Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter

But it is now time to turn to Micky Maguire and Mr. Gilbert, whose joint scheme had met with so much success.

CHAPTER XIV.
MICKY MAGUIRE'S DISAPPOINTMENT

Micky Maguire waited until Dick was actually on the way to the station-house, and then started for Pearl Street to acquaint Gilbert with the success of his machinations. His breast swelled with triumph at the advantage he had gained over his enemy.

"May be he'll keep his 'cheerin' reflections' to himself another time," thought Micky. "He won't have much to say about my going to the Island when he's been there himself. They won't stand none of his airs there, I'm thinkin'."

There was another pleasant aspect to the affair. Micky had not only triumphed over his enemy, but he was going to be paid for it. This was the stipulation between Gilbert and himself. The book-keeper had not promised any definite sum, but Micky, in speculating upon the proper compensation for his service, fixed upon five dollars as about what he ought to receive. Like many others who count their chickens before they are hatched, he had already begun to consider what he would buy with it when he had got it.

Now, only the day previous, Micky had noticed hanging in a window in Chatham Street, a silver watch, and chain attached, which was labelled "Genuine Silver, only Five Dollars." Since Micky had been the possessor of a blue coat with brass buttons, his thoughts had dwelt more than ever before on his personal appearance, and the watch had struck his fancy. He did not reflect much on the probable quality of a silver watch which could be sold for five dollars, and a chain thrown into the bargain. It was a watch, at any rate, and would make a show. Besides, Dick wore a watch, and Micky felt that he did not wish to be outdone. As soon as he received his reward he meant to go and buy it.

It was therefore in a very cheerful frame of mind that Micky walked up in front of Rockwell & Cooper's store, and took his stand, occasionally glancing at the window.

Ten minutes passed away, and still he remained unnoticed. He grew impatient, and determined to enter, making his business an excuse.

Entering, he saw through the open door of the office, the book-keeper, bending over the desk writing.

"Shine yer boots?" he asked.

Gilbert was about to answer angrily in the negative, when looking up he recognized his young confederate. His manner changed, and he said, "Yes, I believe I'll have a shine; but you must be quick about it."

Micky swung his box from his shoulder, and, sinking upon his knees, seized his brush, and went to work scientifically.

"Any news?" asked Gilbert, in a low voice.

"Yes, mister, I've done it," said Micky.

"Have you managed to trap him?"

"Yes, I left him on his way to the station-house."

"How did you manage it?"

"I grabbed an old fellow's wallet, and dropped it into Dick's pocket. He pulled it out, and while he was lookin' at it, up came the 'copp' and nabbed him."

"How about the man from whom the wallet was taken?"

"He came up puffin', and swore Dick was the chap that stole it."

"So he was carried off to the station-house?"

"Yes; he's there safe enough."

"Then we shall have to carry on business without him," said Gilbert, coolly. "I hope he will enjoy himself at his new quarters."

"Maybe they'll send him to the Island," said Micky, beginning his professional operations upon the second boot.

"Very likely," said Gilbert. "I suppose you've been there before this."

"Wot if I have?" said Micky, in rather a surly tone, for he did not relish the allusion.

"No offence," said Gilbert. "I only meant that if you have ever been there, you can judge whether your friend Dick will enjoy it."

"Not a great deal," said Micky; "but you needn't call him my friend. I hate him."

"Your enemy, then. But get through as soon as possible."

Micky struck his brush upon the floor to indicate that the job was finished, and, rising, waited for his fee.

Gilbert took from his pocket ten cents and handed him.

"That's for the shine," he said; "and here's something for the other matter."

So saying, he placed in the hand of the boot-black a bank-note.

Micky glanced at it, and his countenance changed ominously, when he perceived the denomination. It was a one-dollar bill!

"It's one dollar," he said.

"Isn't that enough?"

"No, it isn't," he answered, sullenly. "I might 'ave been nabbed myself. I can't afford to work on no such terms."

Micky was right. It certainly was a very small sum to receive for taking such a risk, apart from all moral considerations, and his dissatisfaction can hardly be wondered at. But Gilbert was not of a generous nature. In fact he was disposed to be mean, and in the present instance he had even expected to get the credit of being generous. A dollar, he thought, must seem an immense sum to a ragged boot-black. But Micky thought differently, and Gilbert felt irritated at his ingratitude.

