The morning being a busy time with the bootblacks, Dick’s changed appearance had not as yet attracted much attention. But when business slackened a little, our hero was destined to be reminded of it.
Among the downtown bootblacks was one hailing from the Five Points—a stout, red-haired, freckled-faced boy of fourteen, bearing the name of Micky Maguire. This boy, by his boldness and recklessness, as well as by his personal strength, which was considerable, had acquired an ascendancy among his fellow professionals, and had a gang of subservient followers, whom he led on to acts of ruffianism, not unfrequently terminating in a month or two at Blackwell’s Island. Micky himself had served two terms there; but the confinement appeared to have had very little effect in amending his conduct, except, perhaps, in making him a little more cautious about an encounter with the “cops,” as the members of the city police are, for some unknown reason, styled among the Five-Point boys.
Now Micky was proud of his strength, and of the position of leader which it had secured him. Moreover he was democratic in his tastes, and had a jealous hatred of those who wore good clothes and kept their faces clean. He called it putting on airs, and resented the implied superiority. If he had been fifteen years older, and had a trifle more education, he would have interested himself in politics, and been prominent at ward meetings, and a terror to respectable voters on election day. As it was, he contented himself with being the leader of a gang of young ruffians, over whom he wielded a despotic power.
Now it is only justice to Dick to say that, so far as wearing good clothes was concerned, he had never hitherto offended the eyes of Micky Maguire. Indeed, they generally looked as if they patronized the same clothing establishment. On this particular morning it chanced that Micky had not been very fortunate in a business way, and, as a natural consequence, his temper, never very amiable, was somewhat ruffled by the fact. He had had a very frugal breakfast—not because he felt abstemious, but owing to the low state of his finances. He was walking along with one of his particular friends, a boy nicknamed Limpy Jim, so called from a slight peculiarity in his walk, when all at once he espied our friend Dick in his new suit.
“My eyes!” he exclaimed, in astonishment; “Jim, just look at Ragged Dick. He’s come into a fortun’, and turned gentleman. See his new clothes.”
“So he has,” said Jim. “Where’d he get ’em, I wonder?”
“Hooked ’em, p’raps. Let’s go and stir him up a little. We don’t want no gentlemen on our beat. So he’s puttin’ on airs—is he? I’ll give him a lesson.”
So saying the two boys walked up to our hero, who had not observed them, his back being turned, and Micky Maguire gave him a smart slap on the shoulder.
Dick turned round quickly.
XIV
A Battle and a Victory
“What’s that for?” demanded Dick, turning round to see who had struck him.
“You’re gettin’ mighty fine!” said Micky Maguire, surveying Dick’s new clothes with a scornful air.
There was something in his words and tone, which Dick, who was disposed to stand up for his dignity, did not at all relish.
“Well, what’s the odds if I am?” he retorted. “Does it hurt you any?”
“See him put on airs, Jim,” said Micky, turning to his companion. “Where’d you get them clo’es?”
“Never mind where I got ’em. Maybe the Prince of Wales gave ’em to me.”
“Hear him, now, Jim,” said Micky. “Most likely he stole ’em.”
“Stealin’ ain’t in my line.”
It might have been unconscious the emphasis which Dick placed on the word “my.” At any rate Micky chose to take offence.
“Do you mean to say I steal?” he demanded, doubling up his fist, and advancing towards Dick in a threatening manner.
“I don’t say anything about it,” answered Dick, by no means alarmed at this hostile demonstration. “I know you’ve been to the Island twice. P’r’aps ’twas to make a visit along of the Mayor and Aldermen. Maybe you was a innocent victim of oppression. I ain’t a goin’ to say.”
Micky’s freckled face grew red with wrath, for Dick had only stated the truth.
“Do you mean to insult me?” he demanded shaking the fist already doubled up in Dick’s face. “Maybe you want a lickin’?”
“I ain’t partic’larly anxious to get one,” said Dick, coolly. “They don’t agree with my constitution which is nat’rally delicate. I’d rather have a good dinner than a lickin’ any time.”
“You’re afraid,” sneered Micky. “Isn’t he, Jim?”
“In course he is.”
“P’r’aps I am,” said Dick, composedly, “but it don’t trouble me much.”
“Do you want to fight?” demanded Micky, encouraged by Dick’s quietness, fancying he was afraid to encounter him.
“No, I don’t,” said Dick. “I ain’t fond of fightin’. It’s a very poor amusement, and very bad for the complexion, ’specially for the eyes and nose, which is apt to turn red, white, and blue.”
Micky misunderstood Dick, and judged from the tenor of his speech that he would be an easy victim.
