The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rich Little Poor Boy, by Eleanor GatesThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Rich Little Poor BoyAuthor: Eleanor GatesRelease Date: February 21, 2008 [EBook #24663]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RICH LITTLE POOR BOY ***Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net andand the Booksmiths at http://www.eBookForge.netTHE RICH LITTLE POOR BOYELEANOR GATESCoverWHAT HE SAW THERE HELD HIMSPELLBOUND IN HIS CHAIR WHATHE SAW THERE HELD HIMSPELLBOUND IN HIS CHAIRTHE RICHLITTLE POOR BOYBYELEANOR GATESAUTHOR OF "THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL,""THE PLOW-WOMAN," "THE BIOGRAPHY OF APRAIRIE GIRL," "ALEC LLOYD, COW-PUNCHER,""PIGGIE," ETC.EmblemD. APPLETON AND COMPANYNEW YORK :: MCMXXII :: LONDONCOPYRIGHT, 1922, BYD. APPLETON AND COMPANYPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICATOF. F. M.CONTENTSCHAPTER PAGEI. The Wicked Giant 1II. Pride and Penalty 10III. A Feast and an Excursion 17IV. The Four Millionaires 24V. New Friends 36VI. The Dearest Wish 52VII. A Serious Step 60VIII. More Treasures 68IX. One-Eye 79X. The Surprise 93XI. The Discovery 108XII. A Prodigal Puffed Up 117XIII. Changes 122XIV. The Heaven ...
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rich Little Poor Boy, by Eleanor Gates
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Rich Little Poor Boy
Author: Eleanor Gates
Release Date: February 21, 2008 [EBook #24663]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RICH LITTLE POOR BOY ***
Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net and
and the Booksmiths at http://www.eBookForge.net
THE RICH LITTLE POOR BOY
ELEANOR GATES
Cover
WHAT HE SAW THERE HELD HIM
SPELLBOUND IN HIS CHAIR WHAT
HE SAW THERE HELD HIM
SPELLBOUND IN HIS CHAIR
THE RICH
LITTLE POOR BOY
BYELEANOR GATES
AUTHOR OF "THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL,"
"THE PLOW-WOMAN," "THE BIOGRAPHY OF A
PRAIRIE GIRL," "ALEC LLOYD, COW-PUNCHER,"
"PIGGIE," ETC.
Emblem
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: MCMXXII :: LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
F. F. M.CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Wicked Giant 1
II. Pride and Penalty 10
III. A Feast and an Excursion 17
IV. The Four Millionaires 24
V. New Friends 36
VI. The Dearest Wish 52
VII. A Serious Step 60
VIII. More Treasures 68
IX. One-Eye 79
X. The Surprise 93
XI. The Discovery 108
XII. A Prodigal Puffed Up 117
XIII. Changes 122
XIV. The Heaven that Nearly Happened 138
XV. Scouts 144
XVI. Hope Deferred 153
XVII. Mr. Perkins 160
XVIII. The Roof 172
XIX. A Different Cis 183
XX. The Handbook 190
XXI. The Meeting 201
XXII. Cis Tells a Secret 212
XXIII. Roses that Tattled 219
XXIV. Father Pat 233
XXV. An Ally Crosses a Sword 241
XXVI. The End of a Long Day 247
XXVII. Another Gift 255
XXVIII. Another Story 275
XXIX. Revolt 290
XXX. Disaster 300
XXXI. The Vision 318
XXXII. Help 330
XXXIII. One-Eye Fights 345
XXXIV. Sir Algernon 357
XXXV. Good-bys 363
XXXVI. Left Behind 373
XXXVII. Ups and Downs 379
XXXVIII. Another Good-by 391
XXXIX. The Letter 400
XL. "The True Way" 407THE RICH LITTLE POOR BOY
ELEANOR GATESCHAPTER I
THE WICKED GIANT
E was ten. But his clothes were forty. And it was this difference in the matter of age, and, consequently, in theH matter of size, that explained why, at first sight, he did not show how thin-bodied he was, but seemed, instead, to
be rather a stout little boy. For his faded, old shirt, with its wide sleeves lopped off just above his elbows, and his
patched trousers, shortened by the scissors to knee length, were both many times too large for him, so that they lay
upon him, front, back and sides, in great, overlapping pleats that were, in turn, bunched into heavy tucks; and his
kitchen apron, worn with the waistband about his neck, the strings being tied at the back, also lent him—if viewed
from the front—an appearance both of width and weight.
But he was not stout. His frame was not even fairly well covered. From the apron hem in front, the two legs that led
down to the floor were scarcely larger than lead piping. From the raveling ends of his short sleeves were thrust out
arms that matched the legs—bony, skinny arms, pallid as to color, and with hardly any more shape to them than there
was to the poker of the cookstove. But while the lead-pipe legs ended in the sort of hard, splinter-defying boy's feet
that could be met with on any stretch of pavement outside the tenement, the bony arms did not end in boyish hands.
The hands that hung, fingertips touching halfway to the knee, were far too big for a boy of ten. They were red, too, as
if all the blood of his thin shoulders had run down his arms and through his wrists, and stayed there. And besides
being red, fingers, palms and backs were lined and crinkled. They looked like the hands of a hard-working, grown
girl. That was because they knew dish washing and sweeping, bed making and cooking, scrubbing and laundering.
