Ricky Read online

  Waiting there and watching the rain, Ricky wondered what to do. He considered whether a policeman would take notice of the information that he had and after a great deal of thought decided to try that out. He went to the nearest police station and looked in at the door. A constable at the desk was busy with some papers and glanced up as the boy entered.

  "What der yer want, yer?" he was roughly asked.

  "I want to tell you about a robbery I heard about," said Ricky in a soft voice.

  "Garn, what would yer know abaht a robbery? More like yer want ter do one yerself," came the rough reply. "Come on wotcha want?"

  "Well, I heard some men talking."

  "Oo were they?"

  "I don't know"

  "What d'yer mean, yer don't know?"

  "Well, I don't. You see I was sheltering in a doorway and I heard ..."

  "What doorway?"

  "Just down the street."

  "Where? What doorway? There's lots 'a doorways."

  "I don't know just which doorway, I didn't really look but the men said ..."

  "Der yer know who the men are?"

  "No, I did get a look at one of them, but I don't know who he is."

  "Gunna rob a bank, I suppose," the constable laughed uproariously.

  "Yes, that's right. That's what they said." said poor Ricky.

  "Get aht o' 'ere. Jest gettin' out of the rain, yer are. Be orf wi' yer, and don' trouble me none. Ger on, 'op it."

  "But, sir," Ricky appealed, "please, I did hear them."

  "'Op it, before ah run yer in. 'Op it."

  Ricky turned, covered himself with the oil cloth and went again into the rain. As the newspaper office offered the best shelter he ran back there and sat on the step, hardly realizing that the persistent rain was easing.

  He was roused by a kindly voice saying, "Well, young fellow, are you taking root on our doorstep?"

  Ricky jumped up. "Sorry, sir. I was sheltering from the rain. I don't want to be in the way."

  "In case you haven't noticed, the rain has stopped and the sun is shining."

  "Oh. I didn't notice," said Ricky shamedly.

  The man who had spoken looked down at Ricky and smiled. He saw a nice looking lad in dilapidated clothing who spoke a better class of English than one would expect from a street urchin. "What's your name, lad?" he asked.

  "Richard English, sir," said Ricky.

  "You were certainly deep in thought, Richard English. I spoke to you twice before you heard. I think you had better come into my office and explain yourself. Come on in, I work here."

  Folding the precious oil cloth Ricky followed the man. He led Ricky into the news office where there were people rushing here and there being very busy. Ricky looked around and was fascinated by what he saw. He was led into a partitioned area of the office where the window showed that it looked out into the road, and was labelled, 'Editor'.

  Ricky, still clutching the precious piece of oil cloth, followed the man and sat at a chair that was indicated.

  "My name is Hughes, incidentally, and I am editor of this newspaper, as you see by that sign. Now that we know each other, what about telling me what is bothering you. I presume it isn't hunger, for I daresay you are used to that. Come on what is the story. Stories are in my line."

  At this stage Ricky wondered whether he should tell this man what had happened for even though he looked trustworthy, he wasn't sure that that was the right thing to do.

  Hughes saw that the boy was hesitating, and this caused him to think that a story was in the offing. He always prided himself that he could sniff out a story quicker than most. "There is a story isn't, there lad?" he asked.

  Ricky sighed, put his oil cloth down beside him and relaxed into the chair. "Yes, sir, there is a story. You see I went up to tell the constable about it but he wouldn't listen."

  "Right, "said Hughes, "let's hear it.

  So Ricky related the conversation that he had overheard to the editor who became very interested indeed by the time Ricky had got half way through his story. When he had finished he said, "Tell me it all over again. Exactly who said what and which way it was said. Take your time."

  So Ricky repeated the story, this time going through it with even more detail.

  Hughes, stopped him at one point. "You didn't say that before. Are you sure?"

