Julius, The Street Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.
the customers we used to have?”
“That’s what I mean to do, Teddy. I’ve got tired of knockin’ round the streets, as I have ever since I was knee high to a toad.”
“So have I, Julius. But I expect we’ll have to work hard.”
“I always did have to work. I’ll be willin’ to work when I’ve got a good home, and feel that I’m gettin’ along.”
The time had come to both of these homeless boys when they had become tired of their vagrant life and Arab-like condition. They had a vague idea of what is meant by respectability, and they began to appreciate its value. They could see that the street life they had been leading must soon terminate, and that it was time to form plans for the future. In a few years they would be men, and lay aside the street employments by which they had gained a scanty and miserable living. When that time came, would they take a respectable place in the ranks of workingmen, or become social outlaws like Jack Morgan and his confederate, Marlowe? Such thoughts had come frequently to Julius of late, and his present state of mind was one of the most encouraging signs of his future good conduct. He was dissatisfied with his past life, and anxious to enter upon a better.
The thirty boys were not all in one car. Mr. O’Connor and the greater part of them were in the car behind. Julius and the others could find no room there, and had come into this car.
After his conversation with Teddy, Julius began to look out of the window. Inexperienced as a traveler, and knowing very little of the country, he saw much that excited his interest, as they sped onward at the rate of thirty miles an hour. He also, with his usual habit of observation, regarded his fellow-passengers with interest. Directly in front of him sat a stout man, plainly dressed, who had become sleepy, and occasionally indulged in a nod, his newspaper having fallen from his hands upon the floor. He was probably more used to traveling than our hero and cared less for the scenery. Julius gave him a casual look, but without much interest, till at a way station a flashily dressed young man entered, and, looking carefully about him, selected the seat beside the stout man though he had his choice of several. Julius started when he saw him, and looked puzzled. He was sure he had seen him before, at Jack Morgan’s room, but there was something unfamiliar in his appearance. Jack’s friend had black hair. This man’s hair was red. A closer look, however, explained this discrepancy. Underneath the edge of the red he caught sight of a few black hairs, which were not entirely concealed. It was clear that he wore a red wig.
“It is Ned Sanders,” said Julius to himself, “and he’s got a red wig on. What’s he up to, I wonder? I’ll watch him.”
CHAPTER IV.
JULIUS DETECTS A PICKPOCKET
Ned Sanders settled himself into his seat, and looked about him. He did not, however, recognize Julius, for, though he had seen him in calling upon Jack Morgan, he had never taken particular notice of his features, probably regarding him as of little importance. Finally Mr. Sanders devoted special attention to the man at his side. As the latter was sleeping, he was not conscious of the close watch of his companion.
Julius noticed it, however, and, being familiar with the character of Sanders, said to himself: “I know what he’s up to. He wants to pick his pocket.”
From the watch pocket of the stout stranger depended a gold watch chain solid and valuable in appearance, and to it was attached a gold watch.
Sanders took out a newspaper, and held it before him. He appeared to be very much occupied with its contents, but Julius detected a stealthy glance at his companion’s waistcoat.
“This is gettin’ excitin’,” thought Julius. “He won’t wait long.”
Julius was right. Ned Sanders felt that now was the favorable opportunity to carry out his unlawful purpose, while his neighbor was asleep, as when his nap was over he would more readily detect his intentions.
With his paper still before his face, his hand crept softly to the watch chain, which he gently appropriated, dropping it into his coat pocket. But he was not yet satisfied. He was preparing to relieve the other of his pocketbook also, when Julius thought it was about time to interfere. Rising in his seat, he struck the stout man forcibly on the back. The latter started, and opening his eyes said, “What! Eh, what do you want? Is it morning?”
The pickpocket started also, and looked uneasy, but retained his seat, not suspecting that he had been detected. His uneasiness arose from the fear that his neighbor, on awakening, would immediately miss his watch, which would be awkward and perhaps dangerous for him. He was vexed with Julius, whom he did not yet recognize, for this interference with his plans.
“Can’t you let the gentleman alone?” he said angrily. “Why do you disturb him?”
“What’s the matter?” said his victim, in his turn, a little irritated. “What do you mean by thumping my back, boy?”
“I wanted to ask you what time it is,” said Julius, quietly.
“Well, that’s cool,” grumbled the stout man. “You wake me up out of a nap to ask me what time of day it is.”
Sanders turned pale when Julius asked this question, for he saw that discovery was imminent. He half arose from his seat, but it occurred to him that that would only fasten suspicion upon him. Moreover the train was going at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, and, though he might go into another car, he could not escape from the train. He closed his lips tightly, and tried to look calm and indifferent. He had determined to brazen it out.
Notwithstanding his grumbling rejoinder, the stout man felt for his watch. Now it was his turn to start and look dismayed.
“By jove, it’s gone!” he ejaculated.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Julius.
“My watch and chain are gone. Do you know anything about them, boy?”
“I think you had better put that question to the man you’re sittin’ with.”
“What do you mean by that, you young rascal?” demanded Ned Sanders, pale with passion and dismay. “I think, sir, the boy behind you has taken your watch.”
“I don’t see how he could do that,” said the other, regarding him suspiciously. “Can you tell me where my watch is sir?”
“What should I know of your watch? Do you mean to insult me, sir?” blustered the pickpocket.
His manner increased the suspicions of his victim, who recognized, by his appearance and flashy attire, the class to which he belonged. He turned to Julius, and asked, “What made you refer to this gentleman?”
“Because,” said Julius bluntly, “I saw him take it. He held up the paper before him, while he loosened your chain. He’s got it in his pocket now.”
“That is sufficient. Now, sir,” he said sternly, “I command you instantly to return my watch and chain.”
“I haven’t got it. The boy lies,” said Sanders, furiously.
By this time, most of the passengers in the car had gathered around the two. Just at this moment, too, the conductor entered.
“What’s the matter, gentlemen?” he asked.
“This man has stolen my watch,” said the stout man.
“It’s a – lie!” said Sanders.
“Are you willing to show us what you have in your pockets?” said the conductor.
“No, I’m not. I am a New York merchant, and I won’t submit to an impertinence.”
“Where is your place of business?”
“In Pearl Street,” answered Sanders, quite at random.
“Have you one of your business cards with you?”
“I believe so.”
He felt in his pocket, and appeared surprised at finding none.
“I believe I have none with me,” he admitted. “I generally have some.”
“What’s