{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13889/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13889","id":"gutenberg_13889","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13889","summary":null,"tags":["American Tract Society","Category: American Literature","Category: Biographies","Category: Drugs/Alcohol/Pharmacology","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 13889-h.htm or 13889-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13889/13889-h/13889-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13889/13889-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nDAVE RANNEY\n\nOr, Thirty Years on the Bowery\n\nAn Autobiography\n\nIntroduction by Rev. A. F. Schauffler, D. D.\n\n1910\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover of Dave Ranney]\n\n\n\nThis story of my life is dedicated to\n\nDR. A. F. SCHAUFFLER\n\nWho stuck by me through thick and thin\n\n\n\n    Honest endeavor is ne'er thrown away;\n    God gathers the failures day by day,\n    And weaves them into His perfect plan\n    In ways that are not for us to scan.\n\n        --Lucy Whittemore Myrick, 1876.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe autobiography which this book contains is that of a man who through\nthe wonderful dealings of Providence has had a most remarkable\nexperience. I have known the writer for about seventeen years, and\nalways most favorably. For a number of years past he has been Bowery\nMissionary for the New York City Mission and Tract Society, and has\nshown himself faithful, capable and conscientious. His story simply\nillustrates how the gospel of the grace of God can go down as far as man\ncan fall, and can uplift, purify, and beautify that which was degraded\nand \"well nigh unto cursing.\"\n\nAs a testimony as to what God can work, and how He can transform a man\nfrom being a curse to himself and to the world into being a blessing,\nthe story is certainly fascinating, and ought to encourage any who have\nlost hope to turn to Him who alone is able to save. It ought also to\nencourage all workers for the downfallen to realize that God is able to\nsave unto the uttermost all who come to Him through Jesus Christ, the\nall-sufficient Saviour.\n\nWith confidence I recommend this book to those who are interested in the\nrescue of the fallen, knowing that they will praise God for what has\nbeen wrought and will trust Him for future wonderful redemptions.\n\nA. F. SCHAUFFLER.\n\nNew York City.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n   I. BOYHOOD DAYS\n  II. FIRST STEPS IN CRIME\n III. INTO THE DEPTHS\n  IV. \"SAVED BY GRACE\"\n   V. ON THE UP GRADE\n  VI. PROMOTED\n VII. THE MISSION IN CHINATOWN\nVIII. BOWERY WORK\n  IX. PRODIGAL SONS\n\n\n\n\n    \"Let me live in a house by the side of the road,\n    Where the race of men go by.\n    Men that are good and men that are bad, as good and as bad as I.\n    I would not sit in the scorner's seat,\n    Nor hurl the cynic's ban.\n    Let me live in a house by the side of the road\n    And be a friend to man.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nBOYHOOD DAYS\n\n\nI have often been asked the question, \"Why don't you write a book?\" And\nI have said, \"What is the use? What good will it do?\" I have thought\nabout it time and time again, and have come to the conclusion to write a\nstory of my life, the good and the bad, and if the story will be a help,\nand check some one that's just going wrong, set him thinking, and point\nhim on the right road, praise God!\n\nI was born in Hudson City, N. J., over forty years ago, when there were\nnot as many houses in that town as there are now. I was born in old\nDutch Row, now called Beacon Avenue, in a two-story frame house. In\nthose days there was an Irish Row and a Dutch Row. The Irish lived by\nthemselves, and the Dutch by themselves.\n\nQuite frequently the boys of the two colonies would have a battle royal,\nand there would be things doing. Sometimes the Dutch would win out,\nsometimes the Irish, and many's the time there was a cut head and other\nbruises. Sometimes a prisoner would be taken, and then we would play\nIndian with him, and do everything with him except burn him. We were all\nboys born in America, but if we lived in Dutch Row, why, we had to be\nDutch; but if, on the other hand, we happened to live in Irish Row, we\nhad to be Irish. I remember moving one time to Irish Row, and I wondered\nwhat would happen when I went to play with the old crowd. They said, \"Go\nand stay with the Irish.\" I did not know what to do. I would not fight\nmy old comrades, so I was neutral and fought with neither.\n\nWe had a good many ring battles in those days, and many's the fight we\nhad without gloves, and many's the black eye I got, and also gave a\nfew. I believe nothing does a boy or girl so much good as lots of play\nin the open air. I never had a serious sickness in my life except the\nmeasles, and that was easy, for I was up before the doctor said I ought\nto get out of bed. Those were happy days, and little did I think then\nthat I would become the hard man I turned out to be.\n\nI had a good Christian mother, one who loved her boy and thought there\nwas nothing too good for him, and I could always jolly her into getting\nme anything I wanted. God bless the mothers! How true the saying is, \"A\nboy's best friend is his mother.\" My father I won't say so much about.\nHe was a rough man who loved his cups, and died, as you might say, a\nyoung man through his own waywardness. I did love my mother, and would\ngive anything now to have her here with me as I am writing this story.\nShe has gone to heaven, and I was the means of sending her to an early\ngrave through my wrong-doings. She did not live to see her boy saved.\nMany's the time I would promise her to lead a different life, and I\nmeant it too, but after all I could not give up my evil ways.\n\n\nTHE FIRST TASTE FOR DRINK\n\nI remember when I first acquired the taste for drink. My grandfather\nlived with us, and he liked his mixed ale and would send me for a pint\ntwo or three times a day. In those days the beer was weighed so many\npounds to the quart. Every time I went for the beer I used to take a\nswallow before I came back, and sometimes two, and after a while I\nreally began to enjoy it. Do you know, I was laying the foundation right\nthere and then for being what I turned out to be--a drunkard. I remember\none time--yes, lots of times--that I was under the influence of the vile\nstuff when I was not more than ten years of age.\n\nI received a public school education. My school-days were grand good\ndays. I had all the sport that comes to any boy going to school. I would\nrather play ball than go home to dinner. In those days the game was\ndifferent from what it is at the present time. I was up in all athletic\nsports when I was a boy. I could jump three quick jumps and go\ntwenty-eight and a half feet; that was considered great for a schoolboy.\n\nThere was one game I really did enjoy; the name of it was \"How many\nmiles?\" It is played something like this: You choose sides, and it\ndoesn't matter how many there are on a side. Of course each side would\nbe eager to get the quickest and fastest runner on their side. How I did\nlike that game! We then tossed to see who would be the outs and who\nwould chase the outs, and many's the mile we boys would run. We would be\nlate for school and would be kept in after three o'clock; that would\nbreak my heart, but I would forget all about it the next day and do the\nsame thing again.\n\nOur teacher, J. W. Wakeman--God bless him!--is living yet, and I hope he\nwill live a good many years more. A boy doesn't always like his teacher,\nand I was no exception; I did not like him very much. He gave me more\nwhippings than any other boy in the school. All the learning I received\nwas, you might say, pounded into me. He used to say to me, \"David, why\ndon't you be good and study your lessons? There is the making of a man\nin you, but if you don't study you will be fit for nothing else than the\npick and shovel.\" How those words rang in my ears many a time in after\nyears when they came true, when I had to use the pick and shovel! I am\nnot saying anything against that sort of labor; it has its place. We\nmust fill in somewhere, in some groove, but that was not mine.\n\nHow I did enjoy in after years, when I was roaming over the world,\nthinking of my old schoolmates! I could name over a dozen who were\nfilling positions of trust in their own city; lawyers, surrogates,\njudges, and some in business for themselves, making a name and doing\nsomething, while I was no earthly use to myself or to any one else. Some\npeople say, \"Such is life; as you make your bed so you must lie.\" How\ntrue it was in my case! I made my bed and had to lie on it, but I can\ntruthfully say I did not enjoy it.\n\nThere are many men that are down and out now who had a chance to be\nsplendid men. They are now on the Bowery \"carrying the banner\"--which\nmeans walking the streets without a place to call home--without food or\nshelter, but they could, if they looked back to their early life, see\nthat they were making their beds then, or as the Bible reads, sowing the\nseed. Listen, young people, and take heed. Don't believe the saying, \"A\nfellow must sow his wild oats.\" The truth is just this: as you sow so\nshall you reap. I was sowing when I was drinking out of the pail of\nbeer, and I surely did reap the drunkard's portion--misery.\n\n\nA TRUANT\n\nI was a great hand at playing hookey--that is, staying away from school\nand not telling your parents. I would start for school in the morning,\nbut instead of going would meet a couple of boys and we would hide our\nbooks until closing-time. If any boy was sent to my home with a note, I\nwould see that boy and tell him if he went he knew what he would get. He\nknew it meant a good punching, and he would not go. I would write a note\nso that the boy could take it back to the teacher saying that I was sick\nand would be at school when I got better.\n\nI remember how I was found out one time. We met as usual--the\nhookey-players, I mean--and started down to the Hackensack River to have\na good day. Little did I know what would happen before the day was\nover. One of the boys with us went out beyond his depth and was drowned.\nI can still hear his cries and see his face as he sank for the last\nlime. We all could swim a little, and we tried our best to save him, but\nhis time had come.\n\nThat wound up his hookey-playing, and you would think it would make me\nstop too; but no, I went right along sowing the seed, and planting it\ngood and deep for the Devil.\n\nI recollect the first time I went away from home. It happened this way:\nThe teacher got tired of receiving notes saying I was sick, and she\ndetermined to see for herself--for I had a lady for teacher in that\nclass--what the trouble was.