two stores in our village, and Broadway seems to be full of them.â
âYes,â said Dick; âand its pretty much the same in the avenoos, âspecially the Third, Sixth, and Eighth avenoos. The Bowery, too, is a great place for shoppinâ. There everybody sells cheaperân anybody else, and nobody pretends to make no profit on their goods.â
âWhereâs Barnumâs Museum?â asked Frank.
âOh, thatâs down nearly opposite the Astor House,â said Dick. âDidnât you see a great building with lots of flags?â
âYes.â
âWell, thatâs Barnumâs.* Thatâs where the Happy Family live, and the lions, and bears, and curiosities generally. Itâs a tip-top place. Havenât you ever been there? Itâs most as good as the Old Bowery, only the plays isnât quite so excitinâ.â
* Since destroyed by fire, and rebuilt farther up Broadway, and again burned down in February.
âIâll go if I get time,â said Frank. âThere is a boy at home who came to New York a month ago, and went to Barnumâs, and has been talking about it ever since, so I suppose it must be worth seeing.â
âTheyâve got a great play at the Old Bowery now,â pursued Dick. ââTis called the âDemon of the Danube.â The Demon falls in love with a young woman, and drags her by the hair up to the top of a steep rock where his castle stands.â
âThatâs a queer way of showing his love,â said Frank, laughing.
âShe didnât want to go with him, you know, but was in love with another chap. When he heard about his girl beinâ carried off, he felt awful, and swore an oath not to rest till he had got her free. Well, at last he got into the castle by some underground passage, and he and the Demon had a fight. Oh, it was bully seeinâ âem roll round on the stage, cuttinâ and slashinâ at each other.â
âAnd which got the best of it?â
âAt first the Demon seemed to be ahead, but at last the young Baron got him down, and struck a dagger into his heart, sayinâ, âDie, false and perjured villain! The dogs shall feast upon thy carcass!â and then the Demon give an awful howl and died. Then the Baron seized his body, and threw it over the precipice.â
âIt seems to me the actor who plays the Demon ought to get extra pay, if he has to be treated that way.â
âThatâs so,â said Dick; âbut I guess heâs used to it. It seems to agree with his constitution.â
âWhat building is that?â asked Frank, pointing to a structure several rods back from the street, with a large yard in front. It was an unusual sight for Broadway, all the other buildings in that neighborhood being even with the street.
âThat is the New York Hospital,â said Dick. âTheyâre a rich institution, and take care of sick people on very reasonable terms.â
âDid you ever go in there?â
âYes,â said Dick; âthere was a friend of mine, Johnny Mullen, he was a newsboy, got run over by a omnibus as he was crossinâ Broadway down near Park Place. He was carried to the Hospital, and me and some of his friends paid his board while he was there. It was only three dollars a week, which was very cheap, considerinâ all the care they took of him. I got leave to come and see him while he was here. Everything looked so nice and comfortable, that I thought a little of coaxinâ a omnibus driver to run over me, so I might go there too.â
âDid your friend have to have his leg cut off?â asked Frank, interested.
âNo,â said Dick; âthough there was a young student there that was very anxious to have it cut off; but it wasnât done, and Johnny is around the streets as well as ever.â
While this conversation was going on they reached No. 365, at the corner of Franklin Street.*
* Now the office of the Merchantsâ Union Express Company.
âThatâs Taylorâs Saloon,â said Dick. âWhen I come into a fortunâ I shall take my meals there regâlar.â
âI have heard of it very often,â said Frank. âIt is said to be very elegant. Suppose we go in and take an ice-cream. It will give us a chance to see it to better advantage.â
âThank you,â said Dick; âI think thatâs the most agreeable way of seeinâ the place myself.â
The boys entered, and found themselves in a spacious and elegant saloon, resplendent with gilding, and adorned on all sides by costly mirrors. They sat down to a small table with a marble top, and Frank gave the order.
âIt reminds me of Aladdinâs palace,â said Frank, looking about him.
âDoes it?â said Dick; âhe must have had plenty of money.â
âHe had an old lamp, which he had only to rub, when the Slave of the Lamp would appear, and do whatever he wanted.â
âThat must have been a valooable lamp. Iâd be willinâ to give all my Erie shares for it.â
There was a tall, gaunt individual at the next table, who apparently heard this last remark of Dickâs. Turning towards our hero, he said, âMay I inquire, young man, whether you are largely interested in this Erie Railroad?â
âI havenât got no property except whatâs invested in Erie,â said Dick, with a comical side-glance at Frank.
âIndeed! I suppose the investment was made by your guardian.â
âNo,â said Dick;
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