【英文读物】Tattered Tom or The Story of a Street Arab.docx

【英文读物】Tattered Tom or The Story of a Street ArabPREFACE. When, three years since, the author published “Ragged Dick,” he was far from anticipating the flattering welcome it would receive, or the degree of interest which would be excited by his pictures of street life in New York. The six volumes which comprised his original design are completed, but the subject is not exhausted. There are yet other phases of street life to be described, and other classes of street Arabs, whose fortunes deserve to be chronicled.“Tattered Tom” is therefore presented to the public as the initial volume of a new series of six stories, which may be regarded as a continuation of the “Ragged Dick Series.” Some surprise may be felt at the discovery that Tom is a girl; but I beg to assure my readers that she is not viiione of the conventional kind. Though not without her good points, she will be found to differ very widely in tastes and manners from the young ladies of twelve usually to be met in society. I venture to hope that she will become a favorite in spite of her numerous faults, and that no less interest will be felt in her fortunes than in those of the heroes of earlier volumes.New York, April, 1871.CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES TATTERED TOM. Mr. Frederic Pelham, a young gentleman very daintily dressed, with exquisitely fitting kids and highly polished boots, stood at the corner of Broadway and Chambers Streets, surveying with some dismay the dirty crossing, and speculating as to his chances of getting over without marring the polish of his boots.He started at length, and had taken two steps, when a dirty hand was thrust out, and he was saluted by the request, “Gi me a penny, sir?”“Out of my way, you bundle of rags!” he answered.10“Youre another!” was the prompt reply.Frederic Pelham stared at the creature who had dared to imply that hea leader of fashionwas a bundle of rags.The street-sweeper was apparently about twelve years of age. It was not quite easy to determine whether it was a boy or girl. The head was surmounted by a boys cap, the hair was cut short, it wore a boys jacket, but underneath was a girls dress. Jacket and dress were both in a state of extreme raggedness. The childs face was very dark and, as might be expected, dirty; but it was redeemed by a pair of brilliant black eyes, which were fixed upon the young exquisite in an expression half-humorous, half-defiant, as the owner promptly retorted, “Youre another!”“Clear out, you little nuisance!” said the dandy, stopping short from necessity, for the little sweep had planted herself directly in his path; and to step out on either side would have soiled his boots irretrievably.“Gi me a penny, then?”“Ill hand you to the police, you little wretch!”11“I aint done nothin. Gi me a penny?”Mr. Pelham, provoked, raised his cane threateningly.But Tom (for, in spite of her being a girl, this was the name by which she was universally known; indeed she scarcely knew any other) was wary. She dodged the blow, and by an adroit sweep of her broom managed to scatter some mud on Mr. Pelhams boots.“You little brat, youve muddied my boots!” he exclaimed, with vexation.“Then why did you go for to strike me?” said Tom, defiantly.He did not stop to answer, but hurried across the street. His pace was accelerated by an approaching vehicle, and the instinct of self-preservation, more powerful than even the dictates of fashion, compelled him to make a détour through the mud, greatly to the injury of his no longer immaculate boots. But there was a remedy for the disaster on the other side.“Shine your boots, sir?” asked a boot-black, who 12had stationed himself at the other side of the crossing.Frederic Pelham looked at his boots. Their glory had departed. Their virgin gloss had been dimmed by plebeian mud. He grudged the boot-blacks fee, for he was thoroughly mean, though he had plenty of money at his command. But it was impossible to walk up Broadway in such boots. Suppose he should meet any of his fashionable friends, especially if ladies, his fashionable reputation would be endangered.“Go ahead, boy!” he said. “Do your best.”“All right, sir.”“Its the second time Ive had my boots blacked this morning. If it hadnt been for that dirty sweep I should have got across safely.”The boy laughedto himself. He knew Tom well enough, and he had been an interested spectator of her encounter with his present customer, having an eye to business. But he didnt think it prudent to make known his thoughts.The boots were at length polished, and Mr. Pelham 13saw with satisfaction that no signs of the street mire remained.“How much do you want, boy?” he asked.“Ten cents.”“I thought five cents was the price.”