\n\nOne afternoon whom should I see coming in the gate but my teacher, and\nnow I was in a fix for fair. I knew if she saw mother it was all up with\nme, so I ran and met her and told her mother was out and would not be\nback until late. She asked me how I was getting on. I said I was better\nand would be at school in the morning. She said, \"I am glad of that.\"\n\nWhen she turned to go I could have flung my cap in the air and shouted.\nI thought I had fooled her and could go on playing hookey, but you know\nthe old adage, \"There's many a slip.\" Just at this time my mother looked\nout of the window and asked who was there and what she wanted. Well,\nmother came down, and things were made straight as far as she and the\nteacher were concerned; but I was in for it; I knew that by the way\nmother looked at me. The jig was up, I was found out, and I knew things\nwould happen; and I did not want to be around when mother said, \"You\njust wait!\" I knew what that meant, so I determined to go out into the\nworld and make my own way.\n\nI was a little over thirteen years of age, and you know a boy does not\nknow much at that age, but I thought I did. I went over the fence with\nmother after me. If dad had been home I guess he could have caught me,\nthat is if he had been sober. Mother could not run very fast, so I got\nclear of the whip for that time at least. I got a good distance from the\nhouse and then I sat down to think. I knew if I went home a whipping was\nwaiting for me, and that I could do without.\n\nThere was a boy just a little older than myself, Mike ----,[1] that was\n\"on the bum,\" as we used to say. The boys would give him some of the\nlunch they had brought to school, and I thought I would join forces with\nand be his pal. I saw Mike and told him all about the licking, and Mike\nsaid, \"Don't go home; you are a fool if you do.\" We went around, and I\nwas getting hungry, when we thought of a plan by which we could get\nsomething to eat. Mother ran a book in a grocery store, and Mike said,\n\"Go to the store and get a few things, and say you don't have the book\nbut will bring it when you come again.\" I went to the store and got a\nham, a pound of butter, two loaves of bread and one box of sardines.\n\n[Footnote 1: Where proper names are left blank they refer to real\npersons or places.]\n\nSome people will ask how I can remember so many years back. I remember\nmy first night away from home as though it was yesterday, and I'll never\nforget it as long as I live. After I got the things the grocer said,\n\"Where is the book?\" I told him mother had mislaid it, and he said,\n\"Bring it the next time.\" We built a fire and cooked the ham and had\nlots to eat.\n\nUp to this time it had all been smooth sailing; it was warm and we had a\ngood time in general. We had a swim with some other boys, and after\ntelling them not to say that they saw me, we left them. I asked Mike\nwhere we were going to sleep, and he said, \"I'll show you when it's\ntime.\"\n\nAfter a while Mike said, \"I guess we had better go to bed.\" Off we\nstarted across the lots until we came to a big haystack, and Mike\nstooped down and began to pull hay out of the stack and work his way\ninside. Remember I was green at the business; I had never been away from\nhome before; and Mike, though only a little older, was used to this kind\nof life. Well, I pulled out hay enough, as I thought, and crawled in,\nbut there was no sleep for me. I kept thinking and thinking. I would\ncall Mike and ask him if he was asleep, and he would say, \"Oh, shut up\nand let a fellow sleep!\"\n\nI am no coward, never was, but I was scared that night for fair. About\nmidnight I must have dozed off to sleep when something seemed to be\npushing at my feet. I was wide awake now, and shook Mike, but he only\nturned over and seemed to sleep all the sounder. I could hear the\ngrunting and pushing outside all the time. My head was under and my feet\ncovered with the hay, when something took hold of my foot and began to\nchew. My hair stood on end, and I gave a yell that would have awakened\n\"The Seven Sleepers.\" It woke Mike, and the last I heard of him that\nnight he was laughing as though he would split his sides, and all he\ncould shout was, \"Pigs, pigs!\" as I went flying toward home. I got there\nas soon as my feet would carry me. I found the house up and mother and\nsister crying, while father was trying to make them stop. When I shook\nthe door it opened and I was home again, and I was mighty glad.\n\nThe reason for the crying was that when it got late and the folks began\nto look for me, one of the boys said that the last time he saw me I was\nswimming with Mike ----. When I did not come home they thought surely I\nwas drowned, but I was born for a different fate. Sometimes in my years\nof roaming afterwards I wished I had been drowned as they thought. They\nwere so glad to see me again that there was no whipping, and I went to\nschool next morning promising to be a better boy.\n\n\nA BASEBALL GAME\n\nI was fast becoming initiated in the ways of the Devil. There was\nnothing that I would not do. I remember one time when mother thought I\nwas going to school but found out I was \"on the hook.\" She decided to\npunish me, and that night after I had gone to sleep she came into my\nroom and took all my clothes except my shirt. I certainly was in a fix.\nI had to catch for my team and I would not miss that game of ball for\nanything in the world; I simply had to go. In looking around the room I\nfound a skirt belonging to my sister that I thought would answer my\npurpose. I had my shirt on and I put the skirt on over my head. Then I\nripped the skirt up the center and tied it around each leg with a piece\nof cord--anything for that game!--and there I was with a pair of\ntrousers manufactured out of a girl's skirt. But I had to catch that\ngame of ball that day at any cost. Getting to the ground was easy. I\nopened the window and let myself down as far as I could and then\ndropped. I arrived all right, a little shaken up, but what is that to a\nboy who has a ball game in his head!\n\nI got to the game all right and some of the boys fixed me up. I don't\nremember which side won that game, but when it was finished I went home\nand met mother, and the interview was not a pleasant one, though she did\nnot give me a whipping.\n\nI used to read novels, any number of them, in those days--all about\nIndians, pirates, and all those blood-and-thunder tales--lies. You can\nnot get any good out of them, and they do corrupt your mind. I would\nadvise the young people who read these lines, and older folks also, if\nthis is your style of reading, to stop right where you are. Get some\ngood books--there are plenty of them--and don't fill your mind with\nstuff that only unfits you for the real life of the years to come.\n\n[Illustration: A NOON SHOP MEETING ADDRESSED BY MR. RANNEY.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nFIRST STEPS IN CRIME\n\n\nI was getting tired of school and wanted to go to work. I had a good\nChristian man for my Sunday-school teacher, Mr. M., a fairly rich man,\nand I did think a good deal of him. I liked to go to Sunday-school and\nwas often the first in my class. The teacher would put up a prize for\nthe one that was there first. Sometimes it would be a baseball bat,\nskates, book, or knife. I would let myself out then and would be first\nand get the prize.\n\nI asked Mr. M. to get me work in an office. After a few weeks he called\nand told my mother he had got me a job in Jersey City, in the office of\na civil engineer, at $3 a week. I was a happy boy as I started in on my\nfirst day's work. It was easy; all I had to do was to open up and dust\nthe office at 8 A. M., and close at 5 P. M. I used to run errands and\ndraw a little. But after a few weeks the newness of work wore off and I\nwished I was back at school again, where I could play hookey and have\nfun with the other fellows.\n\n\nTHE FIRST THEFTS\n\nI had lots of time on my hands, and you know the saying, \"Satan finds\nsome mischief still for idle hands to do.\" He certainly found plenty for\nme. The boss was a great smoker and bought his cigars by the box. He\nasked me if I smoked, and I said no, for I had not begun to smoke as\nyet. Well, he left the box of cigars around, always open, so I thought I\nwould try one, and I took a couple out of the box. See how the Devil\nworks with a fellow. He seemed to say, \"Now if you take them from the\ntop he will miss them,\" so he showed me how to take them from the\nbottom. I took out the cigars that were on top, and when I got to the\nbottom of the box I crossed a couple and took the cigars, and you could\nnot tell that any had been taken out. That was the beginning of my\nstealing. The cigars were not missed, and I thought how easy it was, but\nthis beginning proved to be just a stepping-stone to what followed.\n\nI did not smoke the cigars then, but waited until I got home. After\nsupper I went out and met Mike ----, and gave him one of them, and I\nstarted in to smoke my first cigar. Mike could smoke and not get sick,\nbut there never was a sicker boy than I was. I thought I was going to\ndie then and there and I said, \"No more cigars for me.\" I recovered,\nhowever, and as usual forgot my good resolutions. That turned out to be\nthe beginning of my smoking habit, and I was a good judge of a cigar\nwhen I was but fourteen years of age. I went on stealing them until the\nboss tumbled that some one was taking them and locked them up for safe\nkeeping. I never smoked a cigarette in all my life. I know it takes\naway a young fellow's brains and I really class cigarettes next to drink\nand would warn boys never to smoke them.\n\nI had been in the office now about three months. At the end of each\nmonth I received a check for $12. It seemed a fortune to me and I hated\nto give it in at the house. The third month I received the check as\nusual, made out to bearer. Well, I went home and gave the check to\nmother, and she said I was a good boy and gave me fifty cents to spend.\n\nI watched my mother and saw her put the check in an unused pitcher in\nthe closet on the top shelf. It seemed as though some one was beside me\nall the time telling me to take it and have a good time. It belonged to\nme and no one else had a right to it, Satan seemed to say. And what a\ngood time I could have with it! They would never suspect me of taking\nit, and I could have it cashed and no one would ever know.\n\nSo I got up in the middle of the night and started right there and then\nto be a burglar. I went on tiptoe as softly as I could, and was right in\nthe middle of the kitchen floor when I stumbled over a little stool and\nit made a noise. It was not much of a noise, but to me it seemed like\nthe shot out of a cannon. I thought it would wake up the whole house,\nbut nobody but mother woke, and she said, \"Who's there?\" I said nothing,\nonly stood still and waited for her to fall asleep again. As I stood\nthere a voice--and surely it was the voice of God--seemed to say, \"Go\nback to bed and leave the check alone. It is not yours: it belongs to\nyour mother. She is feeding and keeping you, and you are doing wrong.