8. CHAPTER EIGHTH.
RALPH AND THE BOX.
“Now for brass and then for legs,” he exclaimed,
and taking up the tin box crept from
the dog-house. Stealthily around the corner,
Ralph; with bare feet crushing the frozen
snow, toward the door of the basement, Ralph.
It is the work of a moment, but the heart of
the young outcast beats wildly. One glance
toward the window from which you lately
made your perilous descent; all is still above,
and all is still around you.
Your sister is there, above you, Ralph, but
you do not know it. No, ragged savage, or
else you would hurl the tin box to the ground,
and mount to the window by the vine, and
fight for the deliverance of your sister from
Brother Caleb's house, against all the Stewels
and all the Masked Preachers in the world.
But stealthily over the frozen snow, Ralph,
until you stand at the head of the basement
steps. Sit you down there, Ralph, and quietly
endue your chilled feet, with the comfortable
boots, so carelessly thrown aside by the Humming
Bird. It is done. Now the coat; a
warm coat, Ralph, though somewhat large; a
comfortable garment, though all too conspicuous,
with its buttons of white bone, every one
the size of a dollar.
“Brass has done her duty, now legs must
do theirs!”
Boots on his feet, great coat on his back,
and tin box under his arm, Ralph made the
best of his way toward the gate, without once
turning round his rude face, with shaggy hair,
and large grey eyes.
Arrived at the gate, which wide open seems
to favor his retreat, Ralph stands still and
hesitates —
“Two ends to the alley,” he murmurs —
“Wonder at which end the poleese is waitin'?
Likely at both. Howsomever Jonesey my
boy, there's no time to go back now. Now
then for a long pull and a strong pull an' a
pull all together, as they say on 'lection
day!”
He passed through the gate into the alley,
and along the alley in a western direction, toward
the next wide street, running from north
to south. As he approached this street he took
a firmer hold of the tin box, and endeavoured
to suppress the sound of his heavy boots,
which at every step sank in the ice and snow
with a distinct crash.
The street was reached—Ralph stood at
the corner of the alley, and looked eagerly
around him. The moon was shining brightly
over the roofs of the lofty houses, and over the
wide pavements, which were alike white and
glittering with snow. But no one, not even
the phantom of a police officer, was in sight.
The street as far as Ralph could see and hear,
was silent and deserted
Whither should he direct his footsteps?
Home to Bonus Court? Ralph shook his
head.
“The tin box and my idea-r won't allow
that. It's my opinion that legs had better carry
me out o' this 'ere town as quick as greased
lightnin'.”
He hurried northward without another word.
Clad in the great coat which flapped and draggled
about the heels of his cumbrous boots,
being only three sizes too large for him, Ralph
followed the street, until it crossed the Ridge
Road. The Ridge Road, as every body ought
to know, is an eccentric street. Instead of
running north or south like any well-behaved
Quaker City street, it worms and twists as
though seeking for something which it had lost.
Starting from Ninth and Vine, it winds and
zig-zags away, until it becomes “a pike,” somewhere
on the outskirts of the city. It is perfectly
New York in all its features. Cutting
sharp angles, shaving the corners of houses —
it would be entirely alone in crookedness, were
it not for Old York Road, Dock Street, and
one or two others of these eccentric streets,
which run pretty much as they please, not
having the fear of `due north and south' or
`due east and west' before their eyes
Ralph entered the Ridge Road, about two
squares above the house of the Fairmount Engine.
He had no time to think of “De Fairy”
now, but pushed rapidly onward, following the
windings of the Ridge Road.
“Once out o' this village, and I'll begin to
talk,” muttered Ralph, when lo! a figure turned
a corner, and came toward him with its hands
in its pockets. Was it a watchman?
Ralph felt his heart beat quicker, with thump
upon thump as the figure came from the shadow
into the moonlight.
“It's one of the boys! Y-a-a-s! He wears
his hat over his eyes, an' has his hair cut short
behind, and wears soap-locks over his ears.
Y-a-a-s it's one of 'em. Hello, Bokey, is that
you?”
“Why Jonesey!” cried the new-comer halting
suddenly and surveying Ralph with one
eye closed, in order to give the other a keener
vision, “Whar did you gid dat ar wommus,”
continued Bokey, speaking in a dialect peculiar
to the more enlightened districts of Philadelphia.
“You look like Matty Van Buren in
Gineral Jackson's trowse's; if you don't” —
et cetera.
“Never you mind Bokey; I knows what I
knows,” answered Ralph. “I say Bokey did
you go to see Woodside about paintin' the
frontis-piece of the Injine?”
“Didn't we? I guess we did hoss. Them
other boys of the Committee stood like stuck-pigs
— couldn't say a word for their lives.
But I spoke up to him. Didn't I? Well if I
did'nt, may I be” — et cetera.
“What did you say, Bokey?” asked Ralph,
anxious to divert attention from the tin box,
which he hid behind his back.
“Says I, says I, Woodside, and says he,
says he, w-ha-a-t? Says I we want a frontis-piece
for de Fairy. What'll you have? says
he. Then I told him, `Paint us de Genius o'
Liberty chained to a rock in de middle of the
Atlantic Ocean' — says I. An' he's a-goin' to
it. Hello! What you got dar under yer arm?”
He saw the tin box.
“G-e-t o-u-t! Don't you see I'm 'ployed
by the 'Nited States to carry the mail twixt
Fildelfy and Manayunk?”
With these words, he passed “Bokey” and
hurried on, at a pace between a walk and a
run. He soon came in sight of Broad street,
where a gloomy edifice, one story in height,
rose like an evil thing, in the moonlit air. A
gloomy edifice, covering a large space of ground,
and looking something like a State Prison in
its 'teens.
“The House o' Refuge,” cried Ralph as he
passed on. “Don't git this child in that ar'
place I guess” — and as though the building
awoke unpleasant reflections, he turned his
gaze another way, and increased his speed.
“Where shall I go? Can't go out into the
woods this cold night. An' I can't loaf about
forever with this 'ere tin box under my arm?
What shall I do? I should like to take a peep
into it, but I can't jist now.”
The box was very heavy and weighed like
lead upon his arm.
He did not hesitate, however, but pursued
his journey until he stood in front of a high
board fence, which extended along the Ridge
Road, on the extreme outskirts of the city.
A board was loose. Ralph kicked it violently;
it gave way, and he passed through the
crevice.
Before him rose an edifice of pale blueish
marble, which was surrounded by piles of stone
and building timber. The roof of the edifice
was white with snow.
Ralph stole around, turned this building and
soon came in sight of another edifice, compared
to which the first was but a hut standing beside
a palace.
