Books: Richard Dare\'s Venture

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But, as we know, such an effort was fruitless, and by the time he had
reached the newspaper-office Richard was convinced that it was a plain
case of robbery and nothing else.

"But when did it happen? I had the letters when I reached the
street--hold up; that boy. I'm sure he's the one!" he exclaimed to
himself. "I remember now feeling something at my pocket when I put my
hand up to my collar. That bug business was only a ruse! Well, I
_am_ a fool! And after all Mr. Joyce and Doc Linyard told me, too!"

The thought of how he had been taken in made Richard fairly sick, and
the tears of vexation sprang into his eyes as he stood deliberating
upon what to do next.

Just then a burly policeman came lounging along. Richard touched him
on the arm.

"I have been robbed," he said.

"Robbed? Where? When?" exclaimed the officer, all attention.

Richard told him all he knew of his case.

"I think I know the chap," said the officer. "But I can do nothing
now. He is likely a mile away by this time."

"Will you watch out for him?" asked Richard.

"I don't care so much for the money as I do for the letters."

"Better come over to the station and make a complaint."

"Is it far? I've got an engagement at three o'clock that I don't want
to miss."

"Won't take ten minutes. Come on."

At the station Richard was required to leave his full name and address,
describe what had been stolen, and give a full description of the
person he suspected was the thief.

"I can't give you much hopes of recovery," said the officer in charge.
"Dollar bills are very much alike, and if the thief finds that he
cannot put the letters to account he will probably destroy them. As
to his getting other letters on the strength of the stolen slip, you
had better go to the office and have the delivery stopped."

"Thank you, I will," replied Richard.

He was soon on his way back to Park Row.

"Do you remember me?" he asked of the clerk who had previously waited
on him.

"Yes; what is it? Anything wrong with your letters?"

Richard told his story.

"Will you hold the letters?" he added.

"Certainly. And if there is a call for them, I'll send out for an
officer and have the party detained."

When Richard was again on the street he hardly knew what to do. He had
no appetite for dinner, and there seemed now no use of returning to
the Watch Below.

He had a fancy that the urchin who had robbed him had run across into
the post-office. True, it was only a fancy, but Richard had some time
to spare yet before he was due at Mr. Joyce's office, and he determined
to take a walk in that direction.

Going through the post-office he walked over to Warren Street and
thence down to College Place. There was a coffee-stand upon the corner,
and here he bought two doughnuts for a cent each, and began munching
them, noticing at the same time that they were not of the best, being
dry, and that the flavor wasn't to be compared to that of those Grace
was in the habit of turning out at home.

Under the Elevated Road it was not as light as could be wished, and
Richard could not see very well. But presently he beheld a figure at
the end of the block--a figure that looked familiar.

Richard quickened his pace and soon reached the spot, yet only in time
to see the figure turn the next corner. But this time his view had
been better, and Richard was tolerably certain that it was the thief
he was pursuing.

He broke into a run instantly, and being light of foot, gained rapidly
upon the boy.

A glance around the next corner, and Richard just caught a glimpse of
the urchin's head as it disappeared down a cellar way. Rushing to the
spot, he was compelled to pause. He was far down on a side street that
was little better than an alley-way. The building before him was dirty
and old, evidently a storehouse, and the open stone steps led down to
a steep cellar from which not a ray of light came up.

Should he enter? For an instant Richard paused, and then slowly
descended.

"They shall not say that I was a coward," he said to himself. "And I
can easily handle that chap if it comes to a hand to hand affair."

The moldy smell of the cellar was nearly unbearable, and in several
spots upon the brick floor the scum lay an inch deep. Presently the
boy's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and then he saw it was
not so gloomy, after all.

At the back there appeared to be several windows, and, though covered
with dust and cobwebs, they still admitted some light. The place was
packed with wooden cases and barrels, and Richard had not a little
difficulty in picking his way among them.

Evidently the street Arab had not calculated upon being followed into
such a place, for Richard heard him boldly making his way to the rear.

He hurried after the urchin, making as little noise as possible. But
unfortunately his foot at that moment struck against an empty case,
and made known his presence.

Instantly the street boy realized the situation, and diving behind a
pile of barrels, remained perfectly quiet.

Richard's blood was now up, and he did not intend to be outwitted. He
hurried to the spot, in his eagerness nearly stumbling over the boy.

But the latter was alert. Visions of the Tombs probably floated through
his mind; and tripping Richard over he sprang away.

