Luke Walton
CHAPTER I
A CHICAGO NEWSBOY
"News and Mail, one cent each!"
Half a dozen Chicago newsboys, varying in age from ten to sixteen years, with piles of papers in their hands, joined in the chorus.
They were standing in front and at the sides of the Sherman House, on the corner of Clark and Randolph Streets, one of the noted buildings in the Lake City. On the opposite side of Randolph Street stands a gloomy stone structure, the Court House and City Hall. In the shadow of these buildings, at the corner, Luke Walton, one of the largest newsboys, had posted himself. There was something about his bearing and appearance which distinguished him in a noticeable way from his companions.
To begin with, he looked out of place. He was well grown, with a frank, handsome face, and was better dressed than the average newsboy. That was one reason, perhaps, why he preferred to be by himself, rather than to engage in the scramble for customers which was the habit of the boys around him.
It was half-past five. The numerous cars that passed were full of business men, clerks, and boys, returning to their homes after a busy day.
Luke had but two papers left, but these two for some unaccountable reason remained on his hands an unusual length of time. But at length a comfortable-looking gentleman of middle age, coming from the direction of La Salle Street, paused and said, "You may give me a News, my boy."
"Here you are, sir," he said, briskly.
The gentleman took the paper, and thrusting his hand into his pocket, began to feel for a penny, but apparently without success.
"I declare," he said, smiling, "I believe I am penniless. I have nothing but a five-dollar bill."
"Never mind, sir! Take the paper and pay me to morrow."
"But I may not see you."
"I am generally here about this time."
"And if I shouldn't see you, you will lose the penny."
"I will risk it, sir," said Luke, smiling.
"You appear to have confidence in me."
"Yes, sir."
"Then it is only fair that I should have confidence in you."
Luke looked puzzled, for he didn't quite understand what was in the gentleman's mind.
"I will take both of your papers. Here is a five-dollar bill. You may bring me the change to-morrow, at my office, No. 155 La Salle Street. My name is Benjamin Afton."
"But, sir," objected Luke, "there is no occasion for this. It is much better that I should trust you for two cents than that you should trust me with five dollars."
"Probably the two cents are as important to you as five dollars to me. At any rate, it is a matter of confidence, and I am quite willing to trust you."
"Thank you, sir, but – "
"I shall have to leave you, or I shall be home late to dinner."
Before Luke had a chance to protest further, he found himself alone, his stock of papers exhausted, and a five-dollar bill in his hand.
While he stood on the corner in some perplexity, a newsboy crossed Randolph Street, and accosted him.
"My eyes, if you ain't in luck, Luke Walton," he said. "Where did you get that bill? Is it a one?"
"No, it's a five."
"Where'd you get it?"
"A gentleman just bought two papers of me."
"And gave you five dollars! You don't expect me to swaller all that, do you?"
"I'm to bring him the change to-morrow," continued Luke.
The other boy nearly doubled up with merriment.
"Wasn't he jolly green, though?" he ejaculated.
"Why was he?" asked Luke, who by this time felt considerably annoyed.
"He'll have to whistle for his money."
"Why will he?"
"Cause he will."
"He won't do anything of the sort. I shall take him his change to-morrow morning."
"What?" ejaculated Tom Brooks.
"I shall carry him his change in the morning – four dollars and ninety-eight cents. Can't you understand that?"
"You ain't going to be such a fool, Luke Walton?"
"If it's being a fool to be honest, then I'm going to be that kind of a fool. Wouldn't you do the same?"
"No, I wouldn't. I'd just invite all the boys round the corner to go with me to the theayter. Come, Luke, be a good feller, and give us all a blow-out. We'll go to the theayter, and afterwards we'll have an oyster stew. I know a bully place on Clark Street, near Monroe."
"Do you take me for a thief, Tom Brooks?" exclaimed Luke, indignantly.
"The gentleman meant you to have the money. Of course he knew you wouldn't bring it back. Lemme see, there's a good play on to Hooley's. Six of us will cost a dollar and a half, and the oyster stews will be fifteen cents apiece. That'll only take half the money, and you'll have half left for yourself."
"I am ashamed of you, Tom Brooks. You want me to become a thief, and it is very evident what you would do if you were in my place. What would the gentleman think of me?"
"He don't know you. You can go on State Street to sell papers, so he won't see you."
"Suppose he should see me."
"You can tell him you lost the money. You ain't smart, Luke Walton, or you'd know how to manage."
"No, I am not smart in that way, I confess. I shan't waste any more time talking to you. I'm going home."
"I know what you're going to do. You're goin' to spend all the money on yourself."
"Don't you believe that I mean to return the change?"
"No, I don't."
"I ought not to complain of that. You merely credit me with acting as you would act yourself. How many papers have you got left?"
"Eight."
"Here, give me half, and I will sell them for you, that is, if I can do it in fifteen minutes."
"I'd rather you'd take me to the theayter," grumbled Tom.
"I've already told you I won't do it."
In ten minutes Luke had sold his extra supply of papers, and handed the money to Tom. Tom thanked him in an ungracious sort of way, and Luke started for home.
It was a long walk, for the poor cannot afford to pick and choose their localities. Luke took his way through Clark Street to the river, and then, turning in a north westerly direction, reached Milwaukee Avenue. This is not a fashionable locality, and the side streets are tenanted by those who are poor or of limited means.
Luke paused in front of a three-story frame house in Green Street. He ascended the steps and opened the door, for this was the newsboy's home.
CHAPTER II
A LETTER FROM THE DEAD
In the entry Luke met a girl of fourteen with fiery red hair, which apparently was a stranger to the comb and brush. She was the landlady's daughter, and, though of rather fitful and uncertain temper, always had a smile and pleasant word for Luke, who was a favorite of hers.
"Well, Nancy, how's mother?" asked the newsboy, as he began to ascend the front stairs.
"She seems rather upset like, Luke," answered Nancy.
"What has happened to upset her?" asked Luke, anxiously.
"I think it's a letter she got about noon. It was a queer letter, all marked up, as if it had been travelin' round. I took it in myself, and carried it up to your ma. I stayed to see her open it, for I was kind of curious to know who writ it."
"Well?"
"As