“Cant afford to work on no such terms.”Mr. Pelham might have disputed the fee, but he saw an acquaintance approaching, and did not care to be caught chaffering with a boot-black. He therefore reluctantly drew out a dime, and handed it to the boy, who at once deposited it in the pocket of a ragged vest.He stood on the sidewalk on the lookout for another customer, when Tom marched across the street, broom in hand.“I say, Joe, how much did he give you?”“Ten cents.”“How much yer goin to give me?”“Nothin!”“You wouldnt have got him if I hadnt muddied his boots.”“Did you do it a-purpose?”Tom nodded.14“What for?”“He called me names. Thats one reason. Besides, I wanted to give you a job.”Joe seemed struck by this view, and, being alive to his own interest, did not disregard the application.“Heres a penny,” he said.“Gi me two.”He hesitated a moment, then diving once more into his pocket, brought up another penny, which Tom transferred with satisfaction to the pocket of her dress.“Shall I do it agin?” she asked.“Yes,” said Joe. “I say, Tom, youre a smart un.”“Id ought to be. Granny makes me smart whenever she gets a chance.”Tom returned to the other end of the crossing, and began to sweep diligently. Her labors did not extend far from the curbstone, as the stream of vehicles now rapidly passing would have made it dangerous. However, it was all one to Tom where she swept. The cleanness of the crossing was to her a matter of comparative indifference. Indeed, considering her own disregard of neatness, it could hardly have been 15expected that she should feel very solicitous on that point. Like some of her elders who were engaged in municipal labors, she regarded street-sweeping as a “job,” out of which she was to make money, and her interest began and ended with the money she earned.There were not so many to cross Broadway at this point as lower down, and only a few of these seemed impressed by a sense of the pecuniary value of Toms services.“Gi me a penny, sir,” she said to a stout gentleman.He tossed a coin into the mud.Tom darted upon it, and fished it up, wiping her fingers afterwards upon her dress.“Aint you afraid of soiling your dress?” asked the philanthropist, smiling.“Whats the odds?” said Tom, coolly.“Youre a philosopher,” said the stout gentleman.“Dont you go to callin me names!” said Tom; “cause if you do Ill muddy up your boots.”“So you dont want to be called a philosopher?” said the gentleman.16“No, I dont,” said Tom, eying him suspiciously.“Then I must make amends.”He took a dime from his pocket, and handed it to the astonished Tom.“Is this for me?” she asked.“Yes.”Toms eyes glistened; for ten cents was a nugget when compared with her usual penny receipts. She stood in a brown study till her patron was half across the street, then, seized with a sudden idea, she darted after him, and tugged at his coat-tail.“Whats wanted?” he asked, turning round in some surprise.“I say,” said Tom, “you may call me that name agin for five cents more.”The ludicrous character of the proposal struck him, and he laughed with amusement.“Well,” he said, “thats a good offer. Whats your name?”“Tom.”“Which are you,a boy or a girl?”“Im a girl, but I wish I was a boy.”“What for?”17“Cause boys are stronger than girls, and can fight better.”“Do you ever fight?”“Sometimes.”“Whom do you fight with?”“Sometimes I fight with the boys, and sometimes with granny.”“What makes you fight with your granny?”“She gets drunk and fires things at my head; then I pitch into her.”The cool, matter-of-fact manner in which Tom spoke seemed to amuse her questioner.“I was right,” he said; “youre a philosopher,a practical philosopher.”“Thats moren you said before,” said Tom; “I want ten cents for that.”The ten cents were produced. Tom pocketed them in a business-like manner, and went back to her employment. She wondered, slightly, whether a philosopher was something very bad; but, as there was no means of determining, sensibly dismissed the inquiry, and kept on with her work.CHAPTER II TOM GETS A SQUARE MEAL. About twelve oclock Tom began to feel the pangs of hunger. The exercise which she had taken, together with the fresh air, had stimulated her appetite. It was about the time when she was expected to go home, and accordingly she thrust her hand into her pocket, and proceeded to count the money she had received.“Forty-two cents!” she said, at last, in a tone of satisfaction. “I dont generally get moren twenty. I wish that man would come round and call me names every day.”Tom knew that she was expected to go home and carry the result of her mornings work to her granny; but the unusual amount suggested to her another idea. Her mid-day meal was usually of the plainest and scantiest,a crust of dry bread, or a cold sausage on days of plenty,and Tom sometimes 19did long for something better. But generally it would have been dangerous to appropriate a sufficient sum from her receipts, as the deficit would have been discovered, and quick retribution would have followed from her incensed granny, who was a vicious old woman with a pretty vigorous arm. Now, however, she could appropriate twenty cents without danger of discovery.