Richard was on his feet in a second, but it was too late. In that
second, the street Arab had sprung to the top of a pile of cases that
stood directly under an opening in the floor above.

The next instant he had disappeared through the hole, and was gone.

But in mounting the stack of cases he had dislodged several and these
now tumbled down, making a lively racket. The noise was followed by
several exclamations, and the sound of hasty feet upon a stairway.

"Hey, you, vat you do here?" cried a voice; and Richard felt his arm
grasped by a tall and savage looking German workman.

CHAPTER XIII.

RICHARD CALLS ON MR. JOYCE.

As the hand of the German workman grasped Richard's arm the boy realized
that he was in an awkward fix. Appearances were all against him, and
as the man glared at him Richard knew not what to say.

"Come now, vat vas you doing here, hey?" demanded the German.

"I--I was after a boy who stole something from me," stammered Richard.

"After a poy?"

"Yes. He ran down here, and I came after him."

"Ton't believe it. Vere ist der poy now?"

"He jumped up there and got through that hole," replied Richard,
pointing to the place.

The German uttered an exclamation.

"Dat's nonsense!"

"It's true. He stole two dollars and some letters, and I chased him
in here."

The man eyed Richard suspiciously.

"Maype dot vas only a make-believe sthory; I don't know," he declared.
"Come, ve go upstairs und see."

But, as Richard surmised, the boy had, by some means, already made his
escape. But the marks of his muddy feet, as he had crawled from the
hatchway, were still to be seen, and these Richard pointed out.

"Vell, if your sthory is straight dat lafer ain't here now; so you go
about your beesness." And with a wave of his arm the stalwart workman
motioned for Richard to clear out.

The boy was not loth to leave the place. Nothing was to be gained by
remaining, and the German's company was certainly not desirable.

"I suppose I might as well give up the search now," said Richard to
himself when outside. "That fellow will know enough to keep out of my
sight for a while; and, besides, it must be time to go to Mr. Joyce's.
Gracious, how starved that chap did look! If he wants that money to
get something to eat with I'm sure he's welcome to it, only I want the
letters."

Richard brushed off his clothes as best he could and started off. By
the use of the guide-book he had no difficulty in finding the Swamp,
as the leather district in New York is called.

Presently he came to a big warehouse, with an office at one side, over
which hung the sign:

TIMOTHY JOYCE,
Successor to
JOYCE BROTHERS.
LEATHER AND HIDES.
Established 1837.

"It's certainly an old firm," thought Richard, as he read the words.
"I guess Mr. Joyce is a pretty substantial business man."

The boy found the leather merchant at his desk, deep in his letters.

"Ah! on hand I see," said Mr. Joyce. "I'm not quite ready yet; will
be in a quarter of an hour."

"I won't mind waiting," returned Richard.

"Suppose you take a look around the place? I guess you've never seen
anything like this before."

"No, sir: and I'll look around gladly."

Richard stepped from the office to the lower floor of the warehouse.
The quantity of leather and hides on all sides filled him with wonder.

The place was several stories high, and was filled to overflowing with
material soon to be worked up into shoes, pocketbooks, belting, gloves,
baseball covers, and a thousand other articles for which this staple
material of trade is needed. Several heavy trucks were loading and
unloading at the doors, and the boy heard the workmen speak of a
consignment to Buffalo, and another to Boston, and of a shipload that
had just arrived from South America.

"It's a big business and no mistake," was Richard's conclusion. "I
guess a person would have to be here half a lifetime to learn all the
ins and outs of it."

When Richard returned to the office he found that Mr. Joyce had just
cleared his desk, and was leaning back in his chair.

The leather merchant motioned him to a seat.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked abruptly.

"You seem to be doing a big business," returned Richard. "I think you
must have enough leather to supply all New York."

"So I have--for a short time. But only a small part stays in the city.
It comes and goes all the while. Have you found a place yet?"

"No, sir; I haven't had a chance yet." And Richard related the
particulars of his recent misfortune.

"Humph! Well, after all, experience _is_ the only school we all
learn in. I don't doubt but what you've seen the last of both money
and letters. Keep your eyes open in the future."

"I'll try to. I shall not forget this lesson in a hurry."

"But at the same time don't be too suspicious of everybody with whom
you may chance to come in contact."

"I'll remember what you say, sir."

"Now about finding you a situation. I wish I had an opening here for
you. I'd make a business chap of you."

