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                        JULIUS, THE STREET BOY
                                  OR
                               OUT WEST

                                  BY
                          HORATIO ALGER, JR.

                               Author of

    Brave and Bold, Bound to Rise, Risen from the Ranks, Erie Train
              Boy, Paul, the Peddler, Phil, the Fiddler,
                          Young Acrobat, Etc.

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                           MADE IN U. S. A.

                        M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
                          CHICAGO :: NEW YORK




JULIUS, THE STREET BOY.




CHAPTER I.

RETIRED FROM BUSINESS.


“Where are you goin’, Julius? Where’s yer blackin’ box?” asked Patrick
Riley.

“I’ve retired from business,” said Julius.

“Did yer rich uncle die, and leave yer a fortune?”

“No, but he’s goin’ up the river to Sing Sing, for the benefit of his
constitushun, and I’m goin’ West fer my health.”

“Goin’ West? You’re gassin’.”

“No, I ain’t, I’m goin’ in a few days, along of Mr. O’Connor, and a lot
of other chaps.”

“Is it far out there?” asked Pat.

“More’n a hundred miles,” said Julius, whose ideas of geography and
distances were rather vague.

“Yer don’t mean ter live out there?”

“Yes, I do, I’m goin’ on to a farm, or into a store, and grow up
respectable.”

“Won’t yer miss the city, Julius?”

“Likely I will.”

“I don’t think I’d like the country,” said Pat, reflectively. “New
York’s a bully place. There’s always something goin’ on. I say, did you
hear of that murder in Center Street last night?”

“No; what was it?”

“A feller stabbed a cop that was trottin’ him round to the station house
for bein’ tight. There’s always something to make it lively here. In the
country there ain’t no murders, nor burglaries, nor nothin’,” concluded
Pat, rather contemptuously.

“I hope there’s theayters,” said Julius, thoughtfully. “I like to go
when there’s a good lively piece.”

“Have you been to our theayter yet, Julius?”

“Your theayter?”

“Yes, me and some of the boys have got up a theayter. We do the pieces
and actin’ ourselves.”

“Where is it?” asked Julius, with lively curiosity.

“It’s No. 17 Baxter Street, down in the basement. We call it ‘The Grand
Duke’s Oprea House.’ We don’t have to pay no rent. It’s Jim Campara’s
place, an’ he’s treasurer, so his father don’t charge nothin’.”

“How long have you been goin’, Pat?”

“Most a month. We play every night.”

“Are you doin’ well? Do you make money?”

“Tiptop. I say, Julius, yer must come to-night. It’s my benefit.”

“Do you get all the money that’s took in?”

“No, half goes for expenses. I get the rest.”

“What do you do?”

“Oh, I play <DW65> parts, and dance the jigs.”

“What do you charge for a ticket?”

“Five cents admission, and eight cents reserved seats.”

“That’s cheaper’n Tony Pastor’s.”

“Yes; we can’t expect to get so much as Tony, ’cause yer know we ain’t
purfessional. We’re amatoors.”

“How much do you get for your valuable services, Pat?” asked Julius,
laughing.

“I’ll tell yer the way we do. Jim Campara--he’s the treasurer--keeps all
the stamps till the end of the week, and then it is divided between us.
Last week I got three dollars.”

“You did! Well, that’s pretty good pay.”

“Well,” said Pat, “there’s some expenses. I have to pay for my
wardrobe.”

“What’s that?”

“My stage clo’es. Besides I have to practice dancin’ in the daytime. I
ain’t Pat Riley on the stage.”

“What are you, then?”

“My actin’ name is ‘Miles O’Reilly.’”

“What made you change?”

“Yer see it sounds grander than Pat Riley.”

“Who acts besides you?”

“Oh, there’s Dan Conroy, Pete Connors, Teddy Sullivan, Jim McGrath, Dick
Burke, Jim Gillispie and Campara.”

“If I was goin’ to stay in the city I’d like to play too,” said Julius.

“Maybe you ain’t got a genius for it,” responded the eminent <DW64>
comedian. “Lots of boys wants to come in, but we don’t take none if they
can’t act. There was Billy Burke wanted to come; but we tried him, an’
he couldn’t play no more’n a stick. We want fellers that’ll draw. You
come round to-night, an’ you’ll see what we can do.”

“I guess I will. What number did you say?”

“No. 17 Baxter Street. Curtain rises at eight o’clock, prompt.”

“I’ll be there. What yer goin’ to play?”

“‘Laughin’ Gas’ and ‘Dick Turpin’ is the principal pieces, but the
‘Mulligan Guards’ is the best. Yer better be on time, for it’s my
benefit, and my friends will be out in crowds.”

Here’s Pat’s keen eyes detected a gentleman with soiled boots, and he
called out, “Shine yer boots, mister?”

“Yes, if you’ll be quick about it.”

“I’ll shine ’em up in half a second, sir.”

“Go ahead!”

The gentleman submitted his boots to the professional efforts of Pat,
unaware that the young bootblack was the celebrated Miles O’Reilly of
the “Grand Duke’s Oprea House.” Probably he had never visited that
famous and fashionable place of amusement, or he would have recognized
the face of one of the most brilliant stars in the galaxy of talent
which nightly appeared upon its humble stage.

