Left Behind; Or, Ten Days a Newsboy

by James Otis

On Monday morning before they parted, and while Dickey was still their guest, Ben was very mysterious in his actions. He avoided Paul so much that one would have said he suspected the treasurer of having embezzled some of the funds of the concern.

But if any one knowing him had suspected that such was the case, that supposition would have been rejected as soon as a full view had been had of his face. He appeared to be in the most perfect good-humor, but considerably excited. Before he left the house he had succeeded in whispering these same words to Mopsey, Dickey, and Johnny, without having been overheard by Paul:

“Meet me at Nelly’s stand ’bout ’leven o’clock, an’ don’t let Polly know anything about it.”

The only one of that party who had not been in the best of spirits during the Sabbath, when Mrs. Green had exacted a due observance of the day by her boarders, was Paul, and he had been very sad. It was the second Sunday that had passed since he had been so unfortunately separated from his parents, and his distress of mind seemed to have increased, instead of being soothed, by time; in fact, as the days passed on, and he still found himself very far from accomplishing his purpose, he began to despair of ever succeeding.

As successful as they had been with their theatrical enterprise, the proceeds were not as large as he had expected; and when he figured out the amount which was each one’s share, he realized that it would be very long before he could get from that source money enough to buy his ticket home.

A few days previous to the giving of the entertainment, he had asked at one of the numerous ticket-offices on Broadway how much they would sell him a ticket for, and had been told that he could go for half fare, which would be fourteen dollars—a sum of money which seemed almost a fortune to him. During that day Ben had talked with him about his chances of getting home, what he would do when he got there, and many questions about his relatives, all of which Paul had answered readily, although it added to his distress to speak of such matters.

When Monday came, and the boys started out to attend to their business duties, Paul noticed that there was an evident anxiety on the part of all his companions to avoid him. This pained him more than he would have been willing to admit, and it was with a heavy heart that he went about his work, wondering what he had done to cause any change in their feelings towards him.

As all of that theatrical company had expected, they heard many criticisms on the performance they had given, and it seemed as though all of their patrons bestowed more time on giving them advice for future guidance than on their regular business. Some advised that Saturday evening performances be given each week, assuring the firm of their support during the entire season. Others were so unkind as to advise that a small theatre be built for Mopsey, where he could take all the parts himself, and very many had suggestions to give Dickey as to the kind of armor he should wear the next time he played the part of Macbeth.

Some of this advice Dickey received in a kindly spirit, assuring his friends of his determination never to play a part again that required any such uncomfortable costume; but to others he displayed considerable ill-feeling, and was so unwise as to be angry, when he should have remembered that as the public’s servant, in the capacity of an actor, he was obliged to hear their criticisms. But the partners were made happy by knowing that, in the majority of individual cases they heard of, their performance had given satisfaction, and that if they could only get a new play, since they had exhausted all of Shakespeare’s in one evening, they might feel assured of considerable patronage again.

Having been told of this at an early hour in the morning, Mopsey set about the task of writing, or thinking of, another play immediately; and it was said by those who watched him closely that he drove away at least four customers that forenoon by his seeming discourtesy, while he was trying to decide how a new play could be arranged.