"I should like to work for you, Mr. Joyce."

"Unfortunately, there is no room at present--that is, there is nothing
I can offer you."

"I'll take anything you'll give me," exclaimed Richard earnestly.

"Yes; but you can't do _any_thing. You can't drive a truck--here
in the city--and you don't know a thing about packing hides. Besides,
such work would be altogether too heavy for you, and it never pays the
wages that lighter but more intelligent labor receives."

"I suppose you are right, sir."

"I am. I don't want to gloss things over for you. It's the worst thing
in the world for a young fellow just starting out to have a rosy view
of the business world, which is composed of steady work and hard knocks,
about equally mixed. You've got too much brains to work altogether
with your hands; and one must find out what he is best suited to. How
would you like to get into the book and stationery line?"

"Very much indeed."

"Do you think you could make anything out of it? Make it _the_ business
of your life, so that you would stand some show of advancement on the
strength of the interest you took in it?"

"I think I could," replied Richard slowly, somehow deeply moved by Mr.
Joyce's earnestness. "I always liked books--not only to read them, but
to handle and to arrange them as well. At home I was the librarian of
our Sunday-school, and I got out the catalogue and all that. Of course
it was not a great work, but I enjoyed it, and often wished I might
have charge of a big library or something like that."

Mr. Joyce eyed the boy thoughtfully.

"Reckon I was right. Thought you'd take to books. Persons with your
kind of a forehead always do. Well, come along. I'll see what I can
do toward getting you a place with a friend of mine."

Locking up his desk, Mr. Joyce put on his hat and led the way out on
the street.

"We'll have to hurry," he said, "or we'll find my friend has gone
home."

Richard needed no urging. With a strangely light heart he kept close
behind the leather merchant.

They passed along several blocks, and at length turned into Beekman
Street.

"Here we are," said Mr. Joyce, finally. "This is my friend's place of
business."

CHAPTER XIV.

WORK OBTAINED.

The establishment to which the leather merchant had brought Richard
was an imposing one, situated in a massive stone building, and having
large and heavy plate glass doors and windows. A formidable array of
blank-books and sets of well-known authors' works were piled up in the
window which bore the firm's name:

WILLIAMS & MANN.

Directly to the left of the entrance inside, stood a great safe, and
further on appeared an almost interminable row of shelves and drawers,
all apparently crammed with articles pertaining to the stationery and
book trade.

Stepping up to a salesman Mr. Joyce inquired:

"Is Mr. Williams in?"

"Mr. Williams has gone to Chicago," was the polite reply.

"Chicago, eh? When will he be back?"

"We expect him back day after to-morrow; possibly to-morrow afternoon."

"Humph!" Mr. Joyce rubbed his chin. "Is Mr. Mann about?"

"Yes, sir; just gone up to the stock-room."

"Tell him I'd like to see him for a few minutes."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Joyce, I believe."

"That's the name."

"I'll send word at once. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks."

Mr. Joyce sank into an office chair.

Going to a speaking tube behind one of the broad counters, the salesman
sent his message up to one of the floors above.

"Mr. Mann will be down directly," he said, after a moment.

In five minutes a stout, bald-headed gentleman of fifty came down by
the elevator at one side, and stepped forward.

"How are you, Tim?" he exclaimed, thrusting out a chubby hand.

"First rate, Mel," returned Mr. Joyce. "This is a young friend of mine,
Richard Dare," he continued.

Mr. Mann shook hands cordially.

"He has come to the city to try his luck," went on the leather merchant.
"He has a taste for your line, so I brought him around to see if you
hadn't an opening for him."

Now an application made in this way, and coming from an ordinary source,
would have met with a courteous negative. But the firm of Williams &
Mann were under obligations to Mr. Joyce, who had on several occasions
indorsed their notes for many thousands of dollars. Besides, all three
men were old friends; so Mr. Mann gave the request every attention.

"We are rather full of hands," he said slowly; "but still I might find
room for him. Have you had any business training?" he continued, turning
to Richard.

"Very little, sir," replied the boy promptly, though it came hard to
make such a confession.

"He hasn't had a bit," interposed Mr. Joyce. "He's as jolly green as
we were when we came here," he added in a whisper. "But he's bright,
honest and level-headed, and I've taken a fancy to him and want you
to give him a chance."

"Do you like to handle books?" asked Mr. Mann.

"Yes, sir; very much."

"Yes, it's just what he does like," put in the leather merchant. "Place
him among the books if you can."

