Tattered Tom

Horatio Alger

Jr. Horatio Alger

Tattered Tom / or The Story of a Street Arab

PREFACE

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 one 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.

“You’re another!” was the prompt reply.

Frederic Pelham stared at the creature who had dared to imply that he—a leader of fashion—was 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 boy’s cap, the hair was cut short, it wore a boy’s jacket, but underneath was a girl’s dress. Jacket and dress were both in a state of extreme raggedness. The child’s 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, “You’re 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?”

“I’ll hand you to the police, you little wretch!”

“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. Pelham’s boots.

“You little brat, you’ve 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 dГ©tour 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 had 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-black’s fee, for he was thoroughly me