“I can get a square meal for twenty cents,” Tom reflected, “and Ill do it.”But she must go home first, as delay would be dangerous, and have disagreeable consequences.She prepared for the visit by dividing her mornings receipts into two parcels. The two ten-cent scrips she hid away in the lining of her tattered jacket. The pennies, including one five-cent scrip, she put in the pocket of her dress. This last was intended for her granny. She then started homewards, dragging her broom after her.She walked to Centre Street, turned after a while into Leonard, and went on, turning once or twice, until she came to one of the most wretched tenement houses to be found in that not very choice locality. 20She passed through an archway leading into an inner court, on which fronted a rear house more shabby, if possible, than the front dwelling. The court was redolent of odors far from savory; children pallid, dirty, and unhealthy-looking, were playing about, filling the air with shrill cries, mingled with profanity; clothes were hanging from some of the windows; miserable and besotted faces were seen at others.Tom looked up to a window in the fourth story. She could descry a woman, with a pipe in her mouth.“Grannys home,” she said to herself.She went up three flights, and, turning at the top, went to the door and opened it.It was a wretched room, containing two chairs and a table, nothing more. On one of the chairs was seated a large woman, of about sixty, with a clay pipe in her mouth. The room was redolent of the vilest tobacco-smoke.This was granny.If granny had ever been beautiful, there were no traces of that dangerous gift in the mottled and 21wrinkled face, with bleared eyes, which turned towards the door as Tom entered.“Why didnt you come afore, Tom?” she demanded.“Im on time,” said Tom. “Clock aint but just struck.”“How much have you got?”Tom pulled out her stock of pennies and placed them in the womans outstretched palm.“Theres twenty-two,” she said.“Umph!” said granny. “Wheres the rest?”“Thats all.”“Come here.”Tom advanced, not reluctantly, for she felt sure that granny would not think of searching her jacket, especially as she had brought home as much as usual.The old woman thrust her hand into the childs pocket, and turned it inside-out with her claw-like fingers, but not another penny was to be found.“Umph!” she grunted, apparently satisfied with her scrutiny.“Didnt I tell you so?” said Tom.Granny rose from her chair, and going to a shelf 22took down a piece of bread, which had become dry and hard.“Theres your dinner,” said she.“Gi me a penny to buy an apple,” said Tom,rather by way of keeping up appearances than because she wanted one. Visions of a more satisfactory repast filled her imagination.“You dont want no apple. Breads enough,” said granny.Tom was not much disappointed. She knew pretty well beforehand how her application would fare. Frequently she made sure of success by buying the apple and eating it before handing the proceeds of her mornings work to the old woman. To-day she had other views, which she was in a hurry to carry out.She took the bread, and ate a mouthful. Then she slipped it into her pocket, and said, “Ill eat it as I go along, granny.”To this the old woman made no objection, and Tom went out.In the court-yard below she took out her crust, and handed it to a hungry-looking boy of ten, the 23unlucky offspring of drunken parents, who oftentimes was unable to command even such fare as Tom obtained.“Here, Tim,” she said, “eat that; I aint hungry.”It was one of Tims frequent fast days, and even the hard crust was acceptable to him. He took it readily, and began to eat it ravenously. Tom looked on with benevolent interest, feeling the satisfaction of having done a charitable act. The satisfaction might have been heightened by the thought that she was going to get something better herself.“So youre hungry, Tim,” she said.“Im always hungry,” said Tim.“Did you have any breakfast?”“Only an apple I picked up in the street.”“Hes worse off than me,” thought Tom; but she had no time to reflect on the superior privileges of her own position, for she was beginning to feel hungry herself.There was a cheap restaurant near by, only a few blocks away.Tom knew it well, for she had often paused before the door and inhaled enviously the appetizing odor 24of the dishes which were there vended to patrons not over-fastidious, at prices accommodated to scantily lined pocket-books. Tom had never entered, but had been compelled to remain outside, wishing that a more propitious fortune had placed it in her power to dine there every day. Now, however, first thrusting her fingers into the lining of her jacket to make sure that the money was there, she boldly entered the restaurant and took a seat at one of the tables.T