Jr. Horatio Alger

It was at a late hour when the boys left the theatre. The play had been of a highly sensational character, and had been greeted with enthusiastic applause on the part of the audience, particularly the occupants of the "pit." Now, as they emerged from the portals of the theatre, various characteristic remarks of a commendatory character were interchanged.

"How'd you like it, Ben?" asked Barney.

"Bully," said Ben.

"I liked the fight best," said Barney. "Jones give it to him just about right."

"Yes, that was good," said Ben; "but I liked it best where Alphonso says to Montmorency, 'Caitiff, beware, or, by the heavens above, my trusty sword shall drink thy foul heart's blood!'"

Ben gave this with the stage emphasis, so far as he could imitate it. Barney listened admiringly.

"I say, Ben," he replied, "you did that bully. You'd make a tip-top actor."

"Would I?" said Ben, complacently. "I think I'd like to try it if I knew enough. How much money have you got, Barney?"

"Nary a red. I spent the last on peanuts."

"Just my case. We'll have to find some place to turn in for the night."

"I know a place," said Barney, "if they'll let us in."

"Whereabouts is it?"

"Down to Dover Street wharf."

"What sort of a place is it? There aint any boxes or old wagons, are there?"

"No, it's under the wharf,—a bully place."

"Under the wharf! It's wet, isn't it?"

"No, you just come along. I'll show you."

Having no other place to suggest, Ben accepted his companion's guidance, and the two made their way by the shortest route to the wharf named. It is situated not far from Fulton Ferry on the east side. It may be called a double wharf. As originally built, it was found too low for the class of vessels that used it, and another flooring was built over the first, leaving a considerable space between the two. Its capabilities for a private rendezvous occurred to a few boys, who forthwith proceeded to avail themselves of it. It was necessary to carry on their proceedings secretly; otherwise there was danger of interference from the city police. What steps they took to make their quarters comfortable will shortly be described.

When they reached the wharf, Barney looked about him with an air of caution, which Ben observed.

"What are you scared of?" asked Ben.

"We mustn't let the 'copp' see us," said Barney, "Don't make no noise."

Thus admonished, Ben followed his companion with as little noise as possible.

"How do you get down there?" he asked.

"I'll show you," said Barney.

He went to the end of the wharf, and, motioning Ben to look over, showed him a kind of ladder formed by nailing strips of wood, at regular intervals, from the outer edge down to the water's edge. This was not an arrangement of the boys, but was for the accommodation of river-boats landing at the wharf.

"I'll go down first," whispered Barney. "If the 'copp' comes along, move off, so he won't notice nothin'."

"All right!" said Ben.

Barney got part way down the ladder, when a head was protruded from below, and a voice demanded, "Who's there?"

"It's I,—Barney Flynn."

"Come along, then."

"I've got a fellow with me," continued Barney.

"Who is it?"

"It's Ben, the baggage-smasher. He wants to stop here to-night."

"All right; we can trust him."

"Come along, Ben," Barney called up the ladder.

Ben quickly commenced the descent. Barney was waiting for him, and held out his hand to help him off. Our hero stepped from the ladder upon the lower flooring of the wharf, and looked about him with some curiosity. It was certainly a singular spectacle that met his view. About a dozen boys were congregated in the room under the wharf, and had evidently taken some pains to make themselves comfortable. A carpet of good size was spread over a portion of the flooring. Upon this three beds were spread, each occupied by three boys. Those who could not be accommodated in this way laid on the carpet. Some of the boys were already asleep; two were smoking, and conversing in a low voice. Looking about him Ben recognized acquaintances in several of them.[A]

"Is that you, Mike Sweeny?" he asked of a boy stretched out on the nearest bed.

"Yes," said Mike; "come and lay alongside of me."

There was no room on the bed, but Ben found space beside it on the carpet, and accordingly stretched himself out.

[A] The description of the room under the wharf, and the circumstances of its occupation by a company of street boys, are not imaginary. It was finally discovered, and broken up by the police, the details being given, at the time, in the daily papers, as some of my New York readers will remember. Discovery did not take place, however, until it had been occupied some time.

"How do you like it?" asked Mike.

"Tip-top," said Ben. "How'd you get the carpet and beds? Did you buy 'em?"

"Yes," said Mike, with a wink; "but the man wasn't in, and we didn't pay for 'em."

"You stole them, then?"

"We took 'em," said Mike, who had an objection to the word stole.

"How did you get them down here without the copp seein' you?"

"We hid 'em away in the daytime, and didn't bring 'em here till night. We came near gettin' caught."

"How long have you been down here?"

"Most a month."

"It's a good place."

"Yes," said Mike, "and the rent is very reasonable. We don't have to pay nothin' for lodgin'. It's cheaper'n the Lodge."

