Rough and Ready. Alger Horatio Jr.

"Haven't you got anything smaller?"

      "This'll do," persisted the woman. "All you've got to do is to tuck it up so;" and she indicated the alteration. "I'll sew it up in a minute."

      "No, it won't do," said the newsboy, decidedly. "Come, Rose."

      They went into another shop, where a man was in attendance; but here again their inquiries were fruitless.

      They emerged from the shop, and, just beyond, came to a basement shop, the entrance to which was lined with old clothes of every style and material. Some had originally been of fine cloth and well made, but had in course of time made their way from the drawing-room to this low cellar. There were clothes of coarser texture and vulgar cut, originally made for less aristocratic customers, which perhaps had been sold to obtain the necessaries of life, or very possibly to procure supplies for the purchase of rum. Looking down into this under-ground shop, the quick eyes of Rose caught sight of the new dress, of which she had been so proud, depending from a nail just inside.

      "There it is," she said, touching the newsboy on the arm. "I can see it."

      "So it is. Let's go down."

      They descended the stone steps, and found themselves in a dark room, about twelve feet square, hung round with second-hand garments. The presiding genius of the establishment was a little old man, with a dirty yellow complexion, his face seamed with wrinkles, but with keen, sharp eyes, who looked like a spider on the watch for flies.

      "What can I sell you to-day, young gentleman?" he asked, rubbing his hands insinuatingly.

      "What's the price of that dress?" asked Rough and Ready, coming straight to the point.

      "That elegant dress," said the old man, "cost me a great deal of money. It's very fine."

      "I know all about it," said the newsboy, "for I bought it for my sister last week."

      "No, no, you are mistaken, young gentleman," said the old man, hastily, fearing it was about to be reclaimed. "I've had it in my shop a month."

      "No, you haven't," said the newsboy, bluntly; "you bought it this morning of a tall man, with a red nose."

      "How can you say so, young gentleman?"

      "Because it's true. The man took it from my sister, and carried it off. How much did you pay for it?"

      "I gave two dollars and a half," said the old man, judging from the newsboy's tone that it was useless to persist in his denial. "You may have it for three dollars."

      "That's too much. I don't believe you gave more than a dollar. I'll give you a dollar and a half."

      The old man tried hard to get more, but as Rough and Ready was firm, and, moreover, as he had only given fifty cents for the dress an hour before, he concluded that he should be doing pretty well in making two hundred per cent. profit, and let it go.

      The newsboy at once paid the money, and asked if his sister could put it on there. A door in the back part of the shop was opened, revealing an inner room, where Rose speedily made the change, and emerged into the street with her old dress rolled up in a bundle.

      CHAPTER IV.

      A FORTUNATE MEETING

      "Where are we going, Rufus?" asked Rose, as they left the subterranean shop.

      "That's what I'm trying to think, Rose," said her brother, not a little perplexed.

      To tell the truth, Rough and Ready had acted from impulse, and without any well-defined plan in his mind. He had resolved to take Rose from her old home, if it deserved the name, and for reasons which the reader will no doubt pronounce sufficient; but he had not yet had time to consider where they should live in future.

      This was a puzzling question.

      If the newsboy had been a capitalist, or in receipt of a handsome income, the question would have been a very simple one. He would only need to have bought a "Morning Herald," and, from the long list of boarding and lodging houses, have selected one which he judged suitable. But his income was small, and he had himself and his sister to provide for. He knew that it must be lonely for Rose to pass the greater part of the day without him; yet it seemed to be necessary. If only there was some suitable person for her to be with. The loss of her mother was a great one to Rose, for it left her almost without a companion.

      So Rough and Ready knit his brows in perplexing thought.

      "I can't tell where we'd better go, Rose, yet," he said at last. "We'll have to look round a little, and perhaps we'll come across some good place."

      "I hope it'll be some place where father won't find us," said Rose.

      "Don't call him father," said the newsboy, hastily. "He isn't our father."

      "No," said Rose, "I know that,—that is not our own father."

      "Do you remember our own father, Rose? But of course you don't, for you were only a year old when he died."

      "How old were you, Rufus?"

      "I was nine."

      "Tell me about father. Mother used to tell me about him sometimes."

      "He was always kind and good. I remember his pleasant smile whenever he came home. Once he was pretty well off; but he failed in business, and had to give up his store, and, soon after, he died, so that mother was left destitute. Then she married Mr. Martin."

      "What made her?"

      "It was for our sake, Rose. She thought he would give us a good home. But you know how it turned out. Sometimes I think mother might have been alive now, if she hadn't married him."

      "Oh, I wish she was," said Rose, sighing.

      "Well, Rose, we won't talk any more of Mr. Martin. He hasn't got any more to do with us. He can take care of himself, and we will take care of ourselves."

      "I don't know, Rufie," said the little girl; "I'm afraid he'll do us some harm."

      "Don't be afraid, Rose; I aint afraid of him, and I'll take care he don't touch you."

      The little girl's apprehensions were not without good reason. They had not done with this man Martin. He was yet to cause them considerable trouble. What that trouble was will be developed in the course of the story. Our business now is to follow the course of the two orphans.

      They had reached and crossed the City Hall Park, and now stood on the Broadway pavement, opposite Murray Street.

      "Are we going to cross Broadway, Rufus?" asked his little sister.

      "Yes, Rose. I've been thinking you would feel more comfortable to be as far away from our old room as possible. If we can get a lodging on the west side of Broadway somewhere, we shan't be so apt to meet Mr. Martin. You'd like that better, wouldn't you?"

      "Oh, yes, I should like that better."

      "Now we'll cross. Keep firm hold of my hand Rose, or you'll get run over."

      During the hours of daylight, except on Sunday, there is hardly a pause in the long line of vehicles of every description that make their way up and down the great central thoroughfare of the city. A quick eye and a quick step are needed to cross in safety. But the practised newsboy found no difficulty. Dodging this way and that, he led his sister safely across.

      "Let us go up Broadway, Rufus," said the little girl, who, living always in the eastern part of the city, was more used to Chatham Street and the Bowery than the more fashionable Broadway.

      "All right, Rose. We can turn off higher up."

      So the newsboy walked up Broadway, on the west side, his little sister clinging to his arm. Occasionally, though they didn't know it, glances of interest were directed towards them. The attractive face of little Rose, set off by her neat attire, and the frank, open countenance of our young hero, who looked more manly in his character of guardian to his little sister, made a pleasant impression upon the passers-by, or at least such as could spare a thought from the business cares which are apt to engross the mind to the exclusion of everything.

      "If I only had two such children!" thought a childless millionaire, as he passed with a hurried step. His coffers