  "Yes, sir. One man, the one with the soft voice, said that they were organising three men to start a fuss, a diversion, he called it, outside the bank and then he would slip into the bank and hold up the people in the bank and rob it. He mentioned the names of the men he was going to use. I didn't know any but one, and that was "Hank" who lives in a shed down near the docks. He was also going to have other men there to keep the fuss going until he got clear. The other man, this one with the gruff sort of voice said he would wait round the corner and down the street in a closed carriage and pick him up and get him away."

  "Did you get a look at either one, lad?"

  "Well, sir, when I heard them moving I shot off, not wanting to be caught and came up here and sheltered in your door. I watched and I saw a man coming out. He turned speak to the man who was left and then came up the street. He pulled his collar up and I thought I wouldn't see him, but he stopped and told me to get him a cab. It was raining pretty hard but I could see a cab up the hill, and I ran for it. But, when he spoke to me I got a good look at him and I asked the cabbie, his name is Bert, if he could tell me where he was taking him. I would know him if I saw him again, sir, and he spoke in a soft voice so the gruff man must live in the house down here."

  "Good. You seem to be a bright lad. And the constable wouldn't listen, you say?"

  "No, he wouldn't. He just told me to get."

  "If we walked down the street could you show me the place?"

  "Oh, yes, sir."

  "Right let's go. Now, lad when we get there just look ahead and don't point whatever you do. Just tell me which one and walk on ahead. We'll go on a bit and then we will return here. Do you think you can find that cabbie again?"

  "Yes, sir, I know where he often waits and I'll find him there if I can. "

  Ricky soon pointed the house out to Mr Hughes who told him that it belonged to Mr Flint the solicitor. "He has a gruff voice, sonny, so it looks as though our scaly friend Flint is up to some nefarious practices. I think you had better cut along and see if you can find that cabby. Then come back to me and report."

  CHAPTER 2 Ricky’s Box

  After leaving Mr Hughes Ricky raced back to the stables and gave the precious piece of oilcloth to its owner while Tom was grooming a huge Clydesdale. Ricky had tried to slip in unnoticed but the head groom spied him and told him to "Git." Tom quickly assured the man that he was only returning something borrowed, so Ricky was told again to "Git" and he "Got".

  Ricky searched most of the day for Bert, the cabbie, but was not successful until late in the afternoon. The man was reluctant to give out the information for he was quite sure that the lad had some ulterior motive. But however, after a considerable time spent in discussion he at last told Ricky that he had taken the man to a boarding house down at the Haymarket, one called "Sunrise".

  "Silly name for a dump like thet," said Bert.

  "You don't know his name, I suppose?" asked Ricky.

  "Nah, I don'," was the reply. "But I s'pose they'd tell yer dahn there, if yer really 'ave ter know. Leastways they mighn't tell yer." He added with a chuckle.

  Armed with this information, Ricky ran quickly back to the newspaper office and asked for Mr Hughes. He had apparently been expected for the clerk took him straight in. Mr Hughes then told him to leave the rest to him but report back to him if any further information came his way, and also tried to interest the boy in coming and having a talk with him any time he wished.

  The news office intrigued Ricky and so did visit his new friend. The editor was surprised that Ricky did not make a habit of visiting him, but was always pleased to give the lad a few minutes of his time. Ricky soon learn
ed the best times to visit him and that was after the paper was 'put to bed' or printed. The man soon learned the boy's story and was most intrigued as to what had happened to Richard English. He sent out feelers in his own way and was as keen to get to the bottom of this mystery if he was to help the homeless boy.

  "Did your mother ever try to go out to the farm to see if she could trace your father, Ricky?"

  "Yes she did. I went with her. We went by coach to Parramatta and then on another one to Richmond. Then she hired a gig and we went to the farm. There were people there who had sold the farm to Papa, and who told all they knew. They said that they had expected Papa to pay the last of the money on the farm on a certain day but he didn't turn up. He had taken the money out of the bank, too, for Mam checked and we don't know where that is either. The people looked for Papa and when they couldn't find him, packed all his things into his trunk and left it there in case he came back. Then they told the constable in Windsor. We couldn't look any more because we needed all the money we had."

  "Where is your father's trunk Ricky?"

