Rough and Ready. Alger Horatio Jr.

and Ready gained his name partly from its resemblance in sound to his right name of Rufus, but chiefly because it described him pretty well. Any of his street associates, who attempted to impose upon him, found him a rough customer. He had a pair of strong arms, and was ready to use them when occasion seemed to require it. But he was not quarrelsome. He was generous and kind to smaller boys, and was always willing to take their part against those who tried to take advantage of their weakness. There was a certain Tom Price, a big, swaggering street-bully, a boot black by profession, with whom Rough and Ready had had more than one sharp contest, which terminated in his favor, though a head shorter than his opponent.

      To tell the truth, Rough and Ready, in addition to his strength, had the advantage of a few lessons in boxing, which he had received from a young man who had been at one time an inmate of the same building with himself. This knowledge served him in good stead.

      I hope my young readers will not infer that I am an advocate of fighting. It can hardly help being brutal under any circumstances; but where it is never resorted to except to check ruffianism, as in the case of my young hero, it is less censurable.

      After setting up Johnny Nolan in business, Rough and Ready crossed to the opposite side of the street, and walked up Centre Street. He stopped to buy a red-cheeked apple at one of the old women's stalls which he passed.

      "Rosie likes apples," he said to himself. "I suppose she's waiting to hear me come upstairs."

      He walked for about quarter of a mile, till he came in sight of the Tombs, which is situated at the north west corner of Centre and Leonard Streets, fronting on the first. It is a grim-looking building, built of massive stone. Rough and Ready did not quite go up to it, but turned off, and went down Leonard Street in an easterly direction.

      Leonard Street, between Centre and Baxter Streets, is wretched and squalid, not as bad perhaps as some of the streets in the neighborhood,—for example, Baxter Street,—but a very undesirable residence.

      Here it was, however, that our hero and his sister lived. It was not his own choice, for he would have gladly lived in a neat, clean street; but he could not afford to pay a high rent, and so was compelled to remain where he was.

      He paused in front of a dilapidated brick building of six stories. The bricks were defaced, and the blinds were broken, and the whole building looked miserable and neglected. There was a grocery shop kept in the lower part, and the remaining five stories were crowded with tenants, two or three families to a floor. The street was generally littered up with old wagons, in a broken-down condition, and odors far from savory rose from the garbage that was piled up here and there.

      Crowds of pale, unhealthy-looking children, with dirty faces, generally bare-headed and bare-footed, played about, managing, with the happy faculty of childhood, to show light-hearted gayety, even under the most unpromising circumstances.

      Rough and Ready, who was proud of his little sister, liked to have her appear more decently clad than most of the children in the street. Little Rose never appeared without a bonnet, and both shoes and stockings, and through envy of her more respectable appearance, some of the street girls addressed her with mock respect, as Miss Rose. But no one dared to treat her otherwise than well, when her brother was near, as his prowess was well known throughout the neighborhood.

      Our hero dashed up the dark and rickety stair case, two stairs at a time, ascending from story to story, until he stood on the fifth landing.

      A door was eagerly opened, and a little girl of seven called out joyfully:—

      "Is it you, Rufus?"

      At home, Rough and Ready dropped his street nickname, and was known by his proper appellation.

      "Yes, Rosie. Did you get tired of waiting?"

      "I'm always tired of waiting. The mornings seem so long."

      "Yes, it must seem long to you. Did you go out and play?"

      "Only a few minutes."

      "Didn't you want to stay?"

      The little girl looked embarrassed.

      "I went out a little while, but the girls kept calling me Miss Rose, and I came in."

      "I'd like to hear 'em!" said Rufus, angrily.

      "They don't do it when you are here. They don't dare to," said Rose, looking with pride at her brother, whom she looked upon as a young hero.

      "They'd better not," said the newsboy, significantly. "They'd wish they hadn't, that's all."

      "You see I wore my new clothes," said Rose, by way of explanation. "That made them think I was proud, and putting on airs. But they won't do it again."

      "Why not?" asked her brother, puzzled.

      "Because," said Rose, sadly, "I shan't wear them again."

      "Shan't wear them!" repeated Rough and Ready. "Are you afraid to?"

      "I can't."

      "Why can't you?"

      "Because I haven't got them to wear."

      Rose's lip quivered as she said this, and she looked ready to cry.

      "I don't understand you, Rosie," said the newsboy, looking perplexed. "Why haven't you got them, I should like to know?"

      "Because father came home, and took them away," said the little girl.

      "What!" exclaimed Rough and Ready, quickly. "Took them away?"

      "Yes."

      "What did he do that for?" said the boy, angrily.

      "He said he shouldn't let you waste your money in buying nice clothes for me. He said that my old ones were good enough."

      "When did he take them away?" said the boy, his heart stirred with indignation.

      "Only a little while ago."

      "Do you know where he took them, Rosie?"

      "He said he was going to take them to Baxter Street to sell. He said he wasn't going to have me dressed out like a princess, while he hadn't a cent of money in his pocket."

      Poor Rufus! He had been more than a month saving up money to buy some decent clothes for his little sister. He had economized in every possible way to accomplish it, anticipating her delight when the new hat and dress should be given her. He cared more that she should appear well than himself, for in other eyes, besides her brother's, Rose was a charming little girl. She had the same clear complexion as her brother, an open brow, soft, silken hair hanging in natural curls, fresh, rosy cheeks in spite of the unhealthy tenement-house in which she lived, and a confiding look in her dark blue eyes, which proved very attractive.

      Only the day before, the newsboy had brought home the new clothes, and felt abundantly rewarded by the delight of his little sister, and the improvement in her appearance. He had never before seen her looking so well.

      But now—he could not think of it without indignation—his intemperate stepfather had taken away the clothes which he had worked so hard to buy, and, by this time, had probably sold them for one quarter of their value at one of the old-clothes shops in Baxter Street.

      "It's too bad, Rosie!" he said. "I'll go out, and see if I can't get them back."

      While he was speaking, an unsteady step was heard on the staircase.

      "He's coming!" said Rose, with a terrified look.

      A hard and resolute look came into the boy's face, as, turning towards the door, he awaited the entrance of his stepfather.

      CHAPTER III.

      A SUDDEN MOVE

      Presently the door was opened, and James Martin entered with an unsteady step. His breath was redolent with the fumes of alcohol, and his face wore the brutish, stupid look of one who was under the influence of intoxication. He was rather above the middle height, with a frame originally strong. His hair and beard had a reddish tinge. However he might have appeared if carefully dressed, he certainly presented an appearance far from prepossessing at the present moment.

      Rough and Ready surveyed