"What time is it?"
"The clock has gone seven."
"I can tell that by my stomach. I've got a healthy appetite this morning. Have you got any money?"
"Not a penny, Jack."
"That's bad. Just feel in the pocket of my breeches; there they are on the floor. See if you can find anything."
Julius rose from the pallet and did as he was ordered.
"There's twelve cents," he said.
"Good. We'll divide. We can get a breakfast at Brady's Free Lunch Saloon. Take six cents of it. I ain't going to get up yet."
"All right," said the boy.
"You must look sharp and pick up some money before night, or we shall go to bed hungry. Do you hear?"
"Yes, Jack."
"When Marlowe and I get hold of that gold and plate in Madison avenue we'll have a grand blow-out. You remember what Marlowe told you last night?"
"About the boy that keeps the necktie stand near Dey street?"
"Yes."
"I am to find out all I can about him."
"Yes. See if you can find out if he has any friends out of the city."
Julius nodded.
"We want to have the coast clear, so that we can break in next Monday night. The sooner the better. I'm dead broke and so is Marlowe, but I guess we can stand it till then."
"All right."
Jack Morgan turned over and composed himself to sleep again. He had said all he thought necessary, and had no pressing business to call him up. Julius opened the door and went out, down the rickety stairs and out through a narrow covered alleyway to the street, for the room which Jack Morgan and he occupied was in a rear tenement house.
Several dirty and unsavory-looking children--they could not well be otherwise in such a locality--barefooted and bareheaded, were playing in the court. Julius passed them by, and sauntered along toward the City Hall Park. He met several acquaintances, newsboys and bootblacks, the former crying the news, the latter either already employed or looking for a job.
"Where are you goin', Julius?" asked a bootblack of his acquaintance.
"Goin' to get breakfast."
"Got any stamps?"
"Sixpence."
"You can't get a square meal for that."
"I'm goin' to 'free-lunch places.'"
"That's good if you're hard up. What are you doin' now?"
"Nothin' much."
"Why don't you black boots?"
"Haven't got any box or brush."
"You can borrow mine, if you'll give me half you make."
"What are you goin' to do?"
"I'll try sellin' papers for a change."
"I'll do it," said Julius, promptly, for he saw that the arrangement would, under the circumstances, be a good one for him. "Where will I see you to-night?"
"I'll be here at six o'clock."
"All right. Hand over your box." So the business arrangement was concluded--an arrangement not uncommon among street professionals. It is an illustration, on a small scale, of the advantage of capital. The lucky possessor of two or three extra blacking-boxes has it in his power to derive quite a revenue--enormous, when the amount of his investment is considered. As a general thing, such contracts, however burdensome to one party, are faithfully kept. It might be supposed that boys of ordinary shrewdness would as soon as possible save up enough to buy a box and brush of their own; but as they only receive half profits, that is not easy, after defraying expenses of lodging and meals.
Julius obtained one job before going to breakfast. He waited for another, but as none seemed forthcoming, he shouldered his box and walked down Nassau street till he reached a basement over which was the sign, FREE LUNCH. He went downstairs and entered a dark basement room. On one side was a bar, with a variety of bottles exposed. At the lower end of the apartment was a table, containing a couple of plates of bread and butter and slices of cold meat. This was the free lunch, for which no charge was made, but it was understood to be free to those only who had previously ordered and paid for a drink. Many came in only for the drinks, so that on the whole the business was a paying one.
Julius walked up to the bar and called for a glass of lager.
"Here, Johnny," said the barkeeper.
While he was drinking, a miserable-looking man, whose outward appearance seemed to indicate that Fortune had not smiled upon him lately, sidled in, and without coming to the bar, walked up to the table where the free lunch was spread out.
"What'll you have to drink, my friend?" asked the barkeeper, pointedly.
The man looked rather abashed, and fumbled in his pockets.
"I'm out of money," he stammered.
"Then keep away from the lunch, if you please," said the proprietor of the establishment. "No lunch without a drink. That's my rule."
"I'm very hungry," faltered the man, in a weak voice. "I haven't tasted food for twenty-four hours."
"Why don't you work?"
"I can't get work."
"That's your lookout. My lunch is for those who drink first."
Julius had listened to this conversation with attention. He knew what it was to be hungry. More than once he had gone about with an empty stomach and no money to buy food. He saw that the man was weak and unnerved by hunger, and he spoke on the impulse of the moment, placing five cents in his hand.
"Take that and buy a drink."