Julius went on his way, being for a few days a gentleman of leisure. For
the benefit of such readers as may not be familiar with the details of
his story as told in “Slow and Sure,” it is well to record the fact that
he had been brought up by Jack Morgan, a thief and burglar, who, for the
last four years, had spent half of his time on Blackwell’s Island. When
at liberty, Julius lived with him. When he was in seclusion, Julius
looked out for himself, and, being sharp and shrewd, and accustomed to
depend upon his own exertions, managed just as well without his guardian
as with him. He had no particular reason to like Jack, who merely gave
him the liberty of earning his own living, and frequently borrowed his
scanty earnings without thinking it necessary to repay them.

Some weeks before, Jack, with a friend and confederate, Marlowe, formed
a plan for entering a house on Madison Avenue, which, they had reason to
believe, contained a considerable amount of plate. The owner was absent
in Europe and the house was left during his absence under the care of
Paul Hoffman and his mother. Paul, whose early history is recorded in
“Paul, the Peddler,” was the proprietor of a street necktie stand, near
the Astor House. He had on one occasion shown kindness to Julius, and
the latter was grateful. Learning that Jack and Marlowe proposed to
enter the house occupied by Paul, he showed his gratitude by giving the
young street merchant an intimation of their intentions. Thus, when the
attempt was made, Paul was prepared, and the two burglars walked into a
trap. Jack was caught on the spot, but Marlowe for the time escaped. Had
he left the city at once, he might have escaped wholly. But he was
inflamed with bitter anger against the boy Julius, who, as he rightly
judged, had betrayed them, and he was determined to be revenged.
Following the boy to Staten Island, he overtook him in a lonely place,
and but for timely interference might have murdered him, in which case
the present volume would never have been written.

But Julius was reserved for better things. His dangerous enemy was
arrested, and being identified as having been concerned in the Madison
Avenue robbery, was tried in due form, and sentenced to ten years’
imprisonment in Sing Sing.

I have anticipated matters a little, as at the time the present story
opens both he and Jack Morgan were temporarily confined in the Tombs,
while awaiting trial.

As for Julius, he was rewarded by a gift of fifty dollars, and, by the
advice of his new friends, determined to seek a home in the West, going
out under the auspices of the Children’s Aid Society. The company of
which he was to be one was to start in a few days. Meanwhile Julius
decided to enjoy a rest from his usual labors, having an ample supply of
money to meet his small expenses. On the whole, he was pleased with the
idea of going West. But, apart from this consideration, he felt that his
life would not be safe in the city should Jack Morgan or Marlowe succeed
in breaking jail, as they had done more than once before. The boy had
good reason to apprehend danger, for he well knew their brutal natures,
and their unscrupulousness, and that they would stop at no crime in
wreaking vengeance upon him. Once out West, however, he would be out of
their reach, and it was not likely that they would follow him out
there.




CHAPTER II.

THE “GRAND DUKE’S OPREA HOUSE.”


Some minutes before eight, Julius reached the “Grand Duke’s Oprea
House.” It is very eligibly located on Baxter Street not far from the
famous Five Points. Perhaps in consequence of the filthy condition of
the streets in the immediate neighborhood, visitors are not expected to
appear in full dress, and nothing is more common than for the young
gentlemen who patronize it to dispense with coat or vest, or both. As
for kid gloves, these are not tolerated at the _Oprea_ House, and a
fellow who indulged in them would be regarded as “puttin’ on airs,” and
probably be hustled out unceremoniously, as guilty of a gross insult to
the rest of the spectators.

The entrance to the Grand Duke theatre is not imposing. In fact, the
visitor is obliged to descend a shaky staircase into a cellar about ten
feet below the level of the sidewalk.

“It’s like goin’ down into a coal mine,” remarked Julius to Pat Riley,
who was acting as his guide.

“That’s so,” said Pat; “but we have jolly fun when we get there.”

Reaching the bottom of the flight of steps, Julius found himself
confronted by the ticket seller who was looking out of a square hole,
over which were marked the prices of admission.

“That’s where yer pay,” said Pat. “I go in free, coz I’m one of the
actors.”

“Five cents,” said the keeper of the box office.

“There it is,” said Julius, who had come provided with the right change.

The treasurer pulled a cord connecting with the door of entrance, and
Julius entered.

The _Oprea_ House proved to consist of a room twenty feet by thirty, and
six and a half feet high. A portion of this was set apart as a stage, in
front of which hung a curtain of turkey-red calico, four breadths wide.
On one side was a lofty pillar with a scroll, on which was written the
ambitious name of this temple of the muses, “Grand Duke’s Oprea House.”
In place of the customary footlights was a kerosene lamp, which with the
aid of a concave reflector illuminated the room.

“What do yer think of it, Julius?” asked Pat, with justifiable pride.

“It’s bully.”

“Ain’t it? Do yer see that?”

Pat pointed to a large broadside of brown packing paper, on which was
rudely scrawled:

                               “BENEFIT
                                  OF
                            MILES O’REILLY,
                       The Great <DW65> Komedian
                                  AND
                             Jig Dancer.”

“That’s me!” said Pat, with professional pride. “It looks big, don’t
it?”

“Yes,” said Julius, admiringly.

“There’s lots of chaps would give all they could make on shines in a
week, to hev their names put up there,” said Pat, confidentially.

“I’d like it myself,” said Julius.

“Ef you wos goin’ to stay in the city, I’d learn you some jigs,” said
Pat, “and see what you was made of. It isn’t every feller that can make
a good jig dancer.”

“How are you, Miles?” said a large boy, slapping Pat on the shoulder. “I
guess you’ll have a good house.”

“I hope I will. Dave, this is a friend of mine. He ain’t been to the
_Oprea_ House before.”

“Glad to see yer,” said David Conroy, with dignified aff