Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ clock upon the mantle struck eleven.

      Five minutes later and the door of the room slowly opened, and a boy entered on tiptoe. He was roughly dressed. His figure was manly and vigorous, and despite his stealthy step and suspicious movements his face was prepossessing.

      He started when he saw Florence.

      “What, a sleeping gal!” he said to himself. “Tim told me I’d find the coast clear, but I guess she’s sound asleep, and won’t hear nothing. I don’t half like this job, but I’ve got to do as Tim told me. He says he’s my father, so I s’pose it’s all right. All the same, I shall be nabbed some day, and then the family’ll be disgraced. It’s a queer life I’ve led ever since I can remember. Sometimes I feel like leaving Tim, and settin’ up for myself. I wonder how ’twould seem to be respectable.”

      The boy approached the secretary, and with some tools he had brought essayed to open it. After a brief delay he succeeded, and lifted the cover. He was about to explore it, according to Tim’s directions, when he heard a cry of fear, and turning swiftly saw Florence, her eyes dilated with terror, gazing at him.

      “Who are you?” she asked in alarm, “and what are you doing there?”

      CHAPTER V.

      DODGER

      The boy sprang to the side of Florence, and siezed her wrists in his strong young grasp.

      “Don’t you alarm the house,” he said, “or I’ll–”

      “What will you do?” gasped Florence, in alarm. The boy was evidently softened by her beauty, and answered in a tone of hesitation:

      “I don’t know. I won’t harm you if you keep quiet.”

      “What are you here for?” asked Florence, fixing her eyes on the boy’s face; “are you a thief?”

      “I don’t know—yes, I suppose I am.”

      “How sad, when you are so young.”

      “What! miss, do you pity me?”

      “Yes, my poor boy, you must be very poor, or you wouldn’t bring yourself to steal.”

      “No. I ain’t poor; leastways, I have enough to eat, and I have a place to sleep.”

      “Then why don’t you earn your living by honest means?”

      “I can’t; I must obey orders.”

      “Whose orders?”

      “Why, the guv’nor’s, to be sure.”

      “Did he tell you to open that secretary?”

      “Yes.”

      “Who is the guv’nor, as you call him?”

      “I can’t tell; it wouldn’t be square.”

      “He must be a very wicked man.”

      “Well, he ain’t exactly what you call an angel, but I’ve seen wuss men than the guv’nor.”

      “Do you mind telling me your own name?”

      “No; for I know you won’t peach on me. Tom Dodger.”

      “Dodger?”

      “Yes.”

      “That isn’t a surname.”

      “It’s all I’ve got. That’s what I’m always called.”

      “It is very singular,” said Florence, fixing a glance of mingled curiosity and perplexity upon the young visitor.

      While the two were earnestly conversing in that subdued light, afforded by the lowered gaslight, Tim Bolton crept in through the door unobserved by either, tiptoed across the room to the secretary, snatched the will and a roll of bills, and escaped without attracting attention.

      “Oh, I wish I could persuade you to give up this bad life,” resumed Florence, earnestly, “and become honest.”

      “Do you really care what becomes of me, miss?” asked Dodger, slowly.

      “I do, indeed.”

      “That’s very kind of you, miss; but I don’t understand it. You are a rich young lady, and I’m only a poor boy, livin’ in a Bowery dive.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Never mind, miss, such as you wouldn’t understand. Why, all my life I’ve lived with thieves, and drunkards, and bunco men, and–”

      “But I’m sure you don’t like it. You are fit for something better.”

      “Do you really think so?” asked Dodger, doubtfullly.

      “Yes; you have a good face. You were meant to be good and honest, I am sure.”

      “Would you trust me?” asked the boy, earnestly, fixing his large, dark eyes eloquently on the face of Florence.

      “Yes, I would if you would only leave your evil companions, and become true to your better nature.”

      “No one ever spoke to me like that before, miss,” said Dodger, his expressive features showing that he was strongly moved. “You think I could be good if I tried hard, and grow up respectable?”

      “I am sure you could,” said Florence, confidently.

      There was something in this boy, young outlaw though he was, that moved her powerfully, and even fascinated her, though she hardly realized it. It was something more than a feeling of compassion for a wayward and misguided youth.

      “I could if I was rich like you, and lived in a nice house, and ’sociated with swells. If you had a father like mine–”

      “Is he a bad man?”

      “Well, he don’t belong to the church. He keeps a gin mill, and has ever since I was a kid.”

      “Have you always lived with him?”

      “Yes, but not in New York.”

      “Where then?”

      “In Melbourne.”

      “That’s in Australia.”

      “Yes, miss.”

      “How long since you came to New York?”

      “I guess it’s about three years.”

      “And you have always had this man as a guardian? Poor boy!”

      “You’ve got a different father from me, miss?”

      Tears forced themselves to the eyes of Florence, as this remark brought forcibly to her mind the position in which she was placed.

      “Alas!” she answered, impulsively, “I am alone in the world!”

      “What! СКАЧАТЬ