  "It's at the boarding house, Mr Hughes. At least it was when they threw me out. I suppose Ma Curtin has sold all the things out of it. But I did get Mam's little box with all her precious things in it. They didn't know I did."

  "Where is it now? Have you any place to keep it?"

  "Tom looks after it for me, but I worry that it isn't safe. But I don't know what else to do with it."

  "Who is Tom?"

  Ricky hesitated to tell about his friend, Tom, for he was reluctant to tell anyone how the old man had looked after him. He looked up at the man who smiled at him. Feeling that he could trust him Ricky then told him all about the terrible winter he had just gone through, and how Tom had found him one particularly bad night when he was wet through, freezing cold, starving and torn apart with the loss of his Mam. He had been thrust aside wherever he tried to get shelter but the old man had taken him into the warm stable, dried him out and fed him, sharing his meagre food and then letting him stay in the hay loft dry and warm.

  "I am worried about staying there, sir, 'cos Tom would lose his job if anyone found me. Tom wouldn't be able to get another place and so I try to only go there when its wet like last night."

  "Would you not go into an orphan home, Ricky?"

  "No, sir. Mam told me to be independent and work for everything."

  "But she expected you to be able to stay with the Curtins, lad. She wouldn't want you to be out in the streets."

  "I know that, but I know I can work and if I could only find a place to live and keep clean, I would be able to make my way."

  "Well, I would like to help you, I would like to think how, lad. In the meantime would you trust me to look after you mother's box for you, lad?"

  Looking up at his friend Ricky said, his face beaming a big smile, "Yes, sir, I would and thank you."

  Hughes had told the magistrate what Ricky had heard and they had quietly gone about their investigations, finding that the man the cabbie had taken was one, Alfred Perkins, an old lag, who had come out for stealing from the bank he had been employed at in England. The authorities thought that he had a grudge against banks in general and were very happy to think that they were able to set a trap to catch the perpetrators of this proposed plot. The solicitor, Flint, was not a trustworthy character either.

  The 16th of August was the date that Ricky had heard. He was quite excited as the date arrived. Mr Hughes had suggested that he wait in his office for there they would hear the news as soon as the reporter assigned to the story returned. The editor had taken his senior man into his confidence and had arranged to plant him in the bank and so get a scoop with his story of the happening.

  So there sat Ricky at the end of Hughes' huge desk trying to be quiet, be patient and be still. He was filled with suppressed excitement and so found sitting still quite an ordeal.

  Hughes watched the boy out of the corner of his eye while he attended to other matters and saw that the excitement was almost more than the boy could stand. "Here, Ricky," he said, "What about you writing the story out in your own words and showing what you can do."

  "I couldn't do that, sir. I'm no good at writing like that."

  "Well, have a try, it will give you something to do. We can't expect to hear for at least another half hour."

  So Ricky wrote his first effort for the newspaper editor, at first wondering how to start but soon warming to his task. He was just about to hand his effort to Hughes when the was a sound of swift excited feet and a tall man entered the office.

  "Sit down and tell us about it Handley. How did it all go?"

  "Very well, sir. It went just as they planned. Three men started a row outside the bank in Bridge Street with some other characters. While this was going on a masked man came into the bank and held up the teller. There were no customers in the bank, they'd all gone out to see what the row was. We stayed quiet in the manager's office watching through the glass door behind the curtains. We'd been told to do this. The teller gave the man the bag that had been prepared for him." At this he chuckled. "It was a leather bag full of paper and lead with a few notes and coins on the top of it. He had a gun but didn't use it for the teller gave the bag to him quickly so he had no need. He then walked calmly out of the bank and past the row that was still going on, round the corner to the coach that was waiting and hopped in. It was then that the police came out of hiding and nabbed them. Do you know, sir, that it was Mr Flint the solicitor who was driving the coach. I couldn't believe it."

  "Yes, I never did think Mr Flint was a nice man. Well, Handley, I think that was a good morning's work. You'd better get to your story, now."

  "Yes, sir. What a scoop. First hand information it will be. Sir, how did you hear about this. Can I know?"