\" I\nthink if the Devil had not butted in I would have gone to bed, but he\nsaid, \"Now you are here no one sees you, and what a good time you can\nhave with that check!\" That settled all good thoughts and I went up to\nthe closet, put my hand in the pitcher, took the check and went back to\nbed. That was my first burglary.\n\nDid I sleep? Well, I guess not! I rolled and tossed all the balance of\nthe night. I knew I had done wrong. But you see the Devil was there, and\nI really think he owned me from the time I stole the cigars--\"that\nlittle beginning.\"\n\nI got up the next morning, ate my breakfast and went to work. I still\nhad the check, and all I had to do was to go to the bank and get it\ncashed. But I was afraid, and how I wished that the check was safe in\nthe old pitcher. I worried all that day, and I think if I had gotten a\nchance that night after I got home, I would have put the check back. But\nthe old Devil was there saying, \"You fool, keep it! It is not missed,\nand even if it is no one will accuse you of stealing your own money.\" I\ntell you, the Devil had me hand and foot, and there seemed to be no\ngetting away. Oh! if I could have had some person to tell me plainly\nwhat to do at this time, it might have been the turning-point in my\nlife! Anyway, the check didn't get back to the pitcher. I had it and the\nDevil had me.\n\nNext day I disguised myself somewhat. I made my face dirty and put on a\ncap. I had been wearing a hat before, so I thought the teller at the\nbank would not know me. I had been there often with checks for my boss.\nWell, the teller just looked at the check, gave me a glance, and passed\nout the $12. It did not take me long to get out of the bank. I knew I\nhad done wrong, and I felt it, and would have given anything if I could\nhave undone it; but it was too late, and my old companion, the Devil,\nsaid, \"What a nice time you can have, and wasn't it easy!\"\n\nWhen I went home the first question was, \"Did you see your check?\" My\ndear mother asked me that, never thinking that her boy had taken it.\nOh! if I had had the courage to tell her then and there, how much misery\nand trouble it would have saved me in after life! But I was a moral\ncoward, and I said, \"No, mother; where did you put it?\" I had her\nguessing whether she really put it in the pitcher or not.\n\nThere was a regular hunt for that check, and I hunted as much as any\none, but it could not be found. Mother did not know much about banks in\nthose days, but some one told her about a week after that she ought to\ngo to the bank and stop payment on the check. That sounded good to\nmother, and she said, \"Dave, you and I will go to the bank and stop\npayment on that check.\" I was in it for fair this time. The only chance\nI had was in the teller not recognizing me.\n\nWe went to the bank, and mother told the teller about the\nlost--stolen--check, and for him to see that it wasn't paid. He said,\n\"All right, madam, I'll not pay it if it is not already paid.\" He looked\nover the books and brought back the lost check. I had stood in the\nbackground all this time. Then my mother asked him whom he paid it to.\nHe said it was hard for him to recall just then, \"But I think I paid it\nto a boy,\" he said. \"Yes, it was a boy, for I recollect that he had as\ndirty a face and hands as ever I saw.\" Mother pulled me up in front of\nhim and told him to look at me and see if I was the boy. He looked at me\nfor a minute or so--it seemed to me like an hour--then said, \"No, that\nis not the boy that cashed the check, nothing like him. I am sure I\nshould know that boy.\" In after years, when I was lined up in front of\ndetectives for identification for some crime, identified or not, I\nalways thought of a dirty face being a good disguise.\n\nOn the way home from the bank mother asked me all sorts of questions\nabout boys I knew; if they had dirty faces and so on, but I did not\nknow any such boys, so the check business died out. She little thought\nthat her own boy was the thief, and she blamed my cousin, who was\nboarding with us at the time.\n\nMy grandfather was still with us, and he had quite a sum of money saved.\nHe wanted some money, and he and I went to the bank and he drew out\nfifty dollars in gold. There was a premium on gold at that time, and he\nreceived two twenty-dollar gold-pieces and one ten. Well, that night he\nlost one of the twenty-dollar gold-pieces and never found it. There was\na hot time the next morning, for he was sure he had it when he went to\nbed. My father was blamed for that, so you see the innocent suffer for\nthe guilty.\n\nI had quite a time with the money while it lasted, went out to the old\nBowery Theatre, and had a good time in general. I little thought then\nthat in after years I would be sitting on the old Bowery steps, down\nand out, without a cent in my pocket and without a friend in the world.\n\n\nLOSING A POSITION\n\nI was a boy of fourteen at this time, working in a civil engineer's\noffice for three dollars per week, but I knew, young as I was, that as a\nprofession engineering was not for me. I knew that to take it up I\nneeded a good education, and that I did not have. I didn't like the\ntrade, anyway, and didn't care whether I worked or not. That is the\nreason I lost my job.\n\nOne afternoon my employer sent me up Newark Avenue for a suit of clothes\nthat had been made to order. He told me to get them and bring them back\nas soon as I could. I must say right here that my employer was a good\nman, and he took quite a liking to me. Many a time he told me he would\nmake a great engineer out of me. I often look back and ask myself the\nquestion, \"Did I miss my vocation?\" And then there comes a voice, which\nI recognize as God's, saying, \"You had to go through all this in order\nto help others with the same temptations and the same sins,\" and I say,\n\"Amen.\"\n\nAfter getting the clothes I went back to the building where I\nworked--No. 9 Exchange Place, Jersey City--and found the door locked. I\nwaited around for a while, for I thought my employer wanted his clothes\nor he would not have sent me for them. Finally I got tired of waiting,\nand after trying the door once more and finding it still locked, I said\nto myself, \"I'll just put these clothes in the furniture store next door\nand I'll get them to-morrow morning.\" I left them and told the man I\nwould call for them in the morning, and started for home.\n\nI was in bed dreaming of Indians and other things, when mother wakened\nme, shouting, \"Where's the man's clothes?\" I couldn't make out at first\nwhat all the racket was about. Then I heard men's voices talking in the\nyard, and recognized Mr. M., my Sunday-school teacher, and my employer,\nthe man that was going to make a great engineer out of me. I went out on\nthe porch and told him what I had done with the clothes, and he nearly\ncollapsed. He was very angry, and drove off, saying, \"You come to the\noffice and get what's due you in the morning.\" I went the next morning,\ngot my money, and bade him good-by. That was the last of my becoming one\nof the great engineers of the day.\n\nI was glad, and I went back to school determined to study real hard, and\nI did remain in school for a year. Then the old craze for work came on\nme again. Father had died in the meantime, and mother was left to do the\nbest she could, and I got a job with the determination to be a help to\nher.\n\n\nAT WORK AGAIN\n\nI got a position as office boy at 40 Broadway, then one of New York's\nlargest buildings. The man I worked for was a commission merchant, a\nHebrew, and one of the finest men I ever met in my life. He took me into\nhis private office and we had a long talk, a sort of fatherly talk, as\nhe had sons and daughters of his own. I loved that man. I had been\nbrought up among the Dutch and Irish, and had never associated with the\nJews, and I supposed from what I had heard that they were put on earth\nfor us to get the best of, fire stones at, and treat as meanly as we\ncould. That was my idea of a Jew--my boy idea. Yet here was a man, a\nJew, one of the whitest men I ever met, who by his life changed\ncompletely my opinion of the Jews, and I put them down from that day as\nbeing pretty good people.\n\nMy mother did some work for his wife, and when he heard that I wanted to\ngo to work he told her to send me over to his place of business, and\nthat is how I got my second position in this big world.\n\nI went to work with the determination to make a man of myself, and\nmother said:\n\n\"Now, Dave, be a good boy, and one of these days you will be a big\nmerchant and I shall be proud of you.\" That was what I might have been\nif I had had the grace of God to make my life true. I am acquainted with\nsome men to-day that started about the same time I did. They were boys\nthat looked ahead, studied and went up step by step, and are to-day some\nof the best-known bankers in America.\n\nThey say \"Hell is paved with good intentions,\" and I believe it is. We\nstart out in life with the best intentions, but before we know it we are\nup against some temptation, and unless we have God with us we are sure\nto fall, and when we fall, why, it's the hardest thing in the world to\nget back where we tumbled from. I only wish I had taken the Saviour as\nmy helper years ago. Oh! what a change He did make in my life after I\ndid accept Him, seventeen years ago!\n\nI started in to work at four dollars a week, and, as I said, I intended\nto be a great merchant. I meant well, if that was any consolation. My\nduties were to go to the postoffice and bring the mail, copy the\nletters, and run errands, and I was happy.\n\nI was out one day on an errand, when whom should I meet but my old\nfriend Mike ----, my chum of the pig incident. He said, \"Hello, Dave,\nwhere are you working?\" He had a job in a factory in Maiden Lane, at the\nsame wages I was getting. I hadn't seen much of Mike lately, and to tell\nthe truth I didn't care so much about meeting him. I am not\nsuperstitious by any means, but I really thought he was my Jonah. We\ntalked a while, and we promised to meet and go home together. Like a\nfoolish boy, I met him that night and many a time after.\n\n\nTOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT\n\nMike was just learning to play pool, and one evening we had to go in and\nplay a game. That night I had the first glass of beer I ever took in a\nsaloon. Mike was getting to be quite a tippler, and he said, \"Let's have\na drink.\" I said I didn't want any, and I didn't. But he said--I really\nthink the Devil was using Mike to make me drink--\"Oh, be a man! One\nglass won't hurt you; it will do you good.\" And he talked to me about\nmother's apron-strings, and finally I took my first drink outside of\nwhat I drank when grandfather used to send me for beer.\n\nDo you know, as I stood there before the bar, with that beer in my hand,\nI heard a voice just as plain as I ever heard anything, saying, \"Don't\ntake that stuff; it's no good, and will bring you to shame and misery.