"It's all you'll get," said he, roughly.

"Then you'd better get somebody else to do your dirty work next time, mister," said Micky, angrily.

"Clear out, you young blackguard!" exclaimed Gilbert, his temper by this time fully aroused. "Clear out, if you don't want to be kicked out!"

"Maybe you'll wish you'd given me more," said Micky, sullenly picking up his box, and leaving the office.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Murdock, who happened to come up just as Micky went into the street, and heard the last words of the altercation.

"Oh," said Gilbert, carelessly, "he wasn't satisfied with his pay. I gave him ten cents, but the young rascal wanted more."

As he said this, he turned back to his desk.

"I wonder whether Gilbert's going anywhere," thought the head clerk. "I never knew him so extravagant before. He must be going out this evening."

Just then it occurred to him that Dick had been absent longer than usual, and, as he needed his services, he asked, "Has Richard returned, Mr. Gilbert?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Did he go out at the usual time?"

"Yes."

"What can have detained him?" said Mr. Murdock, thoughtfully.

"He's probably fallen in with some of his old friends, and forgotten all about his duties."

"That is not his way," said Mr. Murdock, quietly, as he walked away. He understood very well Mr. Gilbert's hostility to Dick, and that the latter was not likely to receive a very favorable judgment at his hands.

Five minutes later a boy entered the store, and, looking about him a moment in uncertainty, said, "I want to see Mr. Murdock."

"I am Mr. Murdock," he answered.

"Then this note is for you."

The clerk felt instinctively that the note was from Dick, and, not wishing Gilbert to hear the conversation, motioned the boy to follow him to the back part of the store.

Then he opened and read the note quickly.

"Did Richard Hunter give this to you?" he asked.

"No," said Tim Ryan, for that was his name. "It was the 'copp' that arrested him."

"I suppose a 'copp' is a policeman."

"Yes, sir."

"Were you present when he was arrested?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Yes, I seed it all."

"You saw the wallet taken?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Richard take it?"

"You mean Dick?" said Tim, interrogatively, for Richard was to him a strange name.

"No, he didn't, then. He wouldn't steal. I never know'd him to."

"Then you know Dick?"

"Yes, sir. I've knowed him ever since I was so high," indicating a point about three feet above the floor.

"Then who did take it, if not he?"

"Micky Maguire."

"Who is he?"

"He blacks boots."

"Then how did it happen that he was not arrested?"

"Micky was smart enough to drop the wallet into Dick's pocket as he was standin' before a shop winder. Then he got out of the way, and Dick was nabbed by the 'copp.'"

"Is this Micky of whom you speak a friend of yours?"

"No; he likes to bully small boys."

"Then why didn't you tell the officer he had arrested the wrong boy?"

"I wanted to," said Tim, "for Dick's always been kind to me; but I was afraid Micky would give me a beatin' when he got free. Then there was another reason."

"What was that?"

"It's mean to tell of a fellow."

"Isn't it meaner to let an innocent boy get punished, when you might save him by telling?"

"Maybe it is," said Tim, perplexed.

"My lad," continued Mr. Murdock, "you say Dick has been kind to you. You now have an opportunity to repay all he has ever done, by clearing him from this false charge, which you can easily do."

"I'll do it," said Tim, stoutly. "I don't care if Micky does lick me for it."

"By the way," said Mr. Murdock, with a sudden thought, "what is the appearance of this Micky Maguire?"

"He's rather stout, and has freckles."

"Does he wear a blue coat, with large brass buttons?"

"Yes," said Tim, in surprise. "Do you know him?"

"I have seen him this morning," said Mr. Murdock. "Wait a minute, and I will give you a line to Dick; or rather it will not be necessary. If you can get a chance, let him know that I am going to call on him this afternoon. Will you be at the station-house, or near it, at six o'clock?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then we can arrange about your appearing as a witness at the trial. Here is half a dollar for your trouble in bringing the note."

"I don't want it, sir," said Tim. "I don't want to take anything for doing a good turn to Dick."

"But you have been prevented from earning money. You had better take it."

But Tim, who was a warm-hearted Irish boy, steadfastly refused, and left the store in quest of Henderson's hat and cap store, having also a note to deliver to Fosdick.

