"All right, I will. Then you won't come swimmin' to-night, d.i.c.k?"

"No, I've had enough of it for one day. I guess I'll be better in the morning."

d.i.c.k did not feel very well that night when he went to bed. The excitement had a bad effect on his nerves, and when he awoke in the morning, he had quite a fever. His face was flushed and his breathing rapid. He tried to get up to go out with his papers, but found himself too dizzy to stand.

"I--I guess I'm sick, Jimmy," he said. "But I'll be all right in a little while. You go ahead out, so as not to lose the morning trade."

"What? And leave you here all alone, and sick? I guess not much!

Wait, I'll call Mr. Snowden. He knows somethin' about medicine."

CHAPTER XXI

JIMMY IN TROUBLE

When the manager of the lodging-house saw d.i.c.k, he realized that the lad was quite ill. He did not try to prescribe for him, but at once called in the district physician.

The doctor looked grave when he had felt of d.i.c.k's pulse, looked at his tongue, and asked him some questions. Then he beckoned Mr. Snowden to come out of the room.

"What is it?" asked the manager.

"I'm afraid the lad's going to be quite ill. I can't be positive, but I don't like his symptoms. He must have had some shock recently that brought this on. He looks like a boy from some refined home. How does he come to be in this place?" This physician was not the one who had seen d.i.c.k before.

Mr. Snowden explained as much about d.i.c.k's case as he knew, ending up with an account of Bulldog's meanness.

"That fright was what brought it on," declared the doctor. "Well, I'll leave some medicine for him, and I'll come in again this afternoon. He ought to have some one to look after him."

"I guess we can arrange that. His 'partner,' as he calls him, Jimmy Small, is very kind to him. The two boys have done well selling papers, and I understand they have quite a tidy little sum saved up.

They are trying to buy a stand. I guess Jimmy will stay in and look after him, and I will do what I can."

"Perhaps that will answer. He may take a turn for the better. I can tell in a few hours."

Mr. Snowden had a talk with Jimmy, telling him part of what the doctor had said, but not enough to alarm the lad. As he expected, Jimmy at once offered to stay at home and nurse d.i.c.k, as he had done once before.

"But what about selling the papers?" asked the manager.

"I can get Sam Schmidt and Frank Merton to look after part of my customers for me. The rest will have to wait until d.i.c.k gets well."

This arrangement was carried out, Frank and Sam gladly agreeing to do all in their power to help the two boys. d.i.c.k was quite ill, but fortunately nothing very serious developed. His fever still continued, however, and he was too weak to get out of bed, the physician said.

"How long will I have to stay in?" asked d.i.c.k.

"At least a week. Perhaps longer. You require nourishing food, and your nerves need quieting. You are not used to this life."

"No," said d.i.c.k softly, and again there came to him the troublesome question of what sort a life he was accustomed to, and who he was.

"But you must not worry," cautioned the doctor. "You'll be well taken care of, and in a short time you can go out again."

In a few days d.i.c.k was enough better so that he did not need any one with him constantly. Jimmy, therefore, could go out on the streets selling papers, for Mr. Snowden or some of the men employed about the lodging-house looked in d.i.c.k's room several times during the day to see if he needed anything.

"Lots of men is askin' for you," said Jimmy, when he came home one night. "Sam Schmidt is takin' care of your customers down in Wall Street, and they want to know when you're comin' back. They say they're waitin' for you, and for a while they'll buy of Sam. He tried to explain that he was workin' for you, but he can't twist his Dutch tongue well enough yet. But I guess it's all right."

d.i.c.k did not recover as quickly as the doctor expected he would, and he had been in bed over a week, for the fever did not seem to yield to the treatment.

"It must be some trouble that I can't get at," said the baffled physician one day to Mr. Snowden. "Perhaps that blow he got just before he found himself in the box may have had something to do with it. If he doesn't get better soon I'll have him taken to the hospital.

We may have to operate."

"Don't tell him or Jimmy that."

"Oh, no; not until it's necessary. I'll try some new medicine."

It was the day following this that something happened which changed everything, and while at the time it seemed to Jimmy quite a misfortune, in the end it turned into a blessing.

As might be expected, Mike Conroy and Bulldog Smouder were much incensed at the failure of their plot. Jimmy had reached New York much quicker than they had thought he would, thanks to the kindness of the woman who supplied him with carfare, and to whom, with d.i.c.k's help that same night, he had mailed back the twenty-five cents with a letter of thanks. Then, too, Sam's unexpected aid and his beating of Bulldog made that bully very angry. So the two cronies were looking for a chance to get "even," as they called it.

They had about given up trying to get any reward for restoring d.i.c.k to his home, and they began to believe that the boy was telling the truth about himself. But their anger turned against Jimmy, whom they both regarded as their enemy. They were on the lookout for an opportunity to injure him in some way.

Chance gave them the very opportunity they wanted. It was in the afternoon, Jimmy was selling the last of his papers, and was counting on getting back to the room where d.i.c.k was. An Italian banana peddler stopped his cart right behind the boy and began to arrange the fruit in tempting piles. Just then Bulldog and Mike pa.s.sed, and as Jimmy was counting his change he did not see them.

"Shove him over inter de Ginny's cart an' run," suggested Mike.

"Sure," agreed his crony, always ready for a mean trick.

When Jimmy was not looking Mike stepped quickly up and gave the newsboy a vigorous push. Jimmy lost his balance, and the next instant was fairly on top of the cart. It upset, and he rolled to the ground amid bunches of the yellow fruit.

"Comme sta!" wildly exclaimed the Italian. "Whatta for you doa dat?

Badda de boy! Me calla de police! Upseta alla de banan!"

"I didn't do it. They pushed me," said Jimmy as he struggled to his feet and started to point out Bulldog and Mike, of whom he had caught a pa.s.sing glimpse as they fled. But they had hid in a doorway and could not be seen.

"n.o.body doa de push!" declared the Italian. "Badda de boya, makea me mucha de troub! Hey, police!" and he beckoned to a big bluecoat.

"Now what's the row?" asked the officer.

"Dessa boy he upseta my stand. Spoila alla de banan."

"I didn't do it," declared Jimmy.

"Aw, g'wan! Didn't I see you on top of the cart," said the officer.

There had recently been a concerted protest on the part of Italian peddlers against newsboys and bootblacks who annoyed them, and as the Italian vote was getting large, interested politicians had induced the police captains to instruct their men to be on the lookout to arrest boys who bothered the peddlers. So the officer took more interest in this case than otherwise he would have done.

"Some one pushed me," a.s.serted Jimmy again.

"That's a likely story. I seen you do it. Now I'm goin' to run you in," and with that the bluecoat arrested Jimmy and marched him off to the police station, the Italian following with his cart to make a complaint.