\nIt will spoil your future, and you will never become the great merchant\nyou started out to be. Put it down and don't drink it.\" That was\ntwenty-five years ago, and many a time I have heard that voice since.\nHow I wish now that I had listened to that voice and never taken that\nfirst drink! It is not the second or the one hundred and second drink\nthat makes a man a drunkard, but the first.\n\nI started to put the glass down, and with that Mike began to laugh, and\nhis laugh brought the other fellows around. Of course Mike told them I\nwas a milk-and-water boy. I could not stand it to be laughed at, so I\nput the glass of beer to my lips, swallowed it, and never made a face\nabout it. Then the fellows said, \"You're all right! You are initiated\nnow and you're a man!\"\n\nI didn't feel very much like a man. I felt as though I was some fellow\nwithout a single spark of manhood in my whole make-up. I thought of\nmother; what would she say if she knew I had broken my promise to her? I\nhad promised her when father died never to take a drink in all my life.\nI knelt at her dear side, with her hands upon my head, and she prayed\nthat God would bless her boy and keep him from drink. I had honestly\nintended to keep that promise, but you see how the Devil popped in and\nonce more made me do what I knew was wrong--drink that first cursed\nglass of beer.\n\nI went home, walking all the way, and trying to get the smell out of my\nmouth. I could not face my dear mother, so I went to my room without\nsupper. I thought that all she had to do was to look in my face and she\nwould know that I had broken my promise, and I was ashamed. She came up\nlater and asked me what was the matter, and I said I had a headache. If\nI had had the courage to tell her then, things might have been\ndifferent! She brought me a cup of tea and bade me good-night.\n\nThe next night the Devil steered me into the same saloon. I drank again\nand again, till finally I could drink as much as any man, and it would\ntake a good deal to knock me out.\n\nI was still working for the merchant on Broadway, and my prospects were\nof the brightest. They all liked me and gave me a raise in salary, so I\nwas now getting five dollars a week. But, you see, I was spending money\non pool and drink, and five dollars didn't go so very far, so I began to\nsteal. I had charge of the stamps--the firm used a great many---and I\nhad the mailing of all the letters. I would take out fifty cents from\nthe money and balance the account by letters mailed. I began in a small\nway, and the Devil in me said, \"How easy! You're all right.\" So I went\non until I was stealing on an average of $1.50 per day. I still kept on\ndrinking and playing cards. I had by this time blossomed out as quite a\npoker player and could do as many tricks as the best of them. I used to\nstay out quite late, and would tell mother that I was kept at the\noffice, and little did she think that her only son was a gambler!\n\nThe Bible says, \"Be sure your sin will find you out,\" and it proved true\nin my case. One night I was out gambling, and had had quite some luck.\nThe fellows got to drinking, and in fact I got drunk, and when I started\nfor home I could hardly walk. I fell down several times, when who should\ncome along but mother and sister, and when they saw me staggering along\nthey were astonished. I heard my mother say, \"Oh! my God, my boy, my\nonly son, oh! what happened to you?\" Mother knew without asking what the\nmatter was. She had often seen father reeling home under the influence\nof drink. But here was something she could not understand. Here was her\nonly son beastly drunk, and she cried bitter tears. She took hold of one\narm and my sister the other, and we finally reached home. I was getting\npretty well sobered up by this time, and knew I was in for a lecture.\nMy mother hadn't whipped me of late, but I dreaded her talk, and then I\nwished I had never met Mike ----.\n\nMother didn't say anything until we got home. She put me to bed, brushed\nmy clothes, and told me to go to sleep. About two o'clock I woke up.\nThere was mother kneeling by my bedside, praying God to save her boy and\nkeep him from following in his father's footsteps. I lay there and\nlistened and said amen to everything she asked God to do. Finally I\ncould stand it no longer; I jumped out of bed and knelt beside my mother\nand asked God to forgive me. I threw my arms around mother's neck and\nasked her to forgive her boy, which she did. I determined right then and\nthere to do better and never to drink any more.\n\nI really meant to start all over again, but I didn't take Jesus with\nme--in fact, I think the Devil owned me for fair. I was pretty good for\nabout a month, kept away from Mike and the other fellows, and mother\nwas delighted. But this did not continue long; I met Mike again, and\nfell into the same groove, and was even worse than before.\n\nBarnum was running his circus in New York then, and Mike and I decided\nto see the show and took a day off to go. I had not got leave of absence\nfrom work, so on our way home we planned what we could tell our bosses\nwhen we went to work the next morning.\n\nWhen my employer came in that morning I told him I was sick the day\nbefore and not able to get out of bed. He just stood there and looked at\nme, and said, \"What a liar you are! You were seen at the circus\nyesterday! Now, why didn't you tell me the truth, and I would have\noverlooked it? I can't have any one in my employ that I can't trust.\" So\nI had to look for another job. I was sorry, but it was my own fault.\nThere I was, without a job and without a recommendation. What was I\ngoing to do? Surely \"the way of the transgressor is hard.\"\n\nI tell the men in the Mission night after night that I would rather deal\nwith a thief than a liar, because you can protect yourself against a\nthief, but a liar--what can't a liar do? If I had only told the truth to\nmy employer that day, why, as mother said afterwards, he would have\ngiven me a lecture, and it would have been all over.\n\n\nDEEPER IN THE MIRE\n\nNow what was I to tell my mother? You see, if you tell one lie you are\nbound to tell others, and after you have lied once, how easy it is! My\nside partner, the Devil, was there by my side to help me, and he said,\n\"Don't tell your mother.\" So I said nothing, and took my carfare and\nlunch money every day, went out as if I were going to work, and hoped\nthat something would turn up. That's the way with the sinners; they are\nalways hoping and never doing. So it was with me, always hoping, and\nthe Devil always saying, \"Don't worry; it will be all right.\"\n\nI used to dread going home at night and meeting my mother, and when she\nwould say, \"How have you got on to-day?\" I was always ready with another\nlie, telling her I was doing finely, that the boss said he was going to\ngive me a raise soon. He had--he had raised me right out of the place!\n\nI was getting deeper and deeper into difficulty and could not see my way\nout. Oh! if I had only told my mother the truth, how different my life\nmight have been! Saturday night was coming, and I did not have any money\nto bring home, and I did not know what to do. I thought of everything,\nbut could not see my way out, when the thought came to me, \"Steal!\" My\nsister was saving up some money to buy a suit, and I knew where she kept\nit and determined to get it. That night I entered her room and took all\nthe money she had saved. No one saw me but God, but the Devil was there\nwith me, and said, \"Isn't it easy? Don't be a coward! God doesn't care.\"\nI knew right down in my heart that He did care, and in after years when\nI was wandering all over the States I found out how much He really\ncared, and I said, \"Praise His name!\"\n\n[Illustration: A BACK YARD ON THE BOWERY.]\n\n[Illustration: ONE OF RANNEY'S FORMER HAUNTS.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nINTO THE DEPTHS\n\n\nAfter I had taken this money from my sister I knew that I was suspected.\nI was accused of taking it, but I was getting hardened; I had lost my\njob through lying; I was getting tired of home; I didn't care very much\nhow things went.\n\nAbout this time my elder sister was married and moved to New York. Her\nhusband was a mechanic and made good money. He liked me, and when the\ntheft was discovered I went and put up with him, staying there until I\nmade money enough to leave, then I got out. All this time I was going\nfrom bad to worse, my associates being thieves and crooks and gamblers.\n\nI shall never forget the first time I was arrested. I was with a\nhardened crook, and we had made a haul of some hundred dollars. But as\nluck would have it we were caught and sent away for nine months on a\n\"technicality.\" If we had received our just dues the lowest term would\nhave been five years each. I thought my time in prison would never come\nto an end, but it did at last, and I was free. But where was I to go? My\nmother had moved to New York to be near my sister, so I went and called\non them. Mother asked me where I had been. I made some kind of an\nexcuse, but I could see by mother's eye that she did not take much stock\nin it.\n\nI remained at home, and finally got work in a fruit house on Washington\nStreet, at eight dollars a week. I was quite steady for a while, and\nmother still had hopes of her boy. But through the same old company and\ndrink I lost that job.\n\n\nMARRIAGE\n\nAbout this time I ran across a girl who I thought would make a good\nwife, and we were married. I was then in the crockery business in a\nsmall way, and if I had stuck to business I should be worth something\nnow. I'll never forget the day of the wedding. The saying is, \"Happy is\nthe bride the sun shines on,\" but there was no sunshine that day. It\nrained, it simply poured. Mother tried to get the girl to throw me over;\nshe told her I would never make her a good husband; and I guess Mary was\nsorry afterward that she did not take her advice.\n\nThe night of the wedding we had quite a blowout, and I was as drunk as I\ncould be. I'd ring in right here a bit of advice to my girl readers:\nDon't ever try to convert a man--I mean one who drinks--by marrying him,\nfor in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred you won't succeed. In my case\nI was young and did not care how the wind blew. I stayed out nights and\nneglected my home, but I must say, bad as I was, I never hit my wife. I\nthink any man that raises his hand to hit a woman is worse than a cur,\nand that he will certainly be punished in some way for it.