# Mark the Match Boy/Chapter 5

It was growing dark, though yet scarecly six o'clock, for the day was one of the shortest in the year, when a small boy, thinly clad, turned down Frankfort Street on the corner opposite French's Hotel. He had come up Nassau Street, passing the "Tribune" Office and the old Tam- many Hall, now superseded by the substantial new "Sun building.
He had a box of matches under his arm, of which very few seemed to have been sold. He had a weary, spiritless air, and walked as if quite tired. He had been on his feet all day, and was faint with hunger, having eaten nothing but an apple to sustain his strength. The thought that he was near his journey's end did not seem to cheer him much. Why this should be so will speedily appear.
He crossed William Street, passed Gold Street, and turned down Vandewater Street, leading out of Frank- fort's Street on the left. It is in the form of a short curve, connecting with the most crooked of all New York Av- enues, Pearl Street. He paused in front of a shabby house, and went upstairs. The door of a room on the third floor was standing ajar. He pushed it open, and entered, not without a kind of shrinking.
A coarse-looking woman was seated before a scanty fire. She had just thrust a bottle into her pocket after taking a copious draught therefrom, and her flushed face showed that this had long been a habit with her.
"Well, Mark, what luck tonight?" she said in a husky voice.
"I didn't sell much," said the boy.
"Didn't sell much? Come here," said the woman, sharply.
Mark came up to her side, and she snatched the box from him, angrily.
"Only three boxes gone?" she repeated. "What have you been doing all day?"
She added to this question a coarse epithet which I shall not repeat.
"I tried to sell them, indeed I did, Mother Watson, indeed I did," said the boy, earnestly, "but everybody had bought them already."
"You didn't try," said the woman addressed as Mother Watson. "You're too lazy, that's what's the matter. You didn't earn your salt. Now give me the money."
Mark drew from his pocket a few pennies, and handed them to her.
She counted them over, and then looking up sharply, said, with a frown, "There's a penny short. Where is it?"
"I was so hungry," pleaded Mark, "that I bought an apple,--only a little one."
"You bought an apple, did you?" said the woman, menacingly. "So that's the way you spend my money, you little thief?"
"I was so faint and hungry," again pleaded the boy.
"What business had you to be hungry? Didn't you have some breakfast this morning?"
"I had a piece of bread."
"That's more than you earned. You'll eat me out of house and home, you little thief! But I'll pay you off. I'll give you something to take away your appetite. You won't be hungry any more, I reckon."
She drove her flabby hand into her pocket, and pro- duced a strap, at which the boy gazed with a frightened look.
"Don't beat me, Mother Watson," he said imploringly.
"I'll beat the laziness out of you," said the woman, vindictively. "See if I don't."
She clutched Mark by the collar, and was about to bring the strap down forcibly on his back, ill protected by his thin jacket, when a visitor entered the room.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Watson?" asked the intruder.
"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Flanagan?" said the woman, hold- ing the strap suspended in the air. "I'll tell you what's the matter. This little thief has come home, after selling only three boxes of matches the whole day, and I find he's stole a penny to to buy an apple with. It's for that I'm goin' to beat him."
"Oh, let him alone, the poor lad," said Mrs. Flanagan, who was a warm-hearted Irish woman. "Maybe he was hungry."
"Then why didn't he work? That work can eat."
"Maybe people didn't want to buy."
"Well, I can't afford to keep him in his idleness," said Mrs. Watson. "He may go to bed without his supper."
"If he can't sell his matches, maybe people would give him something."
Mrs. Watson evidently thought favorably of this sug- gesition, for, turning to Mark, she said, "Go out again, you little thief, and mind you don't come back in again till you've got twenty-five cents to bring to me. Do you mind that?"
Mark listeneded, but stood irresolute.
"I don't like to beg," he said.
"Don't like to beg!" screamed Mrs. Watson. "Do you mind that, now, Mrs. Flanagan? He's too proud to beg."
"Mother told me never to beg if I could help it," said Mark.
"Well, you can't help it," said the woman, flourishing the strap in a threatening manner. "Do you see this?"
"Yes."
"Well, you'll feel it too, if you don't do as I tell you. Go out now."
