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Sam's Chance And How He Improved It, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 1. Sam's New Clothes |
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_ CHAPTER I. SAM'S NEW CLOTHES "If I'm goin' into a office I'll have to buy some new clo'es," thought Sam Barker. He was a boy of fifteen, who, for three years, had been drifting about the streets of New York, getting his living as he could; now blacking boots, now selling papers, now carrying bundles--"everything by turns, and nothing long." He was not a model boy, as those who have read his early history, in "The Young Outlaw," are aware; but, on the other hand, he was not extremely bad. He liked fun, even if it involved mischief; and he could not be called strictly truthful nor honest. But he would not wantonly injure or tyrannize over a smaller boy, and there was nothing mean or malicious about him. Still he was hardly the sort of boy a merchant would be likely to select as an office boy, and but for a lucky chance Sam would have been compelled to remain a bootblack or newsboy. One day he found, in an uptown street, a little boy, who had strayed away from his nurse, and, ascertaining where he lived, restored him to his anxious parents. For this good deed he was rewarded by a gift of five dollars and the offer of a position as errand boy, at five dollars a week. Sam decided that he must have some new clothes before he could enter upon his place. At present his costume consisted of a ragged shirt, and a pair of equally ragged pantaloons. Both were of unknown antiquity, and had done faithful service, not only to Sam, but to a former owner. It was quite time they were released from duty. To buy a complete outfit with five dollars might have puzzled many an able financier. But Sam knew just where to go. Somewhere in the neighborhood of Baxter Street there was a second-hand clothing establishment, which he had patronized on previous occasions, and where he knew that the prices were low. It was to this place that he bent his steps. A wrinkled old man--the proprietor--stood outside, scanning, with cunning eyes, the passers-by. If any one paused to examine his stock, he was immediately assailed by voluble recommendations of this or that article, and urgently entreated to "just step inside." When Sam approached, the old man's shrewdness was at fault. He did not suspect that the ragged street boy was likely to become a customer, and merely suffered his glance to rest upon him casually. But Sam accosted him with a business-like manner. "Look here, old man, have you got any tiptop clo'es to sell to-day?" "Yes, my son," answered the old man, with an air of alacrity. "Who are you a-takin' to? I ain't your son, and I wouldn't be. My father's a member of Congress." "Did he send you here to buy clo'es?" asked the old man, with a grin. "Yes, he did. He said you'd let me have 'em half price." "So I will, my--boy. This is the cheapest place in the city." "Well, old man, trot out your best suits. I want 'em in the style, you know." "I know that from your looks," said the old man, a grin illumining his wrinkled face, as he glanced at the rags Sam wore. "Oh, you needn't look at these. My best clo'es is to home in the wardrobe. What have you got for shirts?" A red-flannel article was displayed; but Sam didn't like the color. "It ain't fashionable," he said. "Here's a blue one," said the old man. "That's more like, how much is it?" "Fifty cents." "Fifty cents! Do you want to ruin me? I won't give no fifty cents for a shirt." "It's worth more. It cost me forty-five." "I'll give thirty-five." After some haggling the price was accepted, and the article was laid aside. "Now show me some of your nice suits," said Sam. "I've got a place, and I want to look like a gentleman." "Have you got any money?" asked the old man, with the momentary suspicion that he might be throwing his time and trouble away upon a penniless purchaser. "Yes," said Sam. "What do you take me for?" "How much have you got?" "What do you want to know for?" "I want to know what clo'es to show you." Sam was about to answer five dollars, when a shrewd thought changed his intention. "I've got four dollars," he said. Even this was beyond the expectations of the dealer. "All right, my son," he said. "I'll give you some nice clo'es for four dollars." "You'd better if you want me to come here again. If you do well by me I'll get all my clo'es here." A young man of fashion could not have spoken more condescendingly, or with an air of greater importance than Sam. He was right in thinking that his patronage was of importance to the old man. "I'll dress you so fine the gals will look at you as you go along the street," he said. "Go ahead!" said Sam. "Do your best by me, and I'll send my friends here." Without going into details, it may be said that our hero selected everything to his satisfaction except a coat. Here he was rather particular. Finally, he espied a blue coat with brass buttons, hanging in a corner. "Take down that coat," he said, "I guess that'll suit me." "That costs too much. I can't give you that and the rest of the things for four dollars." "Why can't you?" "I'd lose too much." Opposition confirmed Sam in his determination to own it. "Give it to me; I'll try it on," he said. Putting it on, he surveyed himself with satisfaction, in a small, cracked mirror. True, it was about two sizes too large, but Sam felt that in getting more cloth he was getting a better bargain. "That's my style," he said. "Don't I look fashionable?" "I'll have to ask you twenty-five cents more for that coat," said the old dealer. "No, you won't." "Yes, I must. I ought to ask more." "Then you may keep the rest of the clo'es. I don't want 'em." Sam made a movement as if to leave the store. "Give me twenty cents more, my son." "Didn't I tell you I wasn't your son? I won't give you no twenty cents, but I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll give you these clo'es I've got on." The old man looked at them dubiously. "They ain't worth much," he said. "I know they ain't but they're worth twenty cents." There was another critical inspection, and the decision was given in Sam's favor. "You may have the clo'es," said the old man. "Now, where's your money?" Sam produced a five-dollar bill. "Give me a dollar back," he said. The old man looked at him with the expression of one who had been cheated. "You said you had only four dollars," he complained. "No, I didn't. I said I had four. I didn't say that was all." "These clo'es are worth five dollars." "No, they ain't, and you won't get it from me. Do you think I'm going to give you all the money I've got?" The old man still looked dissatisfied. "I'm losin' money on these clo'es," he muttered. "Oh, well if you don't want to sell 'em, you needn't," said Sam, independently. "There's another place round the corner." "Give me four fifty." "No, I won't. I won't give you another cent. I'll give you four dollars and these clo'es I have on. A bargain's a bargain. If you're goin' to do it, say the word; and if you ain't, I'm off." Sam carried his point, and received back a dollar in change. "You needn't send the clo'es round to my hotel--I'll change 'em here," said our hero. He set to work at once, and in five minutes the change was effected. The other clothes fitted him moderately well, but the blue coat--of the kind popularly called a swallow-tail--nearly trailed upon the ground. But for that Sam cared little. He surveyed himself with satisfaction, and felt that he was well dressed. "I guess I'll do now," he said to himself, complacently, as he walked out of the shop. _ |
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