\n\nThings went from bad to worse, and one day I came home to the store and\nthere was no wife. She had gone. Married and deserted in two months! I\nfelt sore, and all I thought about was to get even with my wife. I sold\nout the business, got a couple hundred dollars together, and started\nafter her. I found out that she had gone to Oswego, and I sent her a\ntelegram and was met at the station by her brother. It did not take me\nlong to get next to him. In a very short time I had him thinking there\nwas no one like Ranney. Mary and I made up and I promised never to drink\nagain, and we started for New York. My promises were easily broken, for\nbefore we got to Syracuse both her brother and I were pretty drunk.\n\nAfter reaching New York we went to mother's house and stayed there until\nwe got rooms, which we did in a few days. Mary's brother got work in a\nlumberyard. I hunted as usual for a job, praying I wouldn't get it. I\nwent hustling lumber and worked two days, leaving because it took the\nskin off my hands. Finally I could not pay the rent, was dispossessed,\nand then went to live in \"Hell's Kitchen,\" in Thirty-ninth Street, where\nmy son was born. Our friends thought the baby would bring Mary and me\ncloser together, as it sometimes does. But what did I care for a baby!\n\nI got work on Jake Sharp's Twenty-third Street cars, and Mary would\nbring me my dinner and do everything she could for me. But when drink is\nthe idol--and it was mine--what does one care for love? Nothing. I\ncertainly led Mary a hard life. At last I came home one night and she\nand the kid were gone. The baby was then two months old, and I never saw\nhim again until he was a boy of nine. I was not sorry at their going. I\nwasn't any good in those days. I imagined I was \"done dirty,\" as they\nsay, but I knew the girl couldn't do anything else for herself and baby.\nI sold out the little furniture the rooms contained, got a few dollars,\nand jumped the town.\n\n\nWANDERINGS\n\nI started out with every one's hand against me and mine against every\none's. I struck Marathon, N. Y., and had quite a time there. I worked in\nDumphy's tannery, got a few weeks' pay and a few other articles, and\njumped out for fear of being arrested. I reached Syracuse and struck a\njob in McChesney's lumberyard, at $1.35 per day.\n\nI stayed in Syracuse quite a while and learned a little of the lumber\nbusiness. I had quite a few adventures while there. I had struck up an\nacquaintance with a New York boy, and one evening after work we were\nsitting on the grass in front of one of the hotels, and seeing the\npatrol wagon passing, I made the remark, \"Some poor bum is going to get\na ride,\" when it pulled up in front of us and we were told to get in. I\ntried to argue the point with the captain, but it was of no use. We were\ntaken to the station, and the others were sent below while I was kept up\nfor examination. They put me through a light \"third degree,\" measuring\nme and noting the color of hair and eyes, size of feet, etc.\n\nFinally they stopped measuring and asking questions, and I waited. I saw\nmy friend come up and go out of the door; he did not take time to bid me\ngood-by. I asked the captain if he was through with me, and he did not\nknow what to say. He apologized, and explained that I had been arrested\nbecause I looked like a man that had escaped from Auburn.\n\nI felt rather sorry for the captain, not because I was not the escaped\nprisoner, but because he was so nervous. I could not leave him without a\njolly, so I said, \"Captain, if you'll come up to the corner I'll treat,\"\npatting my pocket in which I had a few pennies. He thanked me and said,\n\"No.\" I met the captain every night taking his men as far as Salina\nStreet, and we always saluted one another.\n\nMy new pal couldn't be got up on Main Street to the postoffice again for\nanything, and as soon as he earned money enough he took the train for\n\"little old New York.\" I've met him on the Bowery since I became a\nmissionary there, and we did smile about that ride in the \"hurry-up\nwagon\" in Syracuse.\n\nFinally I came back to New York, after being away quite a time, got work\nin a carpet factory, and was quite steady for a while.\n\nMy poor dear mother was sick, sometimes up and oftentimes in bed. I can\nstill see her and hear her say, \"David, my poor boy, I do wish you would\nstop your drinking. I've prayed for you, and will pray until I die. Oh,\nDave! I'd die so happy if my only son would stop and be a man!\" But that\ncursed appetite, what a hold it had on me! It seemed as if I couldn't\nstop if I had been given all the money in the world.\n\nI did love my mother dearly; I didn't care for any one in the world but\nher. Still, one of the meanest acts I ever did was to my mother. And\nsuch a good mother she was; there are not many like her!\n\nShe was in bed and had only a few weeks to live. One day she called me\nto her bedside and said, \"Dave, I am going to leave you, never to see\nyou again on this earth, but oh! how I wish you were going to meet me on\nthe other side. Now, Dave, won't you promise me you will?\" I said, \"Yes,\nmother, sure I will.\" And she made me promise then and there that when\nshe was dead, and waiting burial, I would not get drunk, at least while\nher body was in the house. I went down on my knees and promised her that\nI'd meet her in heaven.\n\nShe died, and the undertaker had been gone but a short time when I began\ndrinking, and the day of the funeral I was pretty drunk. That was one of\nthe meanest things I ever did. But I am sure that sometimes my dear\nmother looks over the portals of heaven, and sees her boy--a man now, a\nChristian--and forgives me. And some day, when my time comes, I am going\nto join her there.\n\nI went from bad to worse, wandering all over, not caring what happened.\nI took a great many chances. Sometimes I had plenty of money, and at\nother times I wouldn't have a nickel I could jingle against a tombstone.\nI boated on the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, then up on the\nLakes. I was always wandering, but never at rest, sometimes in prison,\nand sometimes miles away from human habitation, often remorseful, always\nwondering what the end would be.\n\nI recollect, after being eighty-two days on the river to New Orleans,\nbeing paid off with over $125. I left the steamer at Pittsburg, and the\nfirst thing I did was to go and get a jug of beer. Before I got anywhere\nnear drunk I was before Judge White, and was fined $8.40, and\ndischarged. I wasn't free half an hour before I was arrested again,\nbrought before Judge White, and again fined $8.40. After being free for\nabout fifteen minutes, I was again brought before Judge White, who\nlooked at me this time and said, \"Can't you keep sober?\" I said, \"Your\nHonor, I haven't had a drink since the first time.\" And I hadn't. But he\nsaid, \"Five days,\" and I was shut up for that time, and I was in hell\nthere five days if ever a man was.\n\nOut of jail, I drifted with the tide. I was arrested for a trick that,\nif I had got my just dues, would have put me in prison for ten years,\nbut I got off with three years, and came out after doing two years and\nnine months.\n\nWhen a person is cooped up he has lots of time to think. It's think,\nthink, think, and hope. Many's the time I said, \"Oh, if I only get out\nand still have my health, what a change there will be!\" And I meant it.\n\nIsn't it queer how people will say, \"I can't stop drinking,\" but when\nthey're in jail they have to! The prison is a sanitarium for drunkards.\nThey don't drink while on a visit there. Then why not stop it while one\nhas a free foot? I thought of all these things while I was locked up,\nand I decided that when I was free I would hunt up my wife and baby and\nbe a man.\n\nPrison at best isn't a pleasant place, but you can get the best in it if\nyou behave. There's no coaxing you to be good. They won't say, \"If you\ndon't behave I'll send you home.\" It isn't like school. You have to\nbehave or it's worse for you, for they certainly put you through some\npretty tough things. Many's the time I got on my knees and told God all\nabout it. If a man is crossing the street, sees a car coming, and is\nsure it will hit him, the first thing he says is, \"Oh, God, save me!\"\nThe car misses him by a foot, and he forgets how much he owes. He simply\nsays, \"Thank you, God; when I'm in danger I'll call on You again.\" It\nwas so with me. Out in the world again, I forgot all about all the\npromises I made in prison.\n\n[Illustration: A BOWERY LODGING-HOUSE.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\"SAVED BY GRACE\"\n\n\nTwelve years later, after a life spent on the road and in prison, I\nfound myself on the Bowery, in the fall of 1892, without a friend, \"down\nand out.\" After spending my last dollar in ----'s saloon, I was sitting\ndown in the back room of that place, wondering if I dared ask ---- for a\ndrink, when in he walked. He looked at me, and said, \"Now, Danny, I\nthink you had better get a move on! Get out and hustle. You are broke,\nand you know I am not running this place for fun.\"\n\nI took it kind of hard, but looked at him and said, \"All right.\" I got\nup from the chair where I'd been sitting and walked out, not caring what\nI did, but bound to get some money. Now, ---- was a good fellow in his\nway; they all are if you have the price; but saloon-keepers are not\nrunning their places for the benefit of others, and when a man's money's\ngone they don't want him around. I had spent all I had, about twenty\ndollars, and now I was turned out, and it served me right.\n\nNow there's something in rum that fascinates, something we can't\nunderstand. I wanted whiskey, and was ready to do anything to get it.\nThe appetite in me was fierce. No one knows the terrible pangs, the\ngreat longing, but one who has been up against it. And nothing can\nsatisfy the awful craving but whiskey.\n\n\nTHE TURNING-POINT\n\nMany's the time I've stood on the Bowery and cursed God and the day I\nwas born, and wished that I was dead. But here I was! Nobody cared for\nme, and why should they, for I did not care for myself. I did not even\nthink God cared much or He would have done something. I imagined the\nDevil thought he had me for keeps, and so he did not exert himself very\nmuch either. I was out of the saloon, on the street, and little as I\nimagined such a thing would ever happen, I never entered ----'s saloon\nagain. All unknown to me the turning-point in my life had come.\n\nSizing up the situation, I knew I must have a drink, but how was I to\nget it? Up to this time I'd done everything on the calendar except\nmurder, and I don't know how I missed that. I've seen men killed, have\nbeen in a few shoot-ups myself, and bear some scars, but I know at this\nwriting that God and a mother's prayers saved me from this awful crime.\n\nAmong the many accomplishments suited to the life I was leading was that\nof a \"strong-arm man,\" and I determined to put it into use now, for I\nwas desperate.\n\nThe rule in this dastardly work is always to select a man smaller and\nweaker than one's self. As I looked about I saw a man coming up the\nBowery who seemed to answer to the requirements, and I said to myself,\n\"This is my man!