LITMIR.BIZ

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see you, sir," said Fosdick.

      "I have just received a telegram from Milwaukie," said Mr. Bates, "summoning me home immediately on matters connected with business. I shall not therefore be able to remain here to follow up the search upon which I had entered. As you and your friend have kindly offered your assistance, I am going to leave the matter in your hands, and will authorize you to incur any expenses you may deem advisable, and I will gladly reimburse you whether you succeed or not."

      Fosdick assured him that they would spare no efforts, and Mr. Bates, after briefly thanking him, and giving him his address, hurried away, as he had determined to start on his return home that very night.

      Footnotes

       CHAPTER V

      INTRODUCES MARK, THE MATCH BOY

      It was growing dark, though yet scarcely six o'clock, for the day was one of the shortest in the year, when a small boy, thinly clad, turned down Frankfort Street on the corner opposite French's Hotel. He had come up Nassau Street, passing the "Tribune" Office and the old Tammany Hall, now superseded by the substantial new "Sun" building.

      He had a box of matches under his arm, of which very few seemed to have been sold. He had a weary, spiritless air, and walked as if quite tired. He had been on his feet all day, and was faint with hunger, having eaten nothing but an apple to sustain his strength. The thought that he was near his journey's end did not seem to cheer him much. Why this should be so will speedily appear.

      He crossed William Street, passed Gold Street, and turned down Vandewater Street, leading out of Frankfort's Street on the left. It is in the form of a short curve, connecting with that most crooked of all New York avenues, Pearl Street. He paused in front of a shabby house, and went upstairs. The door of a room on the third floor was standing ajar. He pushed it open, and entered, not without a kind of shrinking.

      A coarse-looking woman was seated before a scanty fire. She had just thrust a bottle into her pocket after taking a copious draught therefrom, and her flushed face showed that this had long been a habit with her.

      "Well, Mark, what luck to-night?" she said, in a husky voice.

      "I didn't sell much," said the boy.

      "Didn't sell much? Come here," said the woman, sharply.

      Mark came up to her side, and she snatched the box from him, angrily.

      "Only three boxes gone?" she repeated. "What have you been doing all day?"

      She added to the question a coarse epithet which I shall not repeat.

      "I tried to sell them, indeed I did, Mother Watson, indeed I did," said the boy, earnestly, "but everybody had bought them already."

      "You didn't try," said the woman addressed as Mother Watson. "You're too lazy, that's what's the matter. You don't earn your salt. Now give me the money."

      Mark drew from his pocket a few pennies, and handed to her.

      She counted them over, and then, looking up sharply, said, with a frown,"There's a penny short. Where is it?"

      "I was so hungry," pleaded Mark, "that I bought an apple, – only a little one."

      "You bought an apple, did you?" said the woman, menacingly. "So that's the way you spend my money, you little thief?"

      "I was so faint and hungry," again pleaded the boy.

      "What business had you to be hungry? Didn't you have some breakfast this morning?"

      "I had a piece of bread."

      "That's more than you earned. You'll eat me out of house and home, you little thief! But I'll pay you off. I'll give you something to take away your appetite. You won't be hungry any more, I reckon."

      She dove her flabby hand into her pocket, and produced a strap, at which the boy gazed with frightened look.

      "Don't beat me, Mother Watson," he said, imploringly.

      "I'll beat the laziness out of you," said the woman, vindictively. "See if I don't."

      She clutched Mark by the collar, and was about to bring the strap down forcibly upon his back, ill protected by his thin jacket, when a visitor entered the room.

      "What's the matter, Mrs. Watson?" asked the intruder.

      "Oh, it's you, Mrs. Flanagan?" said the woman, holding the strap suspended in the air. "I'll tell you what's the matter. This little thief has come home, after selling only three boxes of matches the whole day, and I find he's stole a penny to buy an apple with. It's for that I'm goin' to beat him."

      "Oh, let him alone, the poor lad," said Mrs. Flanagan, who was a warm-hearted Irish woman. "Maybe he was hungry."

      "Then why didn't he work? Them that work can eat."

      "Maybe people didn't want to buy."

      "Well, I can't afford to keep him in his idleness," said Mrs. Watson. "He may go to bed without his supper."

      "If he can't sell his matches, maybe people would give him something."

      Mrs. Watson evidently thought favorably of this suggestion, for, turning to Mark, she said, "Go out again, you little thief, and mind you don't come in again till you've got twenty-five cents to bring to me. Do you mind that?"

      Mark listened, but stood irresolute:

      "I don't like to beg," he said.

      "Don't like to beg!" screamed Mrs. Watson. "Do you mind that, now, Mrs. Flanagan? He's too proud to beg."

      "Mother told me never to beg if I could help it," said Mark.

      "Well, you can't help it," said the woman, flourishing the strap in a threatening manner. "Do you see this?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, you'll feel it too, if you don't do as I tell you. Go out now."

      "I'm so hungry," said Mark; "won't you give me a piece of bread?"

      "Not a mouthful till you bring back twenty-five cents. Start now, or you'll feel the strap."

      The boy left the room with a slow step, and wearily descended the stairs. I hope my young readers will never know the hungry craving after food which tormented the poor little boy as he made his way towards the street. But he had hardly reached the foot of the first staircase when he heard a low voice behind him, and, turning, beheld Mrs. Flanagan, who had hastily followed after him.

      "Are you very hungry?" she asked.

      "Yes, I'm faint with hunger."

      "Poor boy!" she said, compassionately; "come in here a minute."

      She opened the door of her own room which was just at the foot of the staircase, and gently pushed him in.

      It was a room of the same general appearance as the one above, but was much neater looking.

      "Biddy Flanagan isn't the woman to let a poor motherless child go hungry when she's a bit of bread or meat by her. Here, Mark, lad, sit down, and I'll soon bring you something that'll warm up your poor stomach."

      She opened a cupboard, and brought out a plate containing a small quantity of cold beef, and two slices of bread.

      "There's some better mate than you'll get of Mother Watson. It's cold, but it's good."

      "She never gives me any meat at all," said Mark, gazing with a look of eager anticipation at the plate which to his famished eye looked so inviting.

      "I'll be bound she don't," said Mrs. Flanagan. "Talk of you being lazy! What does she do herself but sit all day doing nothin' except drink whiskey from the black bottle! She might get washin' to do, as I do, if she wanted to, but she won't work. She expects you to get money enough for both of you."

      Meanwhile Mrs. Flanagan had poured out a cup of tea from an old tin teapot that stood on the stove.

      "There, drink that, Mark dear," she said. "It'll warm you up, and you'll need it this cold night, I'm thinkin'."

      The tea was not of the best quality, and the cup was cracked and discolored; but to Mark it was grateful and refreshing,

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