Tin-Types Taken in the Streets of New York | Page 5

I shouldn't wonder if that wouldn't be best. Your
brother's estate can be settled up, I fancy, without you?"
"It aint very large."
"Well, then, good-by, Steve, and, mind now, this afternoon."
"All right, Inspector; good-by!"
As Mr. Ricketty disappeared down Canal Street, the inspector of police
turned to his friend and said: "That fellow was a clergyman once, and
they say he used to preach brilliant sermons."

II.
MR. JAYRES.
[Illustration: B]
Bootsey Biggs was a Boy. From the topmost hair of his shocky head to
the nethermost sole of his tough little feet, Bootsey Biggs was a Boy.
Bootsey was on his way to business. He had come to his tenement
home in Cherry Street, just below Franklin Square, to partake of his
noonday meal. He had climbed five flights of tenement-house stairs,
equal to about thirty flights of civilized stairs, and procuring the key of
his mother's room from Mrs. Maguinness, who lived in the third room
beyond, where it was always left when Mrs. Biggs went out to get her
papers, he had entered within the four walls that he called his home.
Spread upon the little pine table that stood in one corner was his
luncheon all ready for him, and after clambering into the big dry-goods
box originally purchased for a coal-bin, but converted under the stress
of a recent emergency into the baby's crib, and after kissing and poking
and mauling and squeezing the poor little baby into a mild convulsion,
Bootsey had gone heartily at work upon his luncheon.
He was now satisfied. His stomach was full of boiled cabbage, and his
soul was full of peace. He clambered back into the dry-goods box and
renewed his guileless operations on the baby. By all odds the baby was
the most astonishing thing that had ever come under Bootsey's
observation, and the only time during which Bootsey was afforded a
fair and uninterrupted opportunity of examining the baby was that
period of the day which Mr. Jayres, Bootsey's employer, was wont to
term "the noonday hour."
Long before Bootsey came home for his luncheon, Mrs. Biggs was off
for her stand in front of "The Sun" building, where she conducted a
large and, let us hope, a lucrative business in the afternoon newspapers,
so that Bootsey and the baby were left to enjoy the fulness of each

other's society alone and undisturbed.
To Bootsey's mind the baby presented a great variety of psychological
and other problems. He wondered what could be the mental operation
that caused it to kink its nose in that amazing manner, why it should
manifest such a persistent desire to swallow its fist, what could be the
particular woe and grievance that suddenly possessed its little soul and
moved it to pucker up its mouth and yell as though it saw nothing but
despair as its earthly portion?
Bootsey had debated these and similar questions until two beats upon
the clock warned him that, even upon the most liberal calculation, the
noonday hour must be looked upon as gone. Then he rolled the baby up
in one corner of the box and started back to the office.
It was Mr. Absalom Jayres's office to which Bootsey's way tended, and
a peculiarity about it that had impressed both Mr. Jayres and Bootsey
was that Bootsey could perform a given distance of which it was the
starting-point in at least one-tenth the time required to perform the
same distance of which it was the destination. This was odd, but true.
After taking leave of the baby and locking it in, all snugly smothered at
the bottom of its dry-goods box, Bootsey delivered the key of the room
to Mrs. Maguinness and descended into the court. Here he found two
other boys involved in a difficulty. Things had gone so far that Bootsey
saw it would be a waste of time to try to ascertain the merits of the
controversy--his only and obvious duty being to hasten the crisis.
"Hi! Shunks!" he cried, "O'll betcher Jakey kin lick ye!"
The rapidity with which this remark was followed by offensive
movements on Shunks's part proved how admirably it had been judged.
"Kin he!" screamed Shunks. "He's nawfin' but a Sheeny two-fer!"
Jakey needed no further provocation, and with great dexterity he
crowded his fists into Shunks's eyes, deposited his head in Shunks's
stomach, and was making a meritorious effort to climb upon Shunks's

shoulders, when a lordly embodiment of the law's majesty hove
gracefully into sight. Bootsey yelled a shrill warning, and himself set
the example of flight.
While passing under the Brooklyn Bridge Bootsey met a couple of
Chinamen, and moved by a sudden inspiration he grabbed the cue of
one of them, and both he and the Chinaman precipitately sat down.
Bootsey recovered quickly