"That's so," said Ben. "I'm sleepy," he said, gaping. "I've been to the Old Bowery to-night. Good-night!"

"Good-night!"

In five minutes Ben was fast asleep. Half an hour later, and not a sound was heard in the room under the wharf except the occasional deep breathing of some of the boys. The policeman who trod his beat near by little suspected that just at hand, and almost under his feet, was a rendezvous of street vagrants and juvenile thieves, for such I am sorry to say was the character of some of the boys who frequented these cheap lodgings.

In addition to the articles already described there were two or three chairs, which had been contributed by different members of the organization.

Ben slept soundly through the night. When he woke up, the gray morning light entering from the open front towards the sea had already lighted up indistinctly the space between the floors. Two or three of the boys were already sitting up, yawning and stretching themselves after their night's slumber. Among these was Mike Sweeny.

"Are you awake, Ben?" he asked.

"Yes," said Ben; "I didn't hardly know where I was at first."

"It's a bully place, isn't it?"

"That's so. How'd you come across it?"

"Oh, some of us boys found it out. We've been sleepin' here a month."

"Won't you let a feller in?"

"We might let you in. I'll speak to the boys."

"I'd like to sleep here," said Ben. "It's a good deal better than sleepin' out round. Who runs the hotel?"

"Well, I'm one of 'em."

"You might call it Sweeny's Hotel," suggested Ben, laughing.

"I aint the boss; Jim Bagley's got most to do with it."

"Which is he?"

"That's he, over on the next bed."

"What does he do?"

"He's a travellin' match merchant."

"That sounds big."

"Jim's smart,—he is. He makes more money'n any of us."

"Where does he travel?"

"Once he went to Californy in the steamer. He got a steerage ticket for seventy-five dollars; but he made more'n that blackin' boots for the other passengers afore they got there. He stayed there three months, and then came home."

"Does he travel now?"

"Yes, he buys a lot of matches, and goes up the river or down into Jersey, and is gone a week. A little while ago he went to Buffalo."

"Oh, yes; I know where that is."

"Blest if I do."

"It's in the western part of York State, just across from Canada."

"Who told you?"

"I learned it in school."

"I didn't know you was a scholar, Ben."

"I aint now. I've forgot most all I ever knew. I haven't been to school since I was ten years old."

"Where was that?"

"In the country."

"Well, I never went to school more'n a few weeks. I can read a little, but not much."

"It costs a good deal to go to Buffalo. How did Jim make it while he was gone?"

"Oh, he came home with ten dollars in his pocket besides payin' his expenses."

"What does Jim do with all his money?"

"He's got a mother and sister up in Bleecker Street, or somewheres round there. He pays his mother five dollars a week, besides takin' care of himself."

"Why don't he live with his mother?"

"He'd rather be round with the boys."

I may remark here that Jim Bagley is a real character, and all that has been said about him is derived from information given by himself, in a conversation held with him at the Newsboys' Lodging House. He figures here, however, under an assumed name, partly because the record in which his real name is preserved has been mislaid. The impression made upon the mind of the writer was, that Jim had unusual business ability and self-reliance, and might possibly develop into a successful and prosperous man of business.

Jim by this time was awake.

"Jim Bagley," said Mike, "here's a feller would like to put up at our hotel."

"Who is he?" asked Jim.

The travelling match merchant, as Mike had described him, was a boy of fifteen, rather small of his age, with a keen black eye, and a quick, decided, business-like way.

"It's this feller,—he's a baggage-smasher," explained Mike.

"All right," said Jim; "he can come if he'll pay his share."

"How much is it?" asked Ben.

Mike explained that it was expected of each guest to bring something that would add to the comforts of the rendezvous. Two boys had contributed the carpet, for which probably they had paid nothing; Jim had supplied a bed, for which he did pay, as "taking things without leave" was not in his line. Three boys had each contributed a chair. Thus all the articles which had been accumulated were individual contributions. Ben promised to pay his admission fee in the same way, but expressed a doubt whether he might not have to wait a few days, in order to save money enough to make a purchase. He never stole himself, though his association with street boys, whose principles are not always very strict on this point, had accustomed him to regard theft as a venial fault, provided it was not found out. For his own part, however, he did not care to run the risk of detection. Though he had cut himself off from his old home, he still felt that he should not like to have the report reach home that he had been convicted of dishonesty.

At an early hour the boys shook off their slumbers, and one by one left the wharf to enter upon their daily work. The newsboys were the first to go, as they must be on hand at the newspaper offices early to get their supply of papers, and fold them in readiness for early customers. The boot-blacks soon followed, as most of them were under the necessity of earning their breakfast before they ate it. Ben also got up early, and made his way to the pier of the Stonington line of steamers from Boston. These usually arrived at an early hour, and there was a good chance of a job in Ben's line when the passengers landed.