Julius, The Street Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.
no; we can’t show any cities in the West as big as New York. I doubt if we ever shall, though we’ve some large cities, that are growing fast. Do you think you are likely to come to Milwaukee?”
“I don’t know,” said Julius. “Mr. O’Connor could tell you.”
“Where is he?”
“In the other car. Will I speak to him?”
“Not yet. I’ve got something more to say to you. I am under an obligation to you.”
“What’s that?” asked Julius, puzzled.
“I mean that you have done me a favor.”
“That’s all right,” said Julius. “I’m glad of it.”
“And in doing so, you have probably made an enemy,” added the other.
“You mean Ned Sanders?”
“Yes; I am afraid, if he gets a chance, he will do you an injury.”
“I’ll be out of his way.”
“He might some time see you.”
“If he does, and I’m grown up, I won’t be afraid of him.”
“You seem to be a brave young man.”
“I ain’t a coward,” said Julius, proudly.
“And yet there are some things I hope you will be afraid of.”
“What are them?” asked Julius, somewhat puzzled.
“I hope you will be afraid to lie and steal, and do wrong generally.”
“I shan’t steal,” said Julius; “I don’t know about lyin’, most boys lie sometimes.”
“I hope you will be one of the boys that do not lie at all.”
“Maybe so,” said Julius, dubiously. “A feller can’t always be good.”
“No, I suppose not. But there is no occasion for lying.”
“I’ll try not to, but I ain’t an angel.”
“Angels are scare, as far as my observation goes,” said his companion, smiling, “and you appear to have too much human nature about you to be altogether angelic. But there’s one thing you can do. You can try to do right.”
“I mean to,” said Julius, promptly. “I want to grow up respectable.”
“If you want to, you probably will. You’ll have a better chance at the West than you would in New York.”
“If I stayed there, I’d be a bootblack all my life,” said Julius. “There ain’t no chance for a boy like me to rise. I wouldn’t want to be a bootblack,” he added reflectively, “when I got to be old and gray-headed.”
“No, it wouldn’t be an agreeable business for an old man to follow. But I’ve got off the track.”
“Off the track!” repeated Julius, looking out of the window.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. The cars are all right. But I meant to say, that I had got away from what I meant to say. I think I owe you something for your saving me from losing my watch.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Julius.
“To me it is a great deal, and I want to show my sense of the favor. Is there anything in particular you would like?”
“I don’t know,” said Julius, thoughtfully. “I might like a jack-knife.”
“That isn’t enough. As I said, I have particular reason to value my watch and chain. Did you ever have a watch yourself?”
“I never got so far along. I couldn’t save enough on shines for that.”
“Well, it so happens that, in New York, I took a small silver watch and chain in the way of business from a traveler who owed me money. Here it is.”
He drew from his pocket a neat, but inexpensive silver watch, with a chain of the same metal.
“What do you think of it?” he said.
“It’s tiptop,” said Julius admiringly.
“I am glad you like it, for I am going to give it to you.”
“Goin’ to give me a watch and chain!” repeated Julius, in amazement.
“Yes. Would you like it?”
“It’ll make me feel like a swell,” said Julius, elated. “Ain’t it a beauty, Teddy?” he continued, turning in his seat, and displaying it to his comrade.
“It ain’t yours, is it?” asked Teddy, not without a slight feeling of envy.
“Yes, it is. This gentleman says so.”
And Julius proudly put the watch in his vest pocket, and attached the chain to one of the button-holes. The donor looked on with a benevolent smile, glad that he had been able to make so acceptable a gift to the boy who had done him such a service.
“Now,” he said, smiling, “it will be your turn to look out for pickpockets. They may try to carry off your watch, as they did mine.”
“I d like to see ’em do it,” said Julius, confidently. “It’ll take a smart pickpocket to hook my watch.”
“Well, my young friend,” said the other, “as the time may come when I can do you a service, I will give you my card.”
“I can’t read writin’,” admitted Julius, reluctantly, as he took the card, which was printed in script.
“My name is John Taylor, of Milwaukee. Keep the card, and you will soon be able to read it.”
Here the paper boy passed through the car, and Mr. Taylor, purchasing a copy of Harper’s Weekly, was soon immersed in its contents. Finding that the interview was ended, Julius returned to his former seat, and Teddy and he spent some time in admiring it.
CHAPTER VI.
A NEWSBOY’S LETTER
“I say, Julius, you’re in luck,” said Teddy.
“I won’t be in luck if Marlowe or Ned Sanders gets hold of me.”
“They won’t find you, away out West.”
“Marlowe might. He’s a tough customer, Marlowe is. I mind how he looked when he got hold of me at Staten Island. Jack ain’t so bad, but Marlowe’d go a thousand miles to get hold of me.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, Julius.”
“I shan’t lose no sleep. If he don’t break out of jail, I’ll be a man before he can get at me.”
“Look out of the window, Julius. See them cows harnessed together. What are they doin’?”
“They’re ploughin’, I expect,” said Julius, who, like his companion, took a yoke of oxen for cows.
“They don’t go very fast.”
“They look as if they was lazy. They’re the biggest cows I ever see.”
Here Mr. O’Connor came into the car and passed down the aisle, looking to see that none of the boys were missing.
“Well, boys, how are you getting along?” he asked, pleasantly.
“Bully!” “Tiptop!” were heard from the boys on either side.
“What have you got there, Julius?” asked the superintendent, noticing the watch chain.
Julius drew out his watch.
“Where did you get it?” asked Mr. O’Connor, a little suspiciously. “You haven’t spent any of your money, have you?”
“No; it was given me,” said Julius.
“Given you?”
“By that gentleman.”
Mr. Taylor looked up, finding