CHAPTER XIII
BULLDOG QUESTIONS DICK
Business was better for the two boys the next day, as the rain had ceased and there was a lively demand for papers. As soon as the first rush was over Jimmy, who was as usual at his place at Broadway and Barclay Street, turned to an advertisement in one of the papers and began to pick out the letters. He was engaged in this occupation when a man stopped in front of him, but at first Jimmy did not see him.
"Aren't you selling any papers to-day?" asked the man.
"Sure," replied Jimmy, alive in an instant to business. "Sun, Woild, Herald, Times, Joinal—why—why——" he exclaimed as he looked up and saw Mr. Crosscrab, the young man from Vermont, standing in front of him.
"I see you remember me," said Mr. Crosscrab, smiling.
"Dat's what I do. Did youse git t' Brooklyn all right?"
"Yes, and when I got there I found my aunt very sick. That is why I haven't been back to New York. This is the first chance I have had to come over, and I took the opportunity of looking for you."
"Well, I'm right on de job. Have a paper?"
"I'll take a Sun," and the countryman handed Jimmy a nickel.
"Dat's all right," replied the newsboy in a spirit of generosity. "Have one on me."
"Are you giving papers away?"
"To me friends, yep."
"Well, I don't expect to get my news that way, though I'm glad you consider me a friend. I insist on paying for this."
"But didn't youse give me a quarter?"
"That was for information furnished. I consider I got twenty-five cents' worth from you. Now I want to buy a paper. If you won't sell it, I'll get one from some other boy."
"Well, if youse puts it dat way I'll take de coin," said Jimmy, though he honestly wanted Mr. Crosscrab to take a paper for nothing.
"How have you been since I last saw you?" asked the young man.
"Fine. I've got a partner in me business now."
"Is that so? Who is he?"
"Dick Box."
"Dick Box? What a strange name."
"Well, I found him in a queer place—in a box—so I give him dat name. He don't know any udder."
"That's odd. Well, I am going up to Central Park. Which is the best way to get there?"
Jimmy gave the necessary directions.
"I'd like to have you come along," proposed Mr. Crosscrab, who had taken quite a liking to Jimmy.
"Can't leave me business. Me partner'd git mad if I made him do all de work."
"No, probably it wouldn't be right. Well, perhaps I will see him some day and take you both along. I need a guide to show me around New York. I suppose you would come if I made it worth your while?"
"I'll have t' speak t' me partner," replied Jimmy with a laugh.
"Where do you live?"
"Newsboys' Lodgin' House. We've got a regular room, an' we're dead swell. Come an' see us."
"Perhaps I will some time," and with a pleasant smile Mr. Crosscrab bade Jimmy good-by.
"Dick Box," mused the country young man as he walked away. "That is certainly an odd name. I used to know a boy named Dick, but his last name wasn't Box nor anything like it."
During this time Dick was selling papers in the financial district. He found that it was an advantage to follow his method of calling the attention of the bankers and brokers to news in which they were interested rather than to more sensational items.
He sold nearly as many papers as did Jimmy, who had years of experience to his credit. Dick soon became well known as a newsboy in the moneyed section of the city, and many rich men bought their papers regularly from him. His frank and courteous manners, and the quiet, business-like way in which he went about gained him a number of friends.
It also gained him enemies among the other newsboys, who did not like to see their territory invaded by a newcomer, especially one who did so well.
But as the financial district was patroled by several policemen and detectives to prevent robberies, none of the jealous newsboys dared attack Dick and engage him in a fight, which a number of them wanted to do to pay him back for taking some of their trade away.
Dick was doing nothing wrong, and he knew it. The streets were free, and if he could sell papers by his own methods, he knew he was within his rights.
Still there was much feeling against him, and among those who considered him their especial enemy was Bulldog Smouder. He had often sold newspapers in Wall Street, and he noted a falling off in his sales since Dick's advent. Bulldog's method was like that of his companions. He would yell out at the top of his voice, and call some piece of news which might or might not be true. And whatever it was, he mumbled his words so that no one could understand him. Whenever he saw a man put his hand in his pocket he would assume that the man wanted a paper, and he would rush up and thrust one in his face.
On one occasion a gentleman who frequently bought a paper of Dick approached him, putting his hand in his pocket to extract a coin. The motion was observed by Bulldog, who rushed forward with such eagerness that he ran into the man.
"Here! What are you trying to do!" exclaimed the customer.
"Wuxtry! Don't youse want a wuxtry? All de latest news!" exclaimed the big newsboy.
"Certainly I want a paper, but I prefer to buy it of this lad," and he purchased one from Dick.
"I'll fix youse fer dis!" threatened Bulldog when the man had gone. Perhaps he might have undertaken to chastise Dick then and there had it not been for the presence of a big policeman on the next corner.
"What have I done?" asked Dick.
"Youse is takin' all me customers away."
"I didn't do anything to induce that man to buy of me."
"Yes, youse did."
"What did I do?"
"Well, I don't know what it was, but youse has got t' git outer here. Dis is me stampin' ground, an' I want youse t' git."
"Suppose I don't?" asked Dick, who was not afraid, even if Bulldog was the larger.
"Well, you'll see. Who are youse, anyhow? Comin' t' N'York an' buttin' in here where youse ain't wanted. Why don't youse go back home?"
"I would if I knew where my home was," spoke Dick quietly, for he made no secret of his queer plight.
"Say, kid, honest, don't youse remember anyt'ing about yerself?" asked Bulldog with a sudden assumption of friendliness, for he happened to remember the conversation he and Mike Conroy had had concerning Dick, and he thought this a good chance to further the plot which the two had made.
"I can remember very little about what happened before I met Jimmy Small."
"Don't youse know what kind of a place youse lived in?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"An' can't youse remember yer own name?"
"Only the first part of it."
"Well, dat's a queer go! Would youse like t' git back home, kid?"
"Indeed I would. Why, do you know anything about me? My mind seems in a daze whenever I try to think about it. If you know anything, please tell me."
"Naw, I don't know nuttin'. Say, youse didn't run away, did youse? Youse ain't comin' no game like dat, is yer?"
"No, certainly not," replied Dick, his face flushing at the insinuation.
"Well, dat's queer," murmured Bulldog as he turned away. Then he started suddenly as he saw coming toward him a man whom he knew. It was a detective from police headquarters, and Bulldog had frequently given the man information about petty thieves.
"Say," said Bulldog in a low tone to the detective as the latter reached him, "I want t' ask youse a few questions. Come in here," and he motioned to a hallway. The detective, who was inclined to be friendly with the newsboy, thinking he might have some future use for him, complied, and soon the two were in conversation.