\" I walked up to him and touched him on the shoulder,\nbut as he straightened up I saw that he was as big as myself, and I\nhesitated. I would have taken the chances even then, but he started back\nand asked what I wanted. I said I was hungry, thinking that he would put\nhis hand in his pocket, and then, having only one hand, I could put the\n\"strangle hold\" on him. But he was equal to the situation. He told me\nafterward that I looked dangerous.\n\nI asked him if he was ever hungry. He said, \"Many's the time.\" I told\nhim I was starving. \"Come with me,\" said he, and we went over to Chatham\nSquare, to a place called \"Beefsteak John's.\"\n\nWe went in and sat down, and he said, \"Now order what you want.\" On the\nBowery in those days you could get a pretty good meal for fifteen\ncents--all you wanted to eat. The waiter was there to take my order. I\nknew him and winked to him to go away, and he went. He thought I was\ngoing to work the young fellow for his money.\n\nThe young fellow said, \"Why don't you call for something? I thought you\nwere starving.\"\n\nNow here I was up against it. I'd panned this man for something to eat,\nand he was willing to pay for anything I wanted, and for the life of me\nI could not swallow any food. When a man is drinking he doesn't care to\neat at a table. Give him a square meal, and he doesn't enjoy it. I know\nmen to-day who spend every dollar they earn for drink, and eat nothing\nbut free lunches, handed out with their drinks. That was what was the\nmatter with me. All I wanted was drink. The young man had called my\nbluff, and I had nothing to show but lies. I sat there wondering how I\nwas going to get out of this hole. I was looking at the man and he at\nme, when the little good that was in me cropped out, and looking him\nsquare in the eye I said, \"Young fellow, I've lied to you. I could not\neat the first mouthful.\" I told him I'd gone up to him thinking he would\ndig down in his pocket and give me a little change. I did not mention\nthe fact that I intended to \"put him up in the air\" and rob him. Then I\nsat back in my chair and waited for the \"come-back.\" Finally he said,\n\"Have some coffee and sinkers\"--rolls. But I could not go even that!\n\nWe got to talking, and he asked me where I was living. I smiled at the\nidea of my living! I wasn't even existing! I told him I lived any place\nwhere I hung up my hat: that I didn't put up at the Astor House very\noften; sometimes at the Delevan, or the Windsor, or in fact, any of the\nhotels on the Bowery were good enough for me--that is, if I had the\nprice, fifteen cents. You can get a bed in a lodging-house for ten\ncents, or if you have only seven cents you can get a \"flop.\" You can\nsit in some joint all night if you have a nickel, but if you haven't you\ncan do the next best thing in line, and that is \"carry the banner.\"\nThink of walking the streets all night and being obliged to keep moving!\n\nThe man took a fifty-cent piece out of his pocket, held it in his hand,\nand asked me if I would meet him at the Broome Street Tabernacle the\nnext morning at ten-thirty. Now I wanted that half-dollar, I wanted it\nbadly! It meant ten drinks to me at five per. I would have promised to\nmeet the Devil in hell for drink, and fearing the young man might put\nthe money in his pocket again, I said I'd be there. He gave me the\nhalf-dollar, we shook hands, and I never expected to see that man again.\n\nI didn't go back to ----'s, but to ---- Bowery--another place that has\nput more men on the down-grade than any place I know. It's out of\nbusiness now, and as I pass there every day I pray that all the saloons\nmay go. I drank the half-dollar up in quick time, for with the Bowery\nelement it's divy even with drinks.\n\n\nBROOME STREET TABERNACLE\n\nMorning came, and I wondered what I should do for the day. How I loved\nto stand and smell the liquor, even when not drinking! But now I hate\nit! Oh, what a change when Christ comes into a man's heart! I had stood\nthere all night in that saloon and didn't feel a bit tired. I went out\nto \"do\" some one else, when I thought of the fellow of last night. I\nthought I had sized him up and that he was easy, so I started for the\nmeeting-place, the Tabernacle. I went there to see if I could work him\nfor a dollar, or perhaps two.\n\nI got to the church and looked for a side door and found a bell which I\nrang. I did not have to wait long before the young fellow himself opened\nthe door. Out went his hand, and he gave me such a shake that one would\nhave thought he had known me all my life. There's a lot in a handshake!\n\"I'm glad to see you!\" he said. \"I knew you would keep your promise. I\nknew you would come.\"\n\nThat took me back a little. Here was a man I had never seen till the\nnight before taking me at my word. I wondered who he was. We went into\nthe church. He was talking to make me feel at home. Finally he looked me\nover from head to feet and said, \"Are those the best clothes you have?\"\nI said, \"These are the best and only clothes I have.\" I had my trunk on\nmy back, and the whole kit, shoes and all, wasn't worth fifty cents. The\nway of the drunkard is hard. I had helped put diamonds on the\nsaloon-keeper and rags on myself, but if there are any diamonds now I'll\nput them on my own little wife and not the saloon-keeper's. The young\nman said, \"I've a nice suit that will fit you. Will you let me give it\nto you?\"\n\nHere was a situation that puzzled me. I was an old offender, had \"been\nup\" many times and was well known to the police. My record was bad, and\nwhenever there was a robbery or hold-up the police would round up all\nthe ex-convicts and line us up at headquarters for identification. Give\na dog a bad name and it sticks. I was suspicious; a man that has \"done\ntime\" always is; and when the young man said he had clothes for me, I\nput him down as one of the \"stool pigeons\" working in with the police.\nSince I'd graduated to the Bowery doing crooked work I imagined every\none was against me. It was a case of \"doing\" others or they would \"do\"\nme. And I wondered why this man took such an interest in me. The more I\nthought the more puzzled I got.\n\nI looked about me. I was in a church; why should he do me any harm? Then\nI thought that if I put on the clothes he might slip an Ingersoll watch\ninto the pocket, let me get on the street, and then shout \"Stop,\nthief!\" I'd be arrested and then it would be away up the river for a\ngood long bit. However, I'm a pretty good judge of human nature, and I\nthought I'd take a chance. It was a fine suit; and I could just see\nmyself putting it in pawn, so I said I'd take it. But \"there's many a\nslip 'twixt the cup and lip,\" and there was a strange slip in my case.\n\nThe young fellow said, \"Don't you think you had better have a bath?\"\nWell, I did need a bath for fair. A man sleeping in one bed one night\nand a different one the next, walking the streets and sitting around on\npark benches, gets things on him, and they are grandparents in a couple\nof nights. Of course I needed a bath! I was a walking menagerie! He gave\nme some money, and I went out and had a bath and came back with the\nchange. He showed me where I could change my clothes, and there was a\nwhole outfit laid out for me, underwear and all.\n\nI thought the man was crazy. I could not understand. At last I got into\nthe clothes, and I felt fine. I got a look at myself in the glass, and I\nlooked like a full-fledged Bowery politician. I said as I looked, \"Is\nthis me or some other fellow?\" I weighed one hundred and ninety pounds\nand was five feet ten inches tall.\n\nI went into the young man's study and sat down. I did not know what was\ncoming next, perhaps money. I was ready for anything, for I took him for\na millionaire's son.\n\nUp to this time he had said nothing to me about God. Finally he opened\nup and asked my name. I told him Dave Ranney, but I had a few others to\nuse in a pinch. And I told him the truth; kindness had won.\n\nHe said, \"Dave, why are you leading such a life? Don't you know you were\ncut out for a far better one?\" I was no fool; I knew all about that. I\nhad learned it in Sunday-school, and how often mother had told me the\nsame thing. I knew I was put into the world to get the best, and glorify\nGod; and I was getting the worst, and it was all my own fault. Here I\nwas. I felt that no one wanted anything to do with me, no one would\ntrust me, because I was a jail-bird. But I have found out since there\nare people that are willing to help a man if they see he is on the\nlevel.\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"a man that has no backing has no show in 'little old New\nYork.' You even have to have a pull to get a job shoveling snow, and\nthen you have to buy your own shovel! What does any one care? The\npoliticians have all they want and are only looking for more graft. They\nneed you just twice a year to register and vote. I know I'm crooked, and\nit's my own fault, I admit, but who's going to give me a chance? Oh, for\na chance!\"\n\nThe young fellow listened, then said, \"Dave, there's One that will\nhelp.\"\n\nI did not catch on to his meaning, but said I was glad and thanked him\nfor what he had done. I thought he meant himself. \"Not I,\" he said; \"I\nmean God. Why don't you give Him a chance? Talk about men giving you a\nchance--why, God is waiting for a chance to help you!\"\n\nJust then my old friend the Devil came in; he always does when he thinks\nhe is going to lose a convert; and he said in his own fine way, \"Oh,\nwhat rot! Why didn't God help you before this? Don't bother about it;\nyou have a nice suit; get out of this place and sell the duds and have a\ngood time. I'll help you. I'll be your friend.\" He's sly, but I put him\nbehind me that time.\n\nIt was easy enough for this man to talk about God giving me a chance,\nbut he didn't know me--a hard, wicked sinner, who if half the crimes I\nhad committed were known I'd be put in prison for life. Would God help\nsuch a one? I knew I was clean and had a good suit of clothes on, but,\noh! how I wished God would give me another chance! But I felt as if He\nhad no use for me.\n\nThe man put his hand on my shoulder and said, \"I want to be your friend;\nwill you let me?\" I said I'd be proud of such a friend. \"Now, Dave,\" he\nsaid, \"there's One better than I who will stick to you closer than a\nbrother; will you let Him be your friend?\" I said I would, though I\ndoubted if He wanted any part of me, but I was going to make a try; and\nthe young man and myself knelt down in the Tabernacle, corner of Broome\nStreet and Centre Market Place, on the 16th of September, 1892, and I\nasked God to have mercy on me, cut the drink out of my life, and make a\nman of me, if such a thing could be done, for Christ's sake. I kept\npraying that over and over again, the man still kneeling with me, when\nall of a sudden I heard a voice say, \"I will, Dave; only trust Me and\nhave faith.