"He said I didn't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunks, any way, and I wish I was in another place."

"So do I; but it isn't so easy to get a new position. You had better stay in this till another offers."

"I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It isn't fit work for a gentleman's son."

"Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very different with us all!" said Mrs. Crawford, with a sigh. She chose to forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the family.

"I wouldn't care if I were a salesman," continued Roswell; "but I don't like being an errand boy. I'd just as lives go to the post-office for letters, or to the bank with money, but, as for carrying big bundles of calico under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue the other day with a ten-pound bundle, when the boot-black came up, dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exulted over me for carrying such a big bundle."

There was a little exaggeration about this, for d.i.c.k was very far from exulting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volunteered to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then.

"He's an impudent fellow, then!" said Mrs. Crawford, indignantly. "Then Mr. Hall won't raise your wages?"

"It wasn't Mr. Hall I asked. It was Mr. Turner," said Roswell.

"Didn't he hold out any hopes of raising your wages hereafter?"

"He said he would raise them when I deserve it. He don't amount to much.

He's no gentleman," said Roswell, scornfully.

"Who's no gentleman?" inquired James Gilbert, who chanced just then to enter the room.

"Mr. Turner."

"Who's Mr. Turner?"

"My employer,--Hall & Turner, you know."

"What's amiss with him?"

"I asked him to raise my wages to-night, and he wouldn't."

"Umph! How much did you ask for?"

"Two dollars more a week."

"You're a fool!"

"_What!_" said Roswell, astonished.

"WHAT!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, angrily.

"I say the lad's a fool to ask for so large an advance so soon. Of course his employers refused it. I would, in their place."

"You're very hard upon the poor boy!" said Mrs. Crawford. "I thought you were his friend."

"So I am; but he's acted foolishly for all that. He should have known better."

"I ought to be worth six dollars, if your boot-black is worth ten,"

responded Roswell.

"He isn't worth ten."

"Why do you pay him that, then?"

"It's Mr. Rockwell who pays him, not I. Why he does it, I can't say. It isn't because he earns it. No boy of his age, or yours either, can earn ten dollars a week."

"At any rate he gets ten, and I get only four. I certainly earn more than that," said Roswell.

"I am not so sure about that," said his cousin. "But if it will afford you any comfort, I'll venture to make the prediction that he won't remain in Rockwell & Cooper's employment a week longer."

"Has anything happened?" asked Roswell, eagerly.

"_Not yet_," said James Gilbert, significantly.

"Then something is going to happen?"

"You need not trouble yourself to ask questions. Wait patiently, and when anything happens I'll let you know."

Here James Gilbert left the room, and went up to his own chamber. His words had excited hope in both Roswell and his mother. The former felt that it would be a satisfaction to him to learn that d.i.c.k had lost his situation, even if he failed to get it himself.

CHAPTER XI.

A NEW ALLIANCE.

The name of Micky Maguire is already familiar to the readers of "Ragged d.i.c.k." He had acquired a prominent position among the down-town boot-blacks by his strength, which he used oftentimes to impose upon boys weaker than himself. He was a young ruffian, indeed, with few redeeming qualities. When d.i.c.k was in the same business, he tried on two or three occasions to make him acknowledge his superiority; but it was not in d.i.c.k's nature to be subservient to any one whom he did not respect. Moreover, d.i.c.k had two good stout arms of his own, and knew how to use them in self-defence. The consequence was that Micky Maguire signally failed in the attempts which he made on different occasions to humble our hero, and was obliged to slink off in discomfiture with his satellite, Limpy Jim.

The last glimpse we had of Micky was in d.i.c.k's cast-off clothes, of which by some means, probably not honest, he had become possessed. He did not wear them long, however. The famous Washington coat and Napoleon pants were only mortal, and, being already of venerable antiquity, became at length too fragmentary even for Micky's not very fastidious taste. One morning, accordingly, having levied an unwilling contribution from a weaker but more industrious boot-black, Micky went to Baxter Street, and invested it in a blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, which, by some strange chain of circ.u.mstances, had found its way thither from some country town, where it may at one time have figured at trainings and on town-meeting days. A pair of overalls completed Micky's costume. He dispensed with a vest, his money not having been sufficient to buy that also.

Certainly Micky presented a noticeable figure as he stood in the City Hall Park, clad in the above-mentioned garments. He was rather proud of the bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and may even have fancied, in his uncultivated taste, that his new costume became him.

While he was swaggering about he espied part of a cigar, which some one had thrown aside. Micky, who was fond of smoking, picked it up, and looked about him for a light, not being provided with a match. A young man was slowly crossing the park with a cigar in his mouth. But he was evidently plunged in thought, and hardly conscious of the scene about him. Micky observed this, and a cunning scheme suggested itself.

He walked up to the young man, and said, cavalierly, "Give us a light, mister, will yer?"

The young man mechanically took the cigar from his mouth, and pa.s.sed it to the questioner without observing who he was. Had he done so, it is doubtful whether the request would have been complied with.

Rapidly calculating that he would not notice the subst.i.tution, Micky, after lighting the "stub," handed it to the young man, retaining the good cigar himself, and placing it straightway in his mouth.

This trick would probably have pa.s.sed off undetected, if it had not been observed by some of Micky's fellow-professionals.

A jeering laugh from these called the young man's attention to the subst.i.tution, and, with a look of indignation, he said, "You young rascal, you shall pay for this!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]