  "No, Handley. Just say 'information received'."

  "Yes, sir." He turned to go looking at Ricky, and seeming to see him for the first time, he said, "A budding reporter, eh sir?" At the same time wondering why an urchin was sitting at his boss' desk.

  "Yes, a budding reporter, Handley."

  Hughes turned to Ricky with a broad grin. "Mission accomplished, eh, Ricky? I think that is a good day's work. Let's celebrate and go and have some lunch at the cafe downstairs."

  This cemented the friendship between this pair, of man and boy. Hughes tried unsuccessfully to take Ricky under his wing and at least pay for accommodation for him, but the lad was adamant that he must do it on his own and contented himself with running messages and earning a few pennies which kept body and soul together. After a while, Ricky himself came up with a scheme that satisfied both. He suggested that as he was out and about through the town, he often heard scraps of news that maybe even a sharp reporter may miss. He had learned the benefit of a 'scoop' to a paper and offered himself as a bearer of such scraps that may lead to such 'scoops'. Hughes was delighted at this and so often found Ricky coming into the office with news of happenings. He was extremely quick to pick things up and Hughes thought he saw reporter material in the lad, but Ricky was sure that he did not want that life, for he was going to be a merchant and sell things, he said. Bit by bit he was earning more and more and was concerned as to what to do with his small nest egg.

  Hughes had been minding Ricky's precious box for some time now. It lived in the big office safe. Hughes had also taken himself to Curtin's lodging house and tried to prize Richard English's trunk from them. He threatened all sorts of things to them but was not very successful in getting it, but on taking Ricky with him one day he was able to get a few things from them that Ricky identified. But they obviously had sold most of the saleable items and so Ricky had to learn to live with the idea that they were gone.

  Ricky was earning more money, now, and this also was added to the box in the safe. One day he was able to announce that he had found a small room in a lodging house and now was more comfortable. He eked out his meagre savings as carefully as a miser. He was so intent on being independent that he to
ok nothing that he did not work for. But on several occasions he rushed into the office to Hughes, or Handley, if Hughes was not there, and tell them of something that was going on, at the docks, or the markets or somewhere else and that he had a cab waiting to take the reporter to wherever the incident was happening. He usually tagged along in the cab with the reporter to see what was going on. He would often get a tip from the reporter, as well as from the office which would always pays for news. So his nest egg was growing.

  Hughes notice that occasionally the lad would have a new garment or new shoes, very cheap ones, but clean and tidy, and never more than necessary. He was also looking well and better fed. He was growing very quickly and he resented the way he grew out of his clothes and shoes. Hughes also spent time with him after hours teaching him some of the lessons that the boy would have had had his mother been still alive. The boy was quick and had been well taught when he had attended school, and so found his lessons were a delight. Hughes, a bachelor, became quite immersed in the welfare of his protégée. He admired his independent spirit and was pleased that he was so, for being independent himself he did not relish the thought of having to give up any of his own solitary life for the welfare of a stray boy. But he did like Ricky and was satisfied that their friendship was an office hours one and not at all demanding on the man's leisure time.

  Ricky still visited Tom on occasions and was delighted that he could take him some extra food at times when they would sit around the brazier and munch away at whatever the boy had brought. The lad had a way of getting to know people well and he soon had friends in every sort of food store and therefore brought all types of snacks that were sometimes damaged, or stale, but tasted good to hungry people. He would talk things over with Tom and sometimes Mr Hughes. Neither of these gentlemen understood his ambitions well, Hughes being only interested in the workings of a newspaper. The thought of being a storekeeper was well beyond anything that Tom ever thought about. Ricky was sure that one day he would own a store and knew how he would go about achieving his ambition. When he was big enough and had saved enough money, he would buy a barrow and sell from that. He knew he couldn't think of owning one for some time for there was an ever the present fear that one of the gangs that hung about the streets might try to take the barrow. No, he had to wait until he was older and much bigger. In the meantime his nest egg grew, and it was in the safe hands of Mr Hughes in the office safe.