"So that was Micky Maguire who was here a little while since," said Mr. Murdock to himself. "It seems singular that immediately after getting Richard into trouble, he should have come here where he was employed. Can it be that Gilbert had a previous acquaintance with him?"

The more Mr. Murdock reflected, the more perplexed he became. It did cross his mind that the two might be in league against Dick; but then, on the other hand, they evidently parted on bad terms, and this seemed to make such a combination improbable. So he gave up puzzling himself about it, reflecting that time would clear up what seemed mysterious about the affair.

Gilbert, on his part, could not help wondering on what errand Tim Ryan came to Mr. Murdock. He suspected he might be a messenger from Dick, but thought it best not to inquire, and Mr. Murdock did not volunteer any information. When the store closed, the head clerk bent his steps towards the station-house.

CHAPTER XV.
THE FRANKLIN STREET STATION-HOUSE

The station-house to which Dick had been conveyed is situated in that part of Franklin Street which lies between Centre and Baxter Streets. The last is one of the most wretched streets in the city, lined with miserable tenement houses, policy shops, and second-hand clothing stores. Whoever passes through it in the evening, will do well to look to the safety of his pocket-book and watch, if he is imprudent enough to carry either in a district where the Ten Commandments are unknown, or unregarded.

The station-house is an exception to the prevailing squalidness, being kept with great neatness. Mr. Murdock ascended the steps, and found himself in a large room, one side of which was fenced off by a railing. Behind this was a desk, at which sat the officer in charge. To him, Mr. Murdock directed himself.

"Have you a boy, named Richard Hunter, in the house?"

"Yes," said the sergeant, referring to his minutes. "He was brought in this afternoon, charged with picking a gentleman's pocket."

"There is some mistake about this. He is as honest as I am."

"I have nothing to do with that. He will have a fair trial to-morrow morning. All I have to do is to keep him in safe custody till then."

"Of course. Where is he?"

"In a cell below."

"Can I see him?"

"If you wish."

The officer summoned an attendant, and briefly ordered him to conduct Mr. Murdock to Dick's cell.

"This way, sir," said the attendant.

Mr. Murdock followed him through a large rear room, which is intended for the accommodation of the officers. Then, descending some steps into the courtyard, he descended thence into the apartments in the basement. Here are the cells for the temporary detention of offenders who are not at once sent to the Tombs for trial. The passages are whitewashed and the cells look very neat. They are on either side, with a grating, so that one passing along can look into them readily. They are probably about seven feet long, by four or five in width. A narrow raised bedstead, covered with a pallet, occupies one side, on which the prisoner can either lie or sit, as he pleases.

"How are you, boss?" asked a negro woman, who had been arrested for drunkenness, swaying forward, as Mr. Murdock passed, and nearly losing her balance as she did so. "Can't you give me a few cents to buy some supper?"

Turning from this revolting spectacle, Mr. Murdock followed his guide to the second cell beyond where our hero was confined.

"Is it you, Mr. Murdock?" exclaimed our hero, joyfully jumping to his feet. "I am glad to see you."

"And I am glad to see you; but I wish it were somewhere else," said Mr. Murdock.

"So do I," said Dick. "I aint partial to this hotel, though the accommodations is gratooitous, and the company is very select."

"I see you will have your joke, Dick, even in such a place."

"I don't feel so jolly as I might," said Dick. "I never was in the station-house before; but I shall be lucky if I don't get sent to a worse place."

"Have you any idea who took the wallet which was found in your pocket?"

"No," said Dick.

"Do you know a boy called Micky Maguire?" proceeded Mr. Murdock.

"Yes," said Dick, looking up in surprise. "Micky used to be a great friend of mine. He'd be delighted if he only knew that I was enjoyin' the hospitality of the government."

"He does know it," said Mr. Murdock, quietly.

"How do you know?" asked Dick, quickly.

"Because it was he that stole the wallet and put it in your pocket."

"How did you find out?" asked Dick, eagerly.

"Do you know a boy named Tim Ryan?"

"Yes; he's a good boy."

"It was he that brought me your note. He saw the whole proceeding."

"Why didn't he tell, and stop my bein' arrested, then?"

"I asked him that; but he said he was afraid Micky would beat him when he found out. But he is a friend of yours, and he stands ready to testify what he knows, at your trial, to-morrow morning."

