meanwhile mark, rejoicing in his new-found freedom, had started on a business walk among the stores and offices at the lower part of nassau street, and among the law and banking offices of wall street. fortunately for mark there had been a rise in stocks, and wall street was in a good-humor. so a few of the crumbs from the tables of the prosperous bankers and brokers fell in his way. one man, who had just realized ten thousand dollars on a rise in some railway securities, handed mark fifty cents, but declined to take any of his wares. so this was all clear profit and quite a windfall for the little match boy. again, in one or two cases he received double price for some of his matches, and the result was that he found himself by eleven o'clock the possessor of two dollars and a quarter, with a few boxes of matches still left.
mark could hardly realize his own good fortune. somehow it seemed a great deal more profitable as well as more agreeable to be in business for himself, than to be acting as the agent of mother watson. mark determined that he would never go back to her unless he was actually obliged to do so.
he wanted somebody to sympathize with him in his good fortune, and, as he had nearly sold out, he determined to hunt up ben gibson, and inform him of his run of luck.
ben, as he knew, was generally to be found on nassau street, somewhere near the corner of spruce street. he therefore turned up nassau street from wall, and in five minutes he reached the business stand of his friend ben.
ben had just finished up a job as mark came up. his patron was a young man of verdant appearance, who, it was quite evident, hailed from the country. he wore a blue coat with brass buttons, and a tall hat in the style of ten years before, with an immense top. he gazed with complacency at the fine polish which ben had imparted to his boots,—a pair of stout cowhides,—and inquired with an assumption of indifference:—
"well, boy, what's the tax?"
"twenty-five cents," said ben, coolly.
"twenty-five cents!" ejaculated the customer, with a gasp of amazement. "come now, you're jokin'."
"no, i aint," said ben.
"you don't mean to say you charge twenty-five cents for five minutes' work?"
"reg'lar price," said ben.
"why i don't get but twelve and a half cents an hour when i work out hayin'," said the young man in a tone expressive of his sense of the unfairness of the comparative compensation.
"maybe you don't have to pay a big license," said ben.
"a license for blackin' boots?" ejaculated the countryman, in surprise.
"in course. i have to deposit five hundred dollars, more or less, in the city treasury, before i can black boots."
"five—hundred—dollars!" repeated the customer, opening his eyes wide at the information.
"in course," said ben. "if i didn't they'd put me in jail for a year."
"and does he pay a license too?" asked the countryman, pointing to mark, who had just come up.
"he only has to pay two hundred and fifty dollars," said ben. "they aint so hard on him as on us."
the young man drew out his wallet reluctantly, and managed to raise twenty-three cents, which he handed to ben.
"i wouldn't have had my boots blacked, if i'd known the price," he said. "i could have blacked 'em myself at home. they didn't cost but three dollars, and it don't pay to give twenty-five cents to have 'em blacked."
"it'll make 'em last twice as long," said ben. "my blackin' is the superiorest kind, and keeps boots from wearin' out."
"i havn't got the other two cents," said the young man. "aint that near enough?"
"it'll do," said ben, magnanimously, "seein' you didn't know the price."
the victimized customer walked away, gratified to have saved the two cents, but hardly reconciled to have expended almost quarter of a dollar on a piece of work which he might have done himself before leaving home.
"well, what luck, mark?" said ben. "i took in that chap neat, didn't i?"
"but you didn't tell the truth," said mark. "you don't have to buy a license."
"oh, what's the odds?" said ben, whose ideas on the subject of truth were far from being strict. "it's all fair in business. didn't that chap open his eyes when i told him about payin' five hundred dollars?"
"i don't think it's right, ben," said mark, seriously.
"don't you go to preachin', mark," said ben, not altogether pleased. "you've been tied to an old woman's apron-string too long,—that's what's the matter with you."
"mother watson didn't teach me the truth," said mark. "she don't care whether i tell it or not except to her. it was my mother that told me i ought always to tell the truth."
"women don't know anything about business," said ben. "nobody in business speaks the truth. do you see that sign?"
mark looked across the street, and saw a large placard, setting forth that a stock of books and stationery was selling off at less than cost.
"do you believe that?" asked ben.
"perhaps it's true," said mark.
"then you're jolly green, that's all i've got to lay," said ben. "but you haven't told me how much you've made."
"see here," said mark, and he drew out his stock of money.
"whew!" whistled ben, in amazement. "you're in luck. i guess you've been speculatin' on your license too."
"no," said mark; "one gentleman gave me fifty cents, and two others paid me double price."
