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Jr, Arthur M. Winfield, Edward Stratemeyer

      Nelson The Newsboy / Or, Afloat in New York

      PREFACE

      "Nelson the Newsboy" relates the adventures of a wide-awake lad in the great metropolis. The youth is of unknown parentage and is thrown out upon his own resources at a tender age. He becomes at first a newsboy, and from that gradually works up to something better. He is often tempted to do wrong—the temptation becoming particularly hard on account of his extreme poverty—but there is that in his make-up which keeps him in the right path, and in the end he becomes a victor in more ways than one.

      So much for the seamy side of life in New York, which, alas! is by far the greater side. On the other hand, there are those who are well-to-do and aristocratic who are interested in learning what has become of the boy, and these furnish a view of life in the upper society of the metropolis. How the youthful hero fares in the end is told in the pages which follow.

      In its original form Mr. Alger intended this story of New York life for a semi-juvenile drama. But it was not used in that shape, and when the gifted author of so many interesting stories for young people had laid aside his pen forever, this manuscript, with others, was placed in the hands of the present writer, to be made over into such a volume as might have met with the noted author's approval. The other books having proved successful, my one wish is that this may follow in their footsteps.

Arthur M. Winfield.

      June 15, 1901.

      CHAPTER I.

      INTRODUCING THE HERO

      "Herald, Times, Tribune! All the news of the day! Have a paper, sir? All about the terrible fire in Harlem! Two lives lost!"

      High and clear above the din made by the cabs, trucks, and street cars a boyish voice could be heard. The speaker was but fifteen years of age, tall and thin, with a face that betokened a refinement unusual to such a station in life. But if the lad's look was above the average, his clothes were not, for they were in tatters, while the hat and shoes he wore had seen far better days.

      "A fire in Harlem, eh?" queried a stout gentleman, as he stopped short in front of the newsboy.

      "Yes, sir; a big one, too, sir. Which paper will you have?"

      "Which has the most in about the fire?"

      "All about the same, sir. Better take 'em all, sir. Then you'll be sure to have all the news," added the newsboy shrewdly.

      At this the stout gentleman laughed.

      "I don't know but what you are right," he said. "Give me one of each."

      The words were scarcely uttered when the newsboy had the papers ready for him. Taking the several sheets, the stout man passed over a dime and started to cross the crowded thoroughfare.

      "Change, sir!" cried the boy, and dove into his pocket for a handful of cents.

      "Never mind the change, lad."

      "Thank you, sir!" The newsboy wheeled quickly. "Herald, Times, Tribune! Who'll have a paper? All the latest news! Extra!"

      The stout man stepped from the curb into the gutter, and there halted to let a truck go by. As he waited he began to scan one of the newspapers he had purchased. Suddenly he gave a violent start.

      "Fire in the Starmore apartment house!" he muttered. "The building I purchased only last month! What bad luck is this?"

      Still staring at the newspaper, he passed onward behind the heavy truck. Another truck and a street car were coming from the opposite direction, and both traveling at a good rate of speed.

      "Hi! look out!" yelled the truck-driver, and the street-car bell clanged violently. But the stout man was too absorbed in the newspaper to heed the warnings.

      The cry of the truck-driver reached the ears of the quick-witted newsboy, and in a flash he saw the danger.

      "Oh, the gentleman will be run over!" he muttered, and throwing his papers on the pavement, he made a leap into the street and grabbed the man by the arm. Just as he drew the stout individual back the truck horse plunged forward, grazing the man's side. Had it not been for the newsboy, the stout gentleman would have collapsed in the gutter. But as it was each, in a moment more, gained the pavement in safety.

      "Phew! that was a narrow escape," puffed the stout gentleman, as soon as he could get back some of the wind he had lost in his consternation.

      "So it was," answered the newsboy, as he stepped about to pick up his scattering stock in trade.

      The stout gentleman brought out a large handkerchief and began to mop his face, for the excitement had put him into a perspiration.

      "My lad, you've done me a great service," he went on, after the boy had collected his papers.

      "That's all right, sir," was the ready reply. "Sorry you lost your papers. The truck cut 'em up, and they are all muddy, besides."

      "Never mind the papers—you can sell me another set. But I want to thank you for what you did for me."

      "You're welcome, sir. Here's the other set of papers."

      "If it hadn't been for you, I might have fallen under that horse and truck!" The stout man shuddered. "Here is pay for the papers and for your services to me."

      As he finished he held out a two-dollar bill.

      "Why, it's two dollars!" cried the newsboy in astonishment. Then he added quickly, "I can't change it."

      "I don't want you to change it. I want you to keep it."

      "What for?"

      "For what you did for me."

      "What I did aint worth two dollars."

      "Let me be the judge of that, my lad. What is your name?"

      "I'm Nelson, sir."

      "What is your full name?"

      At this question the boy's face fell, and his mouth trembled a little as he gave his answer.

      "I don't know, sir."

      "What, you don't know what your name is?" cried the stout gentleman in astonishment.

      "No, sir."

      "But—but—you must have some name. Where do you live?"

      "I live over on the East Side with an old sailor named Samuel Pepper. He keeps a lunch room."

      "Is he a relative?"

      "He calls himself my father—not my real father, you know; only he says he adopted me when I was a little kid. Everybody around there calls me Nelson, or Sam Pepper's boy."

      "I see. And he sends you out to sell papers?"

      "No, sir; I go out on my own hook."

      "But you ought to go to school."

      "I go to night school sometimes, when Sam lets me."

      "Didn't he ever send you to day school?"

      At this Nelson, for so we will call him for the present, shook his head.

      "Sam don't like the schools. He says if I go I'll get too smart for him. He says I am almost too smart already."

      "Too bad!" The stout gentleman was going to say something more, but suddenly remembered about the fire in Harlem. "Perhaps I'll see you again, Nelson. I can't stop now. Do you know why I forgot myself in the street? It was because that fire proved to be in an apartment house that I purchased only a month ago."

      "Your house! That's a big loss, sir."

      "The place was insured, so I shall not expect to lose much. I must get up there at once and see see how it was those lives were lost."

      In a moment more the stout gentleman was crossing the street again, but this time taking very good care that he should not be taken unawares.

      Nelson started to sell more papers, when another boy, who had been selling papers further down the block, came hurrying toward him.

      "Wot did de old gent give yer,

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