"That's lucky," said Dick, breathing a sigh of relief. "So it was Micky that served me the trick. He always loved me like a brother, Micky did, but I didn't expect he'd steal for my benefit. I'm very much obliged to him, but I'd rather dispense with such little favors another time."

"You will be surprised to learn that Micky came round to our store this afternoon."

"What for?" questioned Dick, in amazement.

"I don't know whether he came by accident or design; but Mr. Gilbert employed him to black his boots."

"Mr. Gilbert!"

"Yes. They seemed to be conversing earnestly; but I was too far off to hear what was said. Finally, Gilbert appeared to get angry, and drove the boy out."

"That's strange!" said Dick, thoughtfully. "Mr. Gilbert loves me about as much as Micky does."

"Yes, there seems to be some mystery about it. We may find out some time what it is. But here is your friend Fosdick."

"How are you, Fosdick?" hailed Dick from his cell. "I'm holdin' a little levee down here. Did you receive my card of invitation?"

"I've been uneasy all the afternoon, Dick," said Fosdick. "Ever since I heard that you were here, I've been longing to come and see you."

"Then you aint ashamed of me, even if I am in the station-house?"

"Of course I know you don't deserve to be here. Tell me all about it. I only got a chance to speak a minute with Tim Ryan, for there were customers waiting."

"I'll tell you all I know myself," said Dick. "I'm sorry to keep you standing, but the door is locked, and I've accidentally lost the key. So I can't invite you into my parlor, as the spider invited the fly."

"Don't stand on ceremony, Dick. I'd just as lieves stay outside."

"So would I," said Dick, rather ruefully.

The story was told over again, with such new light as Mr. Murdock had been able to throw upon it.

"It's just like Micky," said Fosdick. "He's a bad fellow."

"It was rather a mean trick," said Dick; "but he hasn't had a very good bringin' up, or maybe he'd be a better boy."

That he should have spoken thus, at the moment when he was suffering from Micky's malice, showed a generosity of feeling which was characteristic of Dick. No one was more frank, open, or free from malice than he, though always ready to stand up for his rights when he considered them assailed. It is this quality in Dick, joined to his manly spirit, which makes him a favorite with me, as he is also with you, let me hope, young reader.

"It'll come out right, Dick," said Fosdick, cheerfully. "Tim Ryan's testimony will clear you. I feel a good deal better about it now than I did this afternoon, when I didn't know how things were likely to go with you."

"I hope so," said Dick. "But I'm afraid you won't get any supper, if you stay any longer with me."

"How about your supper, Dick?" asked Fosdick, with sudden thought. "Do they give you any in this establishment?"

"No," said Dick; "this hotel's on the European system, with improvements. You get your lodgin' for nothing, and nothing to eat along with it. I don't like the system much. I don't think I could stand it more'n a week without its hurtin' my constitution."

"I'll go out and get you something, Dick," said Fosdick, "if the rules of the establishment allow it. Shall I?"

"Well," said Dick, "I think I might eat a little, though the place isn't very stimulatin' to the appetite."

"What shall I bring you?"

"I aint particular," said Dick.

Just then the attendant came along, and Fosdick inquired if he would be allowed to bring his friend something to eat.

"Certainly," was the reply. "We provide nothing ourselves, as the prisoners only stay with us a few hours."

"I'll be right back," said Fosdick.

Not far from the station-house, Fosdick found a baker's shop, where he bought some bread and cakes, with which he started to return. As he was nearing the station-house, he caught sight of Micky Maguire hovering about the door. Micky smiled significantly as he saw Fosdick and his burden.

"Where are you carryin' that?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" said Fosdick, who could not feel very friendly to the author of Dick's misfortune.

"Never mind why," said Micky. "I know well enough. It's for your friend Dick. How does he like his new lodgins'?"

"How do you like them? You've been there often enough."

"Don't be impudent, or I'll lam' ye," said Micky, scowling.

As Fosdick was considerably smaller than himself, Micky might have ventured upon an assault, but deemed it imprudent in the immediate vicinity of the station-house.

"Give my compliments to Dick," he said. "I hope he'll sleep well."