\" I heard those words just as sure as I am living, and\nwriting this book. None but a Christian can understand this voice;\nothers would say we are crazy who say such things; but it's true: only\nhave faith, and all things are yours. I've proved it!\n\n\nA NEW MAN IN CHRIST JESUS\n\nI rose from my knees a changed man. I can't explain it, but I felt as I\nhadn't felt in years--lighter, happier, with a peace that was great in\nmy heart. I thought of mother and only wished she could see me then, but\nshe did all right.\n\n\"What will your friends say?\" there was the old Devil saying. \"Get out\nof this place, and don't be a fool; be a man.\"\n\nI stood there listening to the tempter, when the young fellow said,\n\"Dave, what are you going to do now that you have taken Jesus?\"\n\nI said, \"I've knelt here and asked God for Christ's sake to make me a\nsober man, and I fully believe that He will. Drink has brought me down,\nand I'll die before I'll take another drink.\" And at this writing I'm\nover seventeen years off the stuff.\n\nI asked the young fellow what his name was, and found that he was\nAlexander Irvine, lodging-house missionary to the Bowery under the New\nYork City Mission of which Dr. Schauffler is the head. We shook hands,\nand before we parted we made a compact that we would be pals.\n\nIsn't it wonderful what God can do? I don't believe there's a man or\nwoman, no matter how wicked, no matter what sin they've done, but God\ncan and will save, the only conditions being: Come, believe, and trust.\n\"For God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son, that\nwhosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting\nlife.\"--John 3:16. But you have to have some sand of your own.\n\n[Illustration: READING-ROOM IN A LODGING-HOUSE.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nON THE UP GRADE\n\n\nMr. Irvine paid for my lodging and meals for a week at 105 Bowery. I\nthought he was great; I'd never run up against anything like him. He\nsaid, \"We must get you a job of some kind, and that quick. Will you\nwork?\" Well, what do you think of that! Would I work? It struck me as\nfunny. Work and I had fallen out long ago. I could lie down beside work\nand watch the other fellow do it. I had reached the point where, like a\ngood many others, I felt the world owed me a living, and I was bound to\nget it. I had toiled hard and faithfully for the Devil, and taken a\ngreat many chances, and I never thought of that as work. And I got the\nwages the Devil always pays--cuts, shot, prison: I was paid good and\nplenty. Here I was up against another proposition--work--and I hated\nit!\n\nIrvine said, \"You must have something to occupy your mind and time, for\nyou know the Devil finds mischief for idlers.\" I said I'd tackle\nanything; I'd work all right. A few days later he told me he had a job\nfor me. \"Good,\" I said. I wondered what kind of work it was. I knew it\nwas not a position of great trust, not a cashier in a bank; that would\nhave to come later on. Well, the job was tending a furnace--get up steam\nat 5 A. M., do the chores, and make myself generally useful; wages\n$12.00 per month and my breakfast!\n\nI did not like this for a starter, and I told Mr. Irvine so, and he had\nto do some tall talking. He finally got angry and said, \"Ranney, you\nstarted out to let God help you. Well, you know God helps the man that\nhelps himself.\" That was so. I had asked God to help me, and here I was\nat the start refusing to give Him a chance. That clinched it, and I\ntook the first honest job I had had in a good many years. I thank God I\ndid take it, for it was a stepping-stone.\n\n\nFISHING FOR A DINNER\n\nI started in working and was getting on fine, but I always felt I wasn't\ngetting money enough. I tried in my leisure time for another job, but in\nall the places I was asked the same question: \"Where did you work last?\"\nI could not tell them, \"In prison and on the road,\" and that queered me.\nSo I stuck to the furnace, was always on time, and was pretty well liked\nby the people. I had been there about two weeks, and seen the cook every\nday and smelled the steak, etc., about noontime and at supper, but the\ncook never asked me if I had a mouth on me. She was a good-natured\noutspoken Irish woman with a good big heart, and I thought about this\ntime that I'd jolly her a little and get my dinner. One day I came up\nfrom the cellar carrying a hod of coal in each hand, and going into the\nkitchen I tried in every way to attract her attention, but she was busy\nbroiling a steak and never looked around. Finally I got tired and said,\n\"Cook, where will I put this coal?\" Well, well, I'll never forget that\nmoment in years! She turned and looked at me and began, \"I want you to\nunderstand my name is Mrs. Cunningham. I'm none of your cooks, and if\nyou dare call me cook again while you're in this house I'll have you\nsacked--discharged!\" I thought I had been hit with a steam car. I did\nnot answer her back, and she kept right on: \"I'm a lady, and I'll be\ntreated as such or I'll know why!\" I never saw a person so mad in all my\nlife, and I couldn't understand why. There she was cooking, and yet she\nwas no cook! I thought to myself, \"I guess she doesn't like her job.\" I\ndidn't blame her, because I didn't like mine either.\n\nMy heart went down into my boots. Here I had made a play for a dinner\nand got left. About a week after this I was doing a little job in the\nlaundry when I ran across the cook, and she said, \"Young man, would you\nlike a little bite to eat?\" I answered quickly, \"Yes, thank you, Mrs.\nCunningham,\" just as sweet as anything. No more \"cook\" for mine. I'll\nnever call people by their occupation again as long as I live. I'd had\nmy lesson; but I had won out on my dinner too. A short time after she\nasked me if I could read, and would I read the news to her while she was\npeeling potatoes. I answered very sweetly, \"Yes, Mrs. Cunningham,\" and I\ngot my supper.\n\nI would see Irvine once in a while, and I was always ready to give up my\njob, but he would say, \"Stay six months, get a recommend, and then you\ncan get something better. Just let God take care of you, and you'll come\nout away on top of the heap. God is going to use you in His work. Just\nkeep on trusting and don't get discouraged.\" He always had a word of\ncheer, and I thank God that I did trust, and things came out better than\nI even thought.\n\nYou readers who are just starting out in the Christian life, just let\nGod have His way. Don't think you know it all. Go right ahead, have a\nlittle sand, and trust Him. He will never leave you, and you will have\nthe best in this life and in the life to come. It's an everlasting joy,\nand isn't it worth working for, boys?\n\n\nPRAYERS IN A LODGING-HOUSE\n\nI remember, when I knelt down in 105 Bowery beside my cot to ask God's\nblessing and guidance, how a laugh used to go around the dormitory.\nThere were about seventy beds in the place, and it was something unusual\nto see a man on his knees praying. But when I started out to be a man I\nmeant business, and I said I would say my prayers every night. I don't\nthink God can think much of a man who says his prayers lying on his\nback, unless he's sick. I believe God expects us to get on our knees,\nfor if a thing is worth getting it's worth thanks. I didn't mind the\nlaugh so much, but I did some: it was sort of cutting. I'm no coward\nphysically, and can handle myself fairly well at the present time, but\nwhen it came to getting on my knees I was a rank coward.\n\nA lodging-house is a queer affair. Men of all nations sleep there--some\ndrunk, some dreaming aloud, others snoring. The cots are about two feet\napart--just room for you to pass between them. It takes a lot of grit\nand plenty of God's grace to live a Christian life in a lodging-house. I\ngo in them every day now to look after the other fellow: if he is sick\nor wants to go to the hospital I'll see to that; but I never can forget\nthe time when I was one of those, inmates.\n\nOne night I had just got on my knees when boots, shoes, and pillows\ncame sailing at me; one boot hit me, and it did hurt for fair. Then a\nwhiskey flask hit me, and that hurt. I was boiling with rage. I got up,\nbut I didn't say anything; no one would have answered me if I had; they\nwere all asleep, by the way. We call such business hazing, but it's mean\nand dirty.\n\nI went to work as usual the next day, and thought and planned all day\nhow to catch one of those fellows. I figured out the following plan: I\ndid not go to bed that night until quite late; the gas was turned down\nlow, and I made noise enough for them to hear me. When I was ready for\nbed I knelt down and turned my head as quick as a flash to catch the\nthrowers, for I knew they would throw again. Just as I turned I caught\nthe fellow in the act of throwing a bottle. It seemed as though the\nDevil had got me for fair again, for I made a rush for that fellow, got\nhim by the throat, pulled him out of bed and jumped on him, and I think\nif it hadn't been for the watchman I would have killed him; but he said,\n\"Dan, for God's sake don't kill him!\" I let up, and, standing upon that\ndormitory floor, beds all around, every one awake, about 11 P. M., I\ngave my first testimony, which was something like this: \"Men, I've quit\ndrinking--been off the stuff about two weeks, a thing I have not done in\nyears unless locked up. I've knelt and asked God to keep me sober and\nhave thanked Him for His kindness to me. Now if you men don't let me\nalone in the future I'll lick you or you will me.\"\n\nI went to my cot and knelt down, but I was so stirred up I couldn't\npray. I wondered if there was going to be any more throwing, but that\nnight finished it. I went up in the opinion of those men one hundred per\ncent. I lived there until the place burned down, and was one of the\nfortunate ones that got out alive when so many lost their lives, and I\nalways said my prayers and was respected by the men. I was making lots\nof friends and attending Sunday-school, prayer-meeting, and mission\nservices.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF AN OVERCOAT\n\nOne Thanksgiving-time I was hired to carry dinners to the poor families\nby the New York City Mission. Mrs. Lucy Bainbridge was the\nsuperintendent. God bless her, for she was and is one good woman! I\ndidn't have any overcoat and it was cold; but I didn't mind, as I was\nmoving about carrying the dinners. This was about two months after I had\ndecided to follow Christ, and I still had the furnace job when I met\nMrs. Bainbridge.\n\nShe knew me by sight and asked me how I was getting on, and where was my\novercoat? I told her I was getting along all right, but I had no\novercoat. She said, \"That's too bad! Come with me and we will see if\nthere's one in the Dorcas Room\"--a place where clothes are kept that\ngood people send in for the poor who haven't so much. There were quite a\nfew coats there, any one of which would have suited me, but they didn't\nplease Mrs. Bainbridge. She said, \"David, come into the office.