"I'm so hungry," said Mark; "won't you give me a piece of bread?"
"Not a mouthful till you bring back twenty-five cents. Start now, or you'll feel the strap."
The boy left the room with a slow step, and wearily descended the stairs. I hope my young readers will never know the hungry craving after food which tormented the poor boy as he made his way towards the street. But he had hardly reached the foot of the first staircase when he heard a low voice behind him, and, turning, be- held Mrs. Flanagan, who had hastily followed after him.
"Are you very hungry?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm faint with hunger."
"Poor boy!" she said, compasionately; "come in here a minute."
She opened the door of her own room, which was just at the foot of the staircase, and gently pushed him in.
It was a room of the same general appearance as the one above, but was much neater liiking.
"Biddy Flanagan isn't the woman to let a poor mother- less child go hungry when she's a bit of bread or meat by her. Here, Mark, lad, sit down, and I'll bring you something that'll warm your poor little stomach.
She opened a cupboard, and brought out a plate con- taining a small quantity of cold beef, and two slices of bread.
"There's some better mate than you'll get of Mother Watson. It's cold, but it's good."
"She never gives any meat at all," said Mark, gazing with a look of eager anticipation at the plate which to his famished eye looked so inviting.
"I'll be bound she don't," said Mrs. Flanagan. "Talk of you being lazy! What does she do herself but sit all day doing nothin' except drink whisky from the black bot- tle! She might get washin' to do, as I do, if she wanted to, but she won't work. She expects you to get money enough for both of you."
Meanwhile Mrs. Flanagan had poured out a cup of tea from an old tin teapot that stood on the stove.
"There, drink that, Mark dear," she said. "It'll warm you up and you'll need it this cold not night, I'm thinking."
The tea was not of the best quality, and the cup was cracked and discolored; but to Mark it was grateful and refreshing, and he eagerly drank it.
"Is it good?" asked the sympathizing woman, observ- ing with satisfaction the eagerness with which ite in was drunk.
"Yes, it makes me feel warm," said Mark.
"It's better nor {sic} the whisky Mother Watson drinks," said Mrs. Flanagan. "It won't make your nose red like hers. It would be a sight better for her if she'd throw away the whisky, and take to the tea."
"You are very kind, Mrs. Flanagan," said Mark, rising from the table, feeling fifty per cent. better than when he sat down.
"Oh, bother now, don't say a word about it! Shure you're welcome to the bit you've eaten, and the sup of tea. Come in again when you feel hungry, and Bridget Flanagan won't be the woman to send you off hungry if she's got anything in the cupboard."
"I wish Mother Watson was as good as you are," said Mark.
"I ain't so good as I might be, said Mrs. Flanagan; "but I wouldn't be guilty of tratin' a poor boy as that woman trates you, more chame to her! How came you with her any way? She ain't your mother, is she."
"No," said Mark, shuddering at the bare idea. "My mother was a good woman, and worked hard. She didn't drink whisky. Mother was always kind to me. I wish she was alive now."
"When did she die, Mark dear?"
"It's going on a year since she died. I din't know what to do, but Mother Watson told me to come and live with her and she'd take care of me."
"Sorra bit of kindness there was in that," commented Mrs. Flanagan. "She wanted you to take care of her. Well, and what did she make you do.?"
"She sent me out to earn what I could. Sometimes I would run on errands, but lately I have sold matches."
"Is it hard work sellin' them?"
"Some days I do pretty well, but some days it seems as if nobody wanted any. Today I went round to a great many offices, but they had as many as they wanted, and I didn't sell but three boxes. I tried to sell more, in- deed I did, but I couldn't"
"No doubt you did Mark dear. It's cold you must be in that thin jacket of yours this cold weather. I've got a shawl you may wear if you like. You'll not lose it, I know."
But Mark had a natural dislike of being dressed as a girl, knowing, moreover, that his appearance in the street with Mrs. Flanagan's shawl would subject him to the jeers of the street boys. So he declined the offer with thanks, and, buttoning up his thin jacket, descended the ramaining staircase, and went out again into the chilling and uninviting street. A chilling, drizzling rain had just set in, and this made it even more dreary than it had been during the day.