To this Fosdick returned no answer, but, entering the building, descended to Dick's temporary quarters. He passed the bread and cake through the grating, and Dick, cheered by the hope of an acquittal on the morrow, and a speedy recovery of his freedom, partook with a good appetite.

"Can't you give me a mouthful, boss?" muttered the negro woman before mentioned, as she caught sight of Fosdick's load.

He passed a cake through the grating, which she seized eagerly, and devoured with appetite.

"I think I must be going," said Mr. Murdock, consulting his watch, "or my wife and children won't know what has become of me."

"Good-night, Mr. Murdock," said Dick. "Thank you for your kindness."

"Good-night, Richard. Keep up your courage."

"I'll try to."

Fosdick stopped longer. At last he went away, and our hero, left to himself, lay down upon his pallet and tried to get to sleep.

CHAPTER XVI.
ROSWELL CRAWFORD RETIRES FROM BUSINESS

"Can you send this home for me?" asked a lady in Hall & Turner's store about three o'clock in the afternoon of the day on which Dick, as we have related, was arrested.

"Certainly, madam. Where shall it be sent?" asked the clerk.

"No. 47 West Fortieth Street," was the reply.

"Very well, it shall be sent up immediately. Here, Roswell."

Roswell Crawford came forward not very willingly. He had no great liking for the task which he saw would be required of him. Fortieth Street was at least a mile and a half distant, and he had already just returned from a walk in a different direction. Besides, the bundle was a large one, containing three dress patterns. He did not think it very suitable for a gentleman's son to be seen carrying such a large bundle through the streets.

"Why don't you send Edward?" he said, complainingly. "He doesn't do half as much as I."

"I shall send whom I please," said the clerk, sharply. "You wouldn't do anything if you could help it."

"I won't carry bundles much longer," said Roswell. "You put all the heaviest bundles off upon me."

Roswell's back being turned, he did not observe Mr. Turner, who had come up as he was speaking.

"What are you complaining about?" asked that gentleman.

Roswell turned, and colored a little when he saw his employer.

"What is the matter?" repeated Mr. Turner.

"Mr. Evans always gives me the largest bundles to carry," said Roswell.

"He is always complaining of having to carry bundles," said the clerk. "He says it isn't suitable work for a gentleman's son."

"I have noticed it," said Mr. Turner. "On the whole, I think, Mr. Crawford," he said, with mock deference, "I think you have mistaken your vocation in entering a dry-goods store. I advise you to seek some more gentlemanly employment. At the end of the week, you are at liberty to leave my employment for one better suited to you."

"I'm ready to go now," said Roswell, sulkily.

"Very well; if you desire it, I will not insist upon your remaining. If you will come up to the desk, you shall receive what is due you."

It was somewhat humiliating to Roswell to feel that his services were so readily dispensed with. Still he had never liked the place, and heartily disliked carrying bundles. By going at once, he would get rid of the large bundle to be carried to West Fortieth Street. Congratulating himself, therefore, on the whole, on escaping from what he regarded as a degrading servitude, he walked up to the desk in a dignified manner, and received the wages due him.

"I hope you will find some more congenial employment," said Mr. Turner, who paid him the amount of his wages.

"I have no doubt I shall," said Roswell, loftily. "My father was a gentleman, and our family has considerable influence."

"Well, I wish you success. Good-by."

"Good-by," said Roswell, and walked out of the shop with head erect.

He did not quite like going home at once, as explanation would be rather awkward under the circumstances. He accordingly crossed over to Fifth Avenue, considering that the most suitable promenade for a gentleman's son. He could not help regarding with some envy the happy possessors of the elegant buildings which he passed. Why had partial Fate denied him that fortune which would have enabled him to live in this favored locality?

"Plenty of snobs have got money," he thought. "How much better I could use it than they! I wish I were rich! You wouldn't catch me slaving my life out in a dry-goods store, or any other."

This was undoubtedly true. Work of any kind had no charms for Roswell. To walk up the avenue swinging a dandy cane, dressed in the height of the fashion, or, what was better yet, sitting back luxuriously in an elegant carriage drawn by a dashing span; such was what he regarded himself most fit for. But, unfortunately, he was not very likely to realize his wishes. The desire to enjoy wealth doesn't bring it, and the tastes of a gentleman are not a very good stock to begin life with. So Roswell sauntered along in rather a discontented frame of mind until he reached Madison Park, where he sat down on a bench, and listlessly watched some boys who were playing there.

