Little Hickory; or, Ragged Rob's young republic — Edition Insights

ER I. THE BOOTBLACK AND THE DEACON.

“I vum! I eenamost feel as if I was lost, though there do seem to be plenty o’ folks round.”

“Black yer boots and make ’em shine; only cost ye half a dime!” cried a cheery voice at the speaker’s elbow, and, looking down, the tall man was surprised to see a specimen of boyhood quite unknown to him. The features were regular enough, and would have been quite handsome had it not been for big patches of shoe blacking smeared over cheek and brow. Blue eyes peered out from the dark stains around them with a roguish twinkle, and there was a certain fearless independence in his looks and attitude which could not fail to show the most casual observer the fearlessness and self-reliance of his nature. It was his clothes, his general deportment, the air of cool contempt for everything and everybody around him which caused the stranger fresh from the country to stare upon the bootblack of the great city with speechless wonder.

“When yer eyes git done working and blinking, mister, p’raps ye will give yer tongue a chance,” said the young knight of the blacking brush, beginning to remove from his shoulder the ever-handy kit of his trade. “Better hev yer brogans shined up, mister; they need it bad.”

The reply of the man showed that something of greater moment to him at that time than his personal appearance was uppermost in his mind.

“Say, bub, can you tell me where there is a good tavern that a chap could stop at till to-morrer?”

“Sold ag’in, Ragged Rob!” cried one of half a dozen companions of his ilk, who had appeared upon the scene from all quarters. “When ye git through wi’ th’ ol’ hayseed, ye mought as well git out o’ bizness, for ye won’t hev blackin’ ’nough ter tip a gent’s boot. So long!” and the crowd beat a hasty retreat, to look for work in a more favorable direction.

“Get a move on you, old mossback, or the cops will haul you in for obstructing the sidewalks!” muttered a beetle-browed passer-by, who followed his words with a push which nearly threw the countryman off his feet.

“Geewhillikins, how the folks do crowd! Beats all natur’. What’s that you say, bub?”

“I say ye might find sich a stable as ye want by lookin’ in the right-hand corner. Luck to ye, ennyway,” and the bootblack was speedily lost in the crowd.

“Drat the leetle feller’s pictur! If I had my thumb and finger on him I’d pinch his throat for answering a civil question in that oncivil way.”

“What was that you said, friend?” asked a man, who had come hurrying toward him. “Why, can this be possible?” continued the newcomer, slapping him on the shoulder. “By Jove, but this is the pleasantest surprise of my life. Have you just come to New York, Mr. Reyburnbrook?”

By this time the man from the country was able to get a good view of the speaker, who was a tall, genteel, well-dressed person of middle life, and he said:

“Guess ye air mistook in your man this time, mister. I ain’t no sich name as Bumbrook at all. I’m just plain Elihu Cornhill, deacon o’ the church at Basinburg, where I wish I was this blessed minute. Things and folks air so tarnal thick round here one can’t draw a long breath, and----”

“Excuse me,” interrupted the other, “I can see my mistake now, Deacon Cornhill, and I offer a thousand apologies for troubling you. Do you know you look as like a friend of mine as a pea in the same pod? Good-day.”

“It’s funny queer!” exclaimed the bewildered Deacon Cornhill, “folks air in sich a pesky hurry they can’t stop to put one on his right track. I s’pose I must keep jogging, as if I was over in our lot looking for the cows.”

Meanwhile, the man who had left so abruptly after accosting him, sought another a short distance away, and who had evidently been waiting for him. Together the couple hastily examined a condensed New England directory, which the former produced from his pocket. After a short consultation they separated, one going at right angles to the street, followed by the unsuspecting countryman, while the other gave him pursuit.

Finding that the crowd of passers-by jostled him as he hastened on his way, Deacon Cornhill gathered his huge gripsack close under his right arm, pulled his hat down upon his large head, and kept stubbornly on his way, regardless of the elbowing and pushing of others, saying under his breath: