The Newsboy Partners: or, Who Was Dick Box?

"Well, what would you do, Frank?" asked Jimmy.

"I'd take Dick to a doctor."

"A doctor? Why, I'm not sick!" exclaimed Dick.

"No, I suppose not. But I read of a case the other day of a man who was hit on the head and he forgot everything he ever knew. They took him to a hospital, operated on him, and his memory came back to him."

"I wonder if mine would?" asked Dick, with a new look of hope on his face.

"There's nothing like trying," said Frank. "Suppose we ask the superintendent, Mr. Snowden?"

"That's a good idea," came from Jimmy, who was sitting in a corner of the room.

This they did, and Mr. Snowden agreed to have a physician who was a friend of his look at Dick. The superintendent of the lodging-house agreed, in a measure, with Frank that perhaps there might be some injury to Dick's head because of the blow, which, when the resulting depression on the skull was removed, would bring back his memory.

A few days later the doctor examined Dick. The boy waited anxiously for the verdict.

"I am sorry," said the doctor, "but I can do nothing for you. There is no special injury to the head. The skull was not broken by whatever, or whoever, it was that hit you. You suffered some shock, and that took away your memory. Your mind now is as good as it was before the accident, except that everything in the past is blotted out."

"And will I never remember it again?" asked Dick.

"I would not say that. The chances are that some day it will all come back to you with a rush. Some forgotten incident will recall it all to you. It may be a slight thing – the hearing of some forgotten name – the seeing of some forgotten face – and then you may remember who you are and where you lived."

"Oh, I hope it comes soon," said poor Dick. "I am tired of all this uncertainty."

"Never mind," consoled Jimmy. "I'll stick by you to the last."

CHAPTER XVII

AN OFFER OF A STAND

The disappointment following the doctor's verdict was keen for Dick. He had hoped that something might be done to aid him, but he found the only thing he could do was to wait, and this was very tedious.

"And maybe it will never happen," he said to Jimmy, that night in their room.

"Yes, it will," declared his partner, with more conviction that he felt. "You'll remember who you are some day, I'm certain."

"Perhaps – when it's too late."

"Well, don't think any more about it," advised Jimmy. "I heard some news to-day I forgot to tell you."

"What was it?"

"Well, a fellow that has a fine news-stand on Sixth Avenue near the elevated road wants to sell out. He's sick, an' he's got to go out West. I thought maybe you and me could buy him out."

"That's so, we might. How much does he want?"

"I don't know. Sam Schmidt was telling me about it. I didn't see the man who owns it."

"Suppose we go and see him," suggested Dick.

It had, for some time, been the ambition of the newsboy partners to own a regular stand, where not only papers but magazines and weeklies could be sold. Jimmy, in his wildest ambition, had sometimes dreamed of such a rise in life, but, until he had met Dick and learned new habits, including the one of saving his money, such a thing had not been possible for him, even to consider. Now he hoped he was in a position to realize his fondest expectation.

They went to see the owner of the stand the next day. The location, they knew from their past experience, was a good one, as it was near several ferries and street-car lines, as well as right under an elevated station. Thus the owner of the stand could always be assured of a large number of customers.

"I wonder how much he'll want for it?" spoke Dick, as they approached.

"Oh, maybe about forty or fifty dollars. How much have we got saved up now?"

"Nearly twenty-five."

"Maybe he'll trust us for what we haven't got, Dick."

"Perhaps, if we give him a mortgage."

"What's a mortgage?"

"Why, it's a paper showing that you owe a man so much money, and you give him a claim on your property as security. You'll soon learn about them in your arithmetic, especially when we get going to night-school."

"I don't care whether I learn or not, if I can be a part-owner in that stand," declared Jimmy, his eyes shining as he noted the pile of papers and magazines and saw the little enclosure where the proprietor of the place sat.

"Oh, but you must," insisted Dick. "Now shall I do the talking, or will you?"

"You'd better. But if he tries to come any 'con' game on us I'll have something to say. I know lots about selling papers, but not much about buying stands."

"I hear this stand is for sale," began Dick, speaking to a young man in charge.

"Who told you?" was the somewhat suspicious answer.

"My partner here, James Small, heard it from another newsboy, Sam Schmidt. Isn't it correct?"

"I suppose it is. I want to sell out. I've got to go West for my lungs."

"That's too bad. How much do you want for the stand?"

"Well, you know this is a good place to do business."

"I'll have to take your word for it," replied Dick. "Still it seems quite a lively place and ought to be good."

"Good? I guess it is!"

"How much do youse – I mean you – take in every week?" asked Jimmy suddenly, for he felt he could safely ask this question.

"What's that got to do with it?" inquired the stand-owner sharply.

"Lots. If me and me partner buys this stand, we want to know how much we're going to make."

"Well, I do a good business. Of course some days it's better than others."