Horatio Alger - Julius, The Street Boy

“No, it wouldn’t be an agreeable business for an old man to follow. But I’ve got off the track.”

“Off the track!” repeated Julius, looking out of the window.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. The cars are all right. But I meant to say, that I had got away from what I meant to say. I think I owe you something for your saving me from losing my watch.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Julius.

“To me it is a great deal, and I want to show my sense of the favor. Is there anything in particular you would like?”

“I don’t know,” said Julius, thoughtfully. “I might like a jack-knife.”

“That isn’t enough. As I said, I have particular reason to value my watch and chain. Did you ever have a watch yourself?”

“I never got so far along. I couldn’t save enough on shines for that.”

“Well, it so happens that, in New York, I took a small silver watch and chain in the way of business from a traveler who owed me money. Here it is.”

He drew from his pocket a neat, but inexpensive silver watch, with a chain of the same metal.

“What do you think of it?” he said.

“It’s tiptop,” said Julius admiringly.

“I am glad you like it, for I am going to give it to you.”

“Goin’ to give me a watch and chain!” repeated Julius, in amazement.

“Yes. Would you like it?”

“It’ll make me feel like a swell,” said Julius, elated. “Ain’t it a beauty, Teddy?” he continued, turning in his seat, and displaying it to his comrade.

“It ain’t yours, is it?” asked Teddy, not without a slight feeling of envy.

“Yes, it is. This gentleman says so.”

And Julius proudly put the watch in his vest pocket, and attached the chain to one of the button-holes. The donor looked on with a benevolent smile, glad that he had been able to make so acceptable a gift to the boy who had done him such a service.

“Now,” he said, smiling, “it will be your turn to look out for pickpockets. They may try to carry off your watch, as they did mine.”

“I d like to see ’em do it,” said Julius, confidently. “It’ll take a smart pickpocket to hook my watch.”

“Well, my young friend,” said the other, “as the time may come when I can do you a service, I will give you my card.”

“I can’t read writin’,” admitted Julius, reluctantly, as he took the card, which was printed in script.

“My name is John Taylor, of Milwaukee. Keep the card, and you will soon be able to read it.”

Here the paper boy passed through the car, and Mr. Taylor, purchasing a copy of Harper’s Weekly , was soon immersed in its contents. Finding that the interview was ended, Julius returned to his former seat, and Teddy and he spent some time in admiring it.

“I say, Julius, you’re in luck,” said Teddy.

“I won’t be in luck if Marlowe or Ned Sanders gets hold of me.”

“They won’t find you, away out West.”

“Marlowe might. He’s a tough customer, Marlowe is. I mind how he looked when he got hold of me at Staten Island. Jack ain’t so bad, but Marlowe’d go a thousand miles to get hold of me.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Julius.”

“I shan’t lose no sleep. If he don’t break out of jail, I’ll be a man before he can get at me.”

“Look out of the window, Julius. See them cows harnessed together. What are they doin’?”

“They’re ploughin’, I expect,” said Julius, who, like his companion, took a yoke of oxen for cows.

“They don’t go very fast.”

“They look as if they was lazy. They’re the biggest cows I ever see.”

Here Mr. O’Connor came into the car and passed down the aisle, looking to see that none of the boys were missing.

“Well, boys, how are you getting along?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Bully!” “Tiptop!” were heard from the boys on either side.

“What have you got there, Julius?” asked the superintendent, noticing the watch chain.

Julius drew out his watch.

“Where did you get it?” asked Mr. O’Connor, a little suspiciously. “You haven’t spent any of your money, have you?”

“No; it was given me,” said Julius.

“Given you?”

“By that gentleman.”

Mr. Taylor looked up, finding himself referred to.

“Is this the gentleman who has charge of your party?” he asked, turning to Julius.

“Yes, sir. It is Mr. O’Connor.”

“Mr. O’Connor, the boy’s story is correct. He detected a pickpocket in the act of appropriating my gold watch and chain. As it was of great value, I asked his acceptance of the watch and chain you see.”

“I hope you did not ask any reward, Julius,” said the superintendent.

“It was entirely my own thought,” said Mr. Taylor. “I presume the boy never thought of any compensation.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Julius.

“I am glad you have behaved so well, Julius,” said superintendent, approvingly. “I am sure you will value your present.”

“It’s bully,” said Julius, enthusiastically.

“Where do you intend to take the boys, Mr. O’Connor?” asked Mr. Taylor.

“I have an invitation from the citizens of Brookville, in Wisconsin, to make my headquarters there. I am told that boys and girls are in demand in that town and vicinity, and that I shall probably be able to find homes for all my party in that neighborhood.”

“I think you can. I know Brookville very well. I have a nephew living there. He is a prosperous farmer. By the way, I shouldn’t be surprised if he would like a boy. Suppose I give you a note to my young friend here to deliver to him.”

“I should be glad to have you do so.”

“If Ephraim takes him into his family, he will have an excellent home.”

“That is what we desire for all our party.”

“Do you generally succeed?”

“Very generally. We seldom receive complaints from the children we have placed. They are treated kindly almost without exception.”

“How about the other parties? Do they often prefer complaints of the children?”

“Sometimes, but not often. Considering the training our children have had in the city streets, they conduct themselves remarkably well in their new homes. Removed from the temptations and privations of the city, their better natures assert themselves, and they behave as well as ordinary children. In fact, I may say that most of the complaints that come to us are of a trivial nature. People forget that our boys are no more perfect than their own, and if now and then they pelt the cows, or leave the turkeys out in the rain, that hardly indicates a depraved heart.”

Mr. Taylor smiled.

“I have heard of such things, myself,” he said. “I suspect boys are about the same now that they were fifty years ago.”

“And will be fifty years hence. Of course, they will always need restraint, and, if they do mischief, they must pay the penalty. Still, if a boy is simply mischievous, I don’t think he can be considered a hopeless case.”

“I should say not. I used to do some things myself that were not quite exemplary. Of course I was punished and in time I steadied down.”

“As you seem to take an interest in our mission,” said Mr. O’Connor, “you may feel interested to read a letter 1 1 This letter is a genuine production. It is taken from an extremely interesting work, by Charles L. Brace, on “The Dangerous Classes of New York, and Twenty Years’ Work Among Them.” which I received not long since from one of our boys in Indiana. It is characteristic, and will give a good idea of the improvement which emigration makes in their condition and circumstances.”

“I should like very much to read it,” said Mr. Taylor.