"why, you're gettin' rich!" said ben. "aint you glad you've left the old woman?"
but just then mark lifted up his eyes, and saw a sight that blanched his cheek. there, bearing down upon him, and already but a few feet distant, was mother watson! she was getting over the ground as fast as her stoutness would allow. she had already caught sight of mark, and her inflamed eyes were sparkling with triumphant joy. mark saw with terror that her hand was already feeling in the pocket where she kept the leather strap. much as he always feared the strap, the idea of having it applied to him in the public street made it even more distasteful.
"what shall i do, ben?" he said, clutching the arm of his companion.
"what are you afraid of? do you see a copp after you?"
a "copp" is the street-boy's name for a policeman.
"no," said mark; "there's mother watson coming after me. don't you see her?"
"that's mother watson, is it?" asked ben, surveying the old body with a critical eye. "she's a beauty, she is!"
"what shall i do, ben? she'll beat me."
"no, she won't," said ben. "you just keep quiet, and leave her to me. don't be afraid. she shan't touch you."
"she might strike you," said mark, apprehensively.
"she'd better not!" said ben, very decidedly; "not unless she wants to be landed in the middle of next week at very short notice."
by this time mother watson came up, puffing and panting with the extraordinary efforts she had made she could not speak at first, but stood and glared at the match boy in a vindictive way.
"what's the matter with you, old lady?" asked ben, coolly. "you aint took sick, be you? i'd offer to support your delicate form, but i'm afraid you'd be too much for me."
"what do you mean by runnin' away from home, you little thief?" said the old woman, at length regaining her breath. of course her remark was addressed to mark.
"you're very polite, old lady," said ben; "but i've adopted that boy, and he's goin' to live with me now."
"i aint speakin' to you, you vagabone!" said mother watson, "so you needn't give me no more of your impertinence. i'm a-speakin' to him."
"i'm not going to live with you any more," said mark, gaining a little courage from the coolness of his friend, the boot-black.
"aint a goin' to live with me?" gasped the old woman, who could hardly believe she heard aright. "come right away, sir, or i'll drag you home."
"don't you stir, mark," said ben.
mother watson drew out her strap, and tried to get at the match boy, but ben put himself persistently in her way.
"clear out, you vagabone!" said the old lady, "or i'll give you something to make you quiet."
"you'd better keep quiet yourself," said ben, not in the least frightened. "don't you be afraid, mark. if she kicks up a rumpus, i'll give her over to a copp. he'll settle her."
mother watson by this time was very much incensed. she pulled out her strap, and tried to get at mark, but the boot-black foiled her efforts constantly.
carried away with anger, she struck ben with the strap.
"look here, old lady," said ben, "that's goin' a little too far. you won't use that strap again;" and with a dexterous and vigorous grasp he pulled it out of her hand.
"give me that strap, you vagabone!" screamed the old woman, furiously.
"look here, old lady, what are you up to?" demanded the voice of one having authority.
mother watson, turning round, saw an object for which she never had much partiality,—a policeman.
"o sir," said she, bursting into maudlin tears, "it's my bad boy that i want to come home, and he won't come."
"which is your boy,—that one?" asked the policeman, pointing to ben gibson.
"no, not that vagabone!" said the old woman, spitefully. "i wouldn't own him. it's that other boy."
"do you belong to her?" asked the officer, addressing mark.
"no, sir," said the match boy.
"he does," vociferated the old woman.
"is he your son?"
"no," she said, after a moment's hesitation.
"is he any relation of yours?"
"yes, he's my nephew," said mother watson, making up her mind to a falsehood as the only means of recovering mark.
"is this true?" asked the officer.
"no, it isn't," said mark. "she's no relation to me, but when my mother died she offered to take care of me. instead of that she's half starved me, and beaten me with a strap when i didn't bring home as much money as she wanted."
"then you don't want to go back with her?"
"no, i'm going to take care of myself."
"is there anybody that will prove the truth of what you say?"
"yes," said mark, "i'll call mrs. flanagan."
"who is she?"
"she lives in the same house with us."
"shall he call her, or will you give him up?" asked the officer. "by the way, i think you're the same woman i saw drunk in the street last week."
mother watson took alarm at this remark, and, muttering that it was hard upon a poor widder woman to take her only nephew from her, shuffled off, leaving mark and ben in full possession of the field, with the terrible strap thrown in as a trophy of the victory they had won.
"i know her of old," said the policeman. "i guess you'll do as well without her as with her."
satisfied that there would be no more trouble, he resumed his walk, and mark felt that now in truth he was free and independent.
as mother watson will not reappear in this story, it may be said that only a fortnight later she was arrested for an assault upon her sister, the proprietor of the apple-stand, from whom she had endeavored in vain to extort a loan, and was sentenced to the island for a period of three months, during which she ceased to grace metropolitan society.