"Hallo, Roswell!" said one of his acquaintances, coming up by chance. "How do you happen to be here?"

"Why shouldn't I be here?"

"I thought you were in a store somewhere on Sixth Avenue."

"Well, I was, but I have left it."

"When did you leave it?"

"To-day."

"Got sacked, hey?"

"Sacked," in the New York vernacular, means discharged from a place. The idea of having it supposed that he had been "sacked" was not pleasing to Roswell's pride. He accordingly answered, "I never was 'sacked' in my life. Besides, it's a low word, and I never use it."

"Well, you know what I mean. Did they turn you off?"

"No, they didn't. They would have been glad to have me stay."

"Why didn't you then?"

"I didn't like the business."

"Dry goods,—wasn't it?"

"Yes, a retail dry-goods store. If I ever go into that line again, it'll be in a wholesale store. There's a chance there for a man to rise."

"You don't call yourself a man yet,—do you?"

"I call myself a gentleman," said Roswell, shortly.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm in no hurry about a new place. I shall look round a little."

"Well, success to you. I must be getting back to the shop."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm learning a trade."

"Oh!" said Roswell, turning up his nose slightly, which was quite easy for him to do, as nature had given that organ an upward turn. He thought all trades low, and resolved hereafter to hold as little communication as possible with the boy who had so far demeaned himself as to be learning one. That was worse than being in a dry-goods store, and carrying around bundles.

Towards six o'clock Roswell rose from his seat, and sauntered towards Clinton Place, which was nearly a mile distant. He entered the house a little before dinner.

"Are you not earlier than usual, Roswell?" asked his mother.

"I've left the store," he said, abruptly.

"Left the store!" echoed his mother, in some dismay. "Why?"

"Because they don't know how to treat me. It's no fit place for a gentleman's son."

"I am sorry, Roswell," said Mrs. Crawford, who, like her son, was "poor and proud," and found the four dollars he earned weekly of advantage. "I'm afraid you have been foolish."

"Listen, mother, and I'll tell you all about it," he said.

Roswell gave his explanation, which, it need hardly be said, was very favorable to himself, and Mrs. Crawford was finally brought to believe that Hall & Turner were low people, with whom it was not suitable for one of her son's gentlemanly tastes to be placed. His vindication was scarcely over, when the bell rang, and his Cousin Gilbert was admitted.

Mr. Gilbert entered briskly, and with a smiling face. He felt unusually complaisant, having succeeded in his designs against our hero.

"Well, James," said Mrs. Crawford, "you look in better spirits than I feel."

"What's happened amiss?"

"Roswell has given up his place."

"Been discharged, you mean."

"No," said Roswell, "I left the place of my own accord."

"What for?"

"I don't like the firm, nor the business. I wish I were in Mr. Rockwell's."

"Well," said Gilbert, "perhaps I can get you in there."

"Has the boot-black left?"

"He's found another place," said Gilbert, smiling at what he regarded as a good joke.

"You don't mean to say he has left a place where he was earning ten dollars a week?" said Mrs. Crawford, in surprise. "Where is this new place that you speak of?"

"In the station-house."

"Is he in the station-house?" asked Roswell, eagerly.

"That is what I hear."

"What's he been doing?"

"Charged with picking a pocket."

"Well, I do hope Mr. Rockwell will now see his folly in engaging a boy from the streets," said Mrs. Crawford, charitably concluding that there was no doubt of our hero's guilt.

"What'll be done with him, Cousin James?" asked Roswell.

"He'll be sent to the Island, I suppose."

"He may get clear."

"I think not. Circumstances are very much against him, I hear."

"And will you try to get me in, Cousin James?"

"I'll do what I can. Perhaps it may be well for you to drop in to-morrow about ten o'clock."

"All right,—I'll do it."

Both Mrs. Crawford's and Roswell's spirits revived wonderfully, and Mr. Gilbert, too, seemed unusually lively. And all because poor Dick had got into difficulties, and seemed in danger of losing both his place and his good name.

"It's lucky I left Hall & Turner's just as I did!" thought Roswell, complacently. "May be they'd like to engage the boot-black when he gets out of prison. But I guess he'll have to go back to blacking boots. That's what he's most fit for."