"Perhaps I can do that; but I won't be able to pay you much until you
are experienced."

"I must earn my living, sir," said Richard respectfully, but in a firm
manner.

"Of course he must," added Mr. Joyce. "He has just lost his father,"
he continued in a low tone, "and I suppose it's hard times at home."

"Have you known him long?" asked Mr. Mann, as the two walked to one
side.

"Only two days."

"Two days!"

"Yes."

"Is he--that is, suppose I put him in a place of trust? It will be a
risk that--"

"I'll go security for him."

"And you have only known him two days, Tim! Seems to me you're not as
cautious as you used to be."

"Never mind. I know some honest faces when I see them, and his is one.
Let me tell you how we became acquainted."

The two men continued their conversation for several minutes.

"I'll take you on at once," said Mr. Mann, presently to Richard. "I
suppose you would like that best."

"Yes, sir."

"You can have the hour remaining to-day to get broken in. I will give
you six dollars a week at the start, and if you learn as rapidly as
Mr. Joyce thinks you will I'll raise you in a few weeks to seven or
eight."

"Thank you, sir; I'll try to make myself worth it."

"It's hard work, and you will have to pitch right in," Mr. Mann went
on. "We have no use for laggards."

"Well, I'm going," broke in Mr. Joyce. "Now I've placed you I hope you
will make something of yourself," he added.

"I'll try to," replied the boy. "Many thanks to you for your kindness."

"If you come down in my neighborhood drop in and see me."

"Thank you, I will with pleasure," was Richard's reply.

"We will go right upstairs to the stock-room," said Mr. Mann, after
Mr. Joyce had departed. "We have a large pile of pamphlets and books
which the clerk we discharged left all mixed up. I was just assisting
the stock-clerk in making out a new division of the department."

Entering the elevator, they were soon taken to a floor three stories
above. The stock-room was in the rear, the large windows overlooking
an alley.

The place was piled high with books of all descriptions, some in sets
and others separate, from cheap reprints to costly volumes filled with
etchings and engravings.

"Here, Mr. Massanet, I've brought a young man to help you," said Mr.
Mann, addressing the clerk in charge, a pleasant-looking fellow
apparently not many years older than Richard.

He came forward and gave the boy a kindly look of welcome.

"We need help here," he said. "There is plenty to do."

"His name is Dare--Richard Dare," continued Mr. Mann. "I do not know
him, but a friend recommended him."

"We'll soon see what he can do," replied Frank Massanet, with a smile.
"Are you going to work now?" he asked of Richard.

"Yes; break him in at once," said Mr. Mann. "I'll leave him in your
charge. Mr. Massanet will tell you anything you want to know," he went
on to the boy. "He is the head here."

Left alone with Frank Massanet it did not take long for Richard to
become well acquainted with the stock-clerk, who gave him a few brief
directions and then set him to work filling up broken sets of books,
dusting them, and placing them in a case for shipment.

"We must get this whole batch away by next Tuesday," said Massanet.
"Because on Wednesday another large consignment will arrive, and we
must have room to handle it."

The work delighted Richard, and he pitched in with a will. It was new
and novel, as well as agreeable, and, besides, doing it for pay made
it no task at all.

Talking did not interfere with the progress of either of the workers,
and attracted by Frank Massanet's cordial manner, Richard gradually
revealed to the stock-clerk why he had come to the city, and what his
ambitions were.

In return Frank related much concerning himself. His father, who had
been a Frenchman, was dead, and his mother, sister Martha and himself
kept house up-town on the east side. It was apparent that the young
man was the main support of the family, for he said that just previous
to his death his father had been unfortunate in business and had lost
nearly every dollar he possessed. His mother did the work at home,
while his sister earned six dollars a week at typewriting.

"It is pleasant to have a home to go to," said Richard, after a bit.
"You don't know how queer I felt to be away from the others."

"Homesick?" asked Frank kindly; and then impelled by a sudden warm
feeling he placed his hand on Richard's shoulder. The action, small
as it was, brought a little lump to the boy's throat.

"No--not exactly," he replied, "only--"

"I know what you mean. Before I got this place I went to Boston for
two months to try my luck, and _I_ was among strangers."

"Some day, when I can afford it, I intend to bring my folks to the
city," Richard went on.

"Where are you stopping now?" asked Frank.

"With a sailor friend of mine down on West Street."

"West Street! It is not a very nice locality."