But his head was all that a boy's head should be, showing plenty of brain room above his ears. While it was still
actually—and naturally—large for his body, it looked much too large; not only because the body that did its bidding
was undersized, but because his hair, bright and abundant, added to his head a striking circumference.
He hated his hair, chiefly because it had a hint of wave in it, but also because its color was yellow, with even a
touch of green! He had been taunted about it—by boys. But what was worse, women and girls had admired it, and
laid hands upon it—or wanted to. And small wonder; for in thick undulations it stood away from forehead and temples
as if blown by the wind. A part it had not, nor any sort of neat arrangement. He saw strictly to that. Whenever his left
hand was not busy, which was less often than he could wish, he tugged at his locks, so that they reared themselves
on end, especially at the very top, where they leaned in various directions and displayed what appeared to be
several cowlicks. At every quarter that shining mop was uneven, because badly cut by Big Tom Barber, his foster
father, whose name belied his tonsorial ability.
Below that wild shock of colorful hair was a face that, when clean, could claim attention on its own account. It was
a square-jawed little face over which the red was quick to come, though, unhappily, it did not stay. Its center was a
nose that seemed a trifle small in proportion to its surroundings. But the top line of it was straight, and the nostrils
were well carved, and had a way of lifting and swelling whenever his interest was caught.
Under them was a mouth that was wide yet noticeably beautiful—not with the soft beauty of a baby's mouth, or a
girl's, and not because it could boast even a touch of scarlet. It had been cut as carefully as his nose, the lips full yet
firm, their lines drawn delicately, but with strength. It was sensitive, with a little quirk at each corner which betrayed its
humor. Above all things, its expression was sweet.
Colorless as were his cheeks and lips, nevertheless he did not seem a pale boy, this because his brows were a
misty yellow-white, and his thick lashes flaxen; while his eyes were an indescribable mixture of glowing gray and blue
plentifully flecked with yellow. Perfectly adjusted were these straight-looking eyes, and set far apart. By turns they
were quick, and bold, and open, and full of eager inquiry; or they were thoughtfully half covered by their heavy lids,
very still, and far sighted. And when he laughed, what with the shine of his hair and brows and light lashes, and the
flash of his eyes and his teeth, the effect was as if sunlight were upon his face—though the sun so seldom shone
upon him that he had not one boyish freckle.
Such was Johnnie Smith.
Just now he was looking smaller and less sunlit than usual. This was because Big Tom bulked in front of him,
delivering the final orders for the day before going down the three flights of stairs, out into the brick-paved area,
thence through a dank, ground-floor hall which bored its way from end to end of another tenement, and into the
crowded East Side street, and so to his work on the docks.
Barber was a huge-shouldered, long-armed slouch of a man, with a close-cropped head (flat at the back) upon
which great hairy ears stood out like growths. His eyes were bloodshot and bulging, the left with an elusive cast in it
that showed only now and then, when it testified to the kink in his brain. His nose, uneven in its downward trend, was
so fat and wide and heavy that it fairly sprawled upon his face; and its cavernous, black nostrils made it seem to
possess something that, to Johnnie, was like a personality—as if it were a queer sort of snakish thing, carefully
watched over by the bulging, bloodshot eyes.
For Barber's nose had the power of moving itself as Johnnie had seen no other nose move. Slowly and steadily it
went up and down whenever Barber ate or talked—as even Johnnie's small, straight nose would often do. But
whenever Big Tom laughed—sneeringly or boastfully or in ugly triumph—the nose would make a sudden, sidewise
twist.
But something besides its power to move made it seem a live and separate thing: the longshoreman troubled
himself to shave only of a Sunday morning, when, with all the stiff, dark growth cleared away to right and left—for
Barber's beard grew almost to his eyes—his nose, though bent and purplish, was fairly like a nose. But with Monday,
again the nose took on that personality; and seemed to be crouching and writhing at the center of its mat of stubble.But Barber's mouth was his worst feature, with its great, pushed-out underlip, which showed his complete
satisfaction in himself. So big was that lip that it seemed to have acquired its size through the robbing of the chin just
beneath—for Big Tom had little enough chin.
But his neck was massive, and an angry red, sprinkled with long, wiry hairs. It fastened his flat-backed head to a
body that was like a gorilla's, thick and wide and humped. And his arms gave an added touch of the animal, for they
were so long that his great palms reached to his knees; and so sprung out at the shoulder, and so curved in at the
wrist, that when they met at the fingers they formed a pair of mammoth, muscled tongs—tongs that gave Barber his
boasted value in and out of ships.
His legs were big, too. As he stood over Johnnie now, it was plain to see where the boy's shaggy trousers had
come from (the grotesquely big shirt as well). Each of those legs was almost as big as Johnnie's skimped little body.
And they turned up at the bottom in great broganned feet that Barber was fond of using as instruments of punishment.
More than once Johnnie had felt those feet. And if he could ever have decided how pain was to be inflicted upon him,
he would always have chosen the long, thick, pliant strap that belted in, and held together, his baggy clothes. For the
strap left colorful tracks that stung only in the