Mark the Match Boy / or Richard Hunter's Ward
PREFACE
"Mark, the Match Boy," is the third volume of the "Ragged Dick Series," and, like its predecessors, aims to describe a special phase of street life in New York. While it is complete in itself, several characters are introduced who have figured conspicuously in the preceding volumes; and the curiosity as to their future history, which has been expressed by many young readers, will be found to be gratified in the present volume.
The author has observed with pleasure the increased public attention which has been drawn to the condition of these little waifs of city life, by articles in our leading magazines, and in other ways; and hopes that the result will be to strengthen and assist the philanthropic efforts which are making to rescue them from their vagabond condition, and train them up to be useful members of society. That his own efforts have been received with so large a measure of public favor, not limited to the young readers for whom the series is especially written, the author desires to express his grateful thanks.
CHAPTER I
RICHARD HUNTER AT HOME
"Fosdick," said Richard Hunter, "what was the name of that man who owed your father two thousand dollars, which he never paid him?"
"Hiram Bates," answered Fosdick, in some surprise. "What made you think of him?"
"I thought I remembered the name. He moved out West, didn't he?"
"So I heard at the time."
"Do you happen to remember where? Out West is a very large place."
"I do not know exactly, but I think it was Milwaukie."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Richard Hunter, in visible excitement. "Well, Fosdick, why don't you try to get the debt paid?"
"Of what use would it be? How do I know he is living in Milkwaukie now? If I should write him a letter, there isn't much chance of my ever getting an answer."
"Call and see him."
"What, go out to Milwaukie on such a wild-goose chase as that? I can't think what you are driving at, Dick."
"Then I'll tell you, Fosdick. Hiram Bates is now in New York."
"How do you know?" asked Fosdick, with an expression of mingled amazement and incredulity.
"I'll show you."
Richard Hunter pointed to the list of hotel arrivals in the "Evening Express," which he held in his hand. Among the arrivals at the Astor House occurred the name of Hiram Bates, from Milwaukie.
"If I am not mistaken," he said, "that is the name of your father's debtor."
"I don't know but you are right," said Fosdick, thoughtfully.
"He must be prosperous if he stops at a high-priced hotel like the Astor."
"Yes, I suppose so. How much good that money would have done my poor father," he added, with a sigh.
"How much good it will do you, Fosdick."
Fosdick shook his head. "I would sell out my chance of getting it for ten dollars," he said.
"I would buy it at that price if I wanted to make money out of you; but I don't. I advise you to attend to this matter at once."
"What can I do?" asked Fosdick, who seemed at a loss to understand his companion's meaning.
"There is only one thing to do," said Dick, promptly. "Call on Mr. Bates this evening at the hotel. Tell him who you are, and hint that you should like the money."
"I haven't got your confidence, Dick. I shouldn't know how to go about it. Do you really think it would do any good? He might think I was impertinent."
"Impertinent to ask payment of a just debt! I don't see it in that light. I think I shall have to go with you."
"I wish you would, – that is, if you really think there is any use in going."
"You mustn't be so bashful if you want to get on in the world, Fosdick. As long as there's a chance of getting even a part of it, I advise you to make the attempt."
"Well, Dick, I'll be guided by your advice."
"Two thousand dollars would be a pretty good windfall for you."
"That's true enough, considering that I only get eight dollars a week."
"I wish you got more."
"So do I, for one particular reason."
"What is that?"
"I don't feel satisfied to have you pay ten dollars a week towards our board, while I pay only six."
"Didn't you promise not to say anything more about that?" said Dick, reproachfully.
"But I can't help thinking about it. If we had stayed at our old boarding-house in Bleecker Street, I could have paid my full share."
"But this is a nicer room."
"Much nicer. If I only paid my half, I should be glad of the chance."
"Well, I'll promise you one thing. If Mr. Bates pays you the two thousand dollars, you may pay your half of the expense."
"Not much chance of that, Dick."
"We can tell better after calling at the Astor House. Get on your coat and we'll start."
While the boys, – for the elder of the two is but eighteen – are making preparations to go out, a few explanations may be required by the reader. Those who have read "Ragged Dick" and "Fame and Fortune," – the preceding volumes of this series, – will understand that less than three years before Richard Hunter was an ignorant and ragged boot-black about the streets, and Fosdick, though possessing a better education, was in the same business. By a series of upward steps, partly due to good fortune, but largely to his own determination to improve, and hopeful energy, Dick had now become a book-keeper in the establishment of Rockwell & Cooper, on Pearl Street, and possessed the confidence and good wishes of the firm in a high degree.
Fosdick was two years younger, and, though an excellent boy, was less confident, and not so well fitted as his friend to contend with the difficulties of life, and fight his way upward. He was employed in Henderson's hat and cap store on Broadway, and was at present earning a salary of eight dollars a week. As the two paid sixteen dollars weekly for their board, Fosdick would have had nothing left if he had paid his full share. But Richard Hunter at first insisted on paying eleven dollars out of the sixteen, leaving his friend but five to pay. To this Fosdick would not agree, and was with difficulty prevailed upon at last to allow Richard to pay ten; but he had always felt a delicacy about this, although he well knew how gladly his friend did it.
The room which they now occupied was situated in St. Mark's Place, which forms the eastern portion of Eighth Street. It was a front room on the third floor, and was handsomely furnished. There was a thick carpet, of tasteful figure, on the floor. Between the two front windows was a handsome bureau, surmounted by a large mirror. There was a comfortable sofa, chairs covered with hair-cloth, a centre-table covered with books, crimson curtains, which gave a warm and cosey look to the room when lighted up in the evening, and all the accessories of a well-furnished room which is used at the same time as parlor and chamber. This, with an excellent table, afforded a very agreeable home to the boys, – a home which, in these days, would cost considerably more, but for which, at the time of which I write, sixteen dollars was a fair price.
It may be thought that, considering how recently Richard Hunter had been a ragged boot-black, content to sleep in boxes and sheltered doorways, and live at the cheapest restaurants, he had become very luxurious in his tastes. Why did he not get a cheaper boarding-place, and save up the difference in price? No doubt this consideration will readily suggest itself to the minds of some of my young readers.
As Richard Hunter had a philosophy of his own on this subject, I may as well explain it here. He had observed that those young men who out of economy contented themselves with small and cheerless rooms, in which there was no provision for a fire, were driven in the evening to