"No; but he is very kind, and so is his wife. They keep a restaurant.
He was in a railroad accident with me, and that's the reason he takes
to me."

"Yes, accidents often make strange people friends."

"But I must hunt up a regular boarding-house," went on Richard. "I
suppose a good one that is cheap is hard to find."

"You are right. How much do you expect to pay, if I may ask?"

"Not over four dollars. I'm to get six here, and I can't afford any
more. When my salary is raised I'll be willing to go a little more,
but not much, because I want to send home all the money I can."

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment. Richard's way pleased him, and
he felt drawn towards the new-comer.

"My mother has been thinking of taking a boarder," he said slowly. "We
have a spare hall bedroom. It is not very large, but it has good
ventilation, and is neatly furnished. I used it when--when my father
was alive."

"Would your mother take me?" asked Richard. "That is, could she afford
to at four dollars a week?"

"I can't say."

"When I get an increase in wages I'll pay four and a half," went on
the boy. "I would like to live with you," he continued open-heartedly.

Frank smiled.

"I'll speak to my mother to-night," said he, "and I'll let you know
to-morrow morning."

CHAPTER XV.

NEW QUARTERS.

At six o'clock Frank Massanet announced the day's work ended, and,
bidding his friend goodnight, Richard hurried off to West Street. His
heart was light over his own good fortune, but heavy when he thought
of the losses he had sustained earlier in the day.

The Watch Below was crowded, and Doc Linyard presided at the pie-stand
and the desk. He noticed Richard's grave face, and surmised that all
was not right.

"You're late!" he exclaimed. "Come sit down to supper. I'll bet you
haven't eaten a mouthful."

"I've had bad luck," replied Richard. "Bad luck for you and good luck
for myself."

And, sitting down beside the desk, he made a clean breast of what had
transpired earlier in the day.

"I know I have been careless," he added, "and I don't deserve to be
trusted any more."

"Never mind," returned the old sailor cheerily. "It's too bad, but,
as Betty often says, it's no use crying over spilt milk, so we'll make
the best of it."

"I'll have the advertisement put in to-morrow," said the boy, "and
I'll add that former letters have been lost."

"That's a good idea. And don't tell Betty; it would only worry her.
Who knows but what those letters didn't amount to much after all?"

"At all events, I'm going to get them back if I can."

"And your two dollars, too. The little rascal! But you said you had
good news?"

"So I have. Mr. Joyce got me a place."

And Richard told of the meeting in the post-office, and his subsequent
engagement by Williams & Mann.

"Well, I'm downright glad to hear that!" cried Doc Linyard heartily.
"Reckon you are on the right tack at last."

The walking and working had made Richard hungry, and he was not backward
about sitting down and eating a hearty supper. But he insisted upon
paying for all he had, and, seeing that the boy really meant it, Doc
Linyard took the money, though not without reluctance.

As soon as he had finished eating, Richard went to Park Row and handed
in the advertisement. The clerk informed him that no other letters had
been received, nor had any applications for them been made.

Returning to the Watch Below, Richard sat down and wrote a second
letter home, which he shortly after posted, along with the precious
packet of chewing gum for Madge. The old sailor offered him a ticket
to the theater, which had been left in the restaurant for the privilege
of hanging a lithograph in the window, but this the boy declined with
thanks, and retired early, so as to be on hand promptly in the morning.

Seven o'clock was the hour for opening at Williams & Mann's, and five
minutes before that time Richard presented himself, and was let in by
the sleepy porter. The elevator was not running at this time in the
day, so Richard took the narrow iron stairs, and was soon in the
stock-room, where he went to work at what he had been doing the previous
day until Frank Massanet arrived.

"My mother would like you to take dinner with us," said Frank, when
he had given directions concerning how the work should go on. "She
would like to know you before she takes you as a regular boarder."

"Can she take me at four dollars?" asked Richard.

"She thinks she can. You can talk it over together when you see
her--that is, if you will come."

"Certainly I will."

"It's the best way. Perhaps our board might not suit you."

"I'll risk it," laughed Richard.

They were allowed an hour at noon, and at exactly twelve o'clock the
two hurried off. Frank led the way up to the Third Avenue Elevated
Station, and a five minutes' ride brought them to their destination.

"I generally bring my lunch with me," explained the stock-clerk on the
way, "and I have dinner when I get home in the evening. By that means
I save my car fare, and have plenty of time to eat the best meal of
the day."

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