\" She\ngave me a letter to Rogers, Peet & Co., and told me to take it down\nthere and wait for an answer.\n\nI went down and gave the letter to a clerk, and it was great to see him\neye me up. I didn't know then how the letter read, but have since\nlearned that the contents were as follows: \"Give this man about the best\novercoat you have in the store.\" No wonder he looked me over!\n\nWe began trying on coats, found one that suited us, and he said, \"You\nmight as well wear it home.\" \"Not on your natural!\" I said. \"Put it in\npaper or a box.\" I didn't think that coat was for me, for it was fifty\ndollars if a cent. Picture me with twelve dollars per month and three\nmeals, and a fifty-dollar overcoat!\n\nI went back to Mrs. Bainbridge, and she told me to try the coat on,\nwhich I did. Then she said, \"David, that coat is for you, but listen,\nDavid; that coat is mine. Now I wouldn't go into a saloon, and I want\nyou to promise me that you will never enter a saloon while you wear it.\"\nI promised, and that coat never went into a saloon, and I wore it for\nfive years. Then I sent it to old Ireland, to my wife's father, and\nperhaps he is still wearing it. I often see Mrs. Bainbridge, and she is\nalways the same kind friend, God bless her! I have entry to the Dorcas\nRoom when I need anything to help a man that I'm trying to put on his\nfeet, and that's often.\n\n\nDELIVERING TELEPHONE BOOKS\n\nIt was coming spring and I was no longer needed at the furnace. I left\nwith a recommendation for six months and a standing invitation from the\ncook for my meals, and she never went back on me. I don't know where she\nis now, but if she reads this book I want her to know that I appreciated\nall she did for me when I started this new life and I am sure she will\nbe delighted to know that she helped a little.\n\nI got another job delivering telephone books. When you see a poor\nseedy-looking man delivering these books, give him a kind word, for\nthere's many a good man at that job to-day hoping for something better.\nThis job was a hard one and you had to hustle to make a dollar a day,\nbut I did not mind the hustling: I was strong, the drink had gone out of\nme, and I felt good. I was anxious to get a job as porter in some\nwholesale house, and delivering these books gave me a good chance to\nask, and ask I did in nearly every store where I delivered a book. I\nalways got the same reply, \"No one wanted.\" I stayed at this about\nthree months, and was getting discouraged. It looked as though I'd never\nget a steady position.\n\nI had only a few more days of work, and was just finishing my deliveries\none afternoon. I had Twenty-second Street and North River as my last\ndelivery, which took me into the lumber district and into the office of\nJohn McC----. I asked the young man in charge of the office if they\nwanted a young fellow to work. He asked me what I could do, and I said,\n\"Anything.\" Now it's an old saying, \"A man that can do everything can't\ndo much of anything.\"\n\nWe went down into the yard and he asked me the different qualities of\nlumber and their names. I'll never forget the first question he asked\nme, which was, \"What's the name of that piece of timber?\" I said, \"Oak,\"\nand I was right. After testing me on the other piles he asked me if I\ncould measure, and could I tally? I told him I could, and he said,\n\"I'll give you $9.00. Is that enough?\" I said that would do for a\nstarter, and he told me to be on hand at seven o'clock in the morning.\n\nI delivered the few books I had left, drew my money, got a shave, bought\na leather apron, and went to bed. I was up and at John McC----'s yard at\n6:30.\n\nHe was Police Commissioner then, and one of the whitest men I ever ran\nup against.\n\nI started in at my third job since I had been converted. I was at home\nin the lumber yard, as I had learned the business While roughing it in\nTonawanda, Troy, Syracuse, Buffalo, and on the Lakes. And when a man\nlearns anything, if he isn't a fool he can always work at it again. Here\nI was at a business few could tell me much about.\n\n\nTESTIFYING IN A LUMBER YARD\n\nThe lumber-handlers as a rule are a free and easy set, nearly all\ndrinking men. It's warm work, and when a man is piling all day, pulling\nup plank after plank, he thinks a pint of beer does him good. They rush\nthe can--first the piler, then the stager, and then the ground man, then\nthe piler again, and so on. I've counted as many as twenty pints in one\nday among one gang. I soon got the run of the yard and made friends with\nall the men; but if ever I was up against temptation it was there in\nthat yard, where I worked a long time. They would ask me to have a\ndrink, but I told them time and time again that I did not care about it;\nI was off the stuff.\n\nOften when I was sweating after pushing down a load of lumber from the\npile and keeping tally at the same time, the Devil would whisper to me,\n\"Oh, have a glass of beer; it won't hurt you; it will do you good,\" and\nI was tempted to join with the men and drink. I had to keep praying hard\nand fast, for I was sorely tempted. But, thank God, I've yet to take my\nfirst drink since 1892!\n\nGod was always near me, and He often said, \"Tell the men all about it,\nhow you have asked Me to help you, and they won't ask you to drink any\nmore.\" I wondered what the men would say if I told them. I was a little\ntimid about doing it. I had testified once or twice in a meeting, but\nthat was easy compared with this. But after a while I got up courage and\ntold the men why I did not drink. I said, \"I have been a hard man and\nloved drink so much that it separated me from family and friends, put me\nin prison, and took my manhood away. One year ago I took Jesus as my\nhelper and asked Him to take away this love for drink, and He did. I\nwould rather lose my right arm than go back again, and with God's help\nI'll win out and never drink again.\" I often talked with them about it,\ntold them it was a good way to live, and to think it over. I found out\nin a little while that the men thought better of me, and respected me\nmore than before. I have heard some of them say, \"I wish I could give up\nthe drink,\" and some did, and are living good lives without the cursed\nstuff.\n\nI've met some of these men on the Bowery, \"down and out,\" and I've stood\nby them and tried to point them in the right direction. There's one man,\na fine noble fellow, who used to work with me in my lumber days, who is\non the Bowery at the present time, unable to give up the drink. He is\nalways glad to see me and says, \"God bless you, Dan, and keep you away\nfrom the stuff. I wish I could!\" I tell him to ask God and have faith,\nand then I slip him a meal ticket and give him a God bless you!\n\n[Illustration: MR. RANNEY AND ONE OF HIS \"BOYS.\" DAVE RANNEY, ALIAS\nDANNY REILLY.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nPROMOTED\n\n\nI had never lost sight of my friend Irvine. We used to see each other\noften and have a good chat about things in general. He said he was going\nto take charge of the Sea and Land Church and wanted me to come and be\nthe sexton. It would give me $30.00 per month, rooms, coal and gas. He\nthought it would be a good thing for me to become reunited to my wife\nMary, and I thought so too, but she had to give her consent. We had been\nseparated for a number of years, and though I had been calling on her\nfor over a year she never took any stock in my conversion. Here I was\nfifteen months a redeemed man, trying to get my wife to live with me\nagain. I prayed often, but I never thought she would consent.\n\n\nCHURCH OF SEA AND LAND\n\nI was married young, and she was only a girl, and though she loved me\nshe could not forget the misery and hardships she went through. I never\nhit her in my life, but I wouldn't support her: I'd rather support the\nrumseller and his family, all for that cursed drink. And I didn't blame\nher for being afraid to chance it again. \"A burnt child dreads the\nfire.\" I had made her life very hard, and she was afraid. She was glad\nto know that I had given up drink, but doubted my remaining sober.\nFinally she agreed to live with me again if I remained sober for three\nyears. I was put on probation--the Methodist way. Now I had been on the\nlevel for fifteen months, and I had twenty-one months more to go. She\nwas strong-minded and would stick to her word, so I did not see how I\ncould take the job as sexton.\n\nI told Mr. Irvine that was the way things stood and for him to get\nsome one else. He said, \"Pretty slim chances, but we will pray about\nit.\" He and I went up to Sixty-seventh Street, where Mrs. Ranney was\nworking as laundress, and after a little talk we came to the point. I\nwas a go-ahead man, and tried every way to get her to promise to come\ndown, but she wouldn't say yes. I'll never forget that night in the\nlaundry if I live a hundred years; she took no stock in me at all. I was\ngiving it up as a bad job; she wouldn't come, and that settled it. We\ngot up to go when Mr. Irvine asked if she would object to a word of\nprayer. She said, \"No,\" and we had a little prayer-meeting right there.\nWe bade Mrs. Ranney good-night and left.\n\nThe next night she came down and we showed her all over the church. The\nsexton who had been living there hadn't kept the living apartments\nclean, and she did not like them very much, but when she went away she\nsaid, \"If I only could be sure you would keep sober I would go with\nyou, but I can't depend on you. Fifteen months isn't long enough; you\nwill have to go three years. I don't think I'll come.\" I said, \"That\nsettles it! But listen: whether you come or not, I am not going back to\nthe old life.\" The next day I received a telegram from Mary saying,\n\n     \"COME UP FOR MY THINGS.\"\n\nI jumped on a single truck, drove up to Sixty-seventh Street, and got\nall my wife's things, trunks, band-boxes and everything, and it did not\ntake me long to get down to the church. Mary was already there, and I\ntook charge of the Church of the Sea and Land at Market and Henry\nStreets, where I remained as sexton for ten years. I would not take\n$10,000 for the character I received from the trustees when I resigned.\nI always look back with pleasure to those good old days at the church,\nthe many friends we made, and the many blessings I received while\nthere.\n\nIt did not take us long to get the run of the place. We sent for our\nboy, who was in Ireland with his mother's folks. When he came I didn't\nknow him, as I hadn't seen him since he was a little baby. What a\nsurprise it was when at my sister's house, after supper, she went into\nthe front room, leaving me alone in the kitchen, when a manly little\nfellow came in and looked me over and said, \"Hello, father, I'm your son\nWillie. How are you?\"\n\nI looked at him, but couldn't say a word, for I had almost forgotten\nthat I had a son. I opened my arms and the boy came with a rush, threw\nhis arms around my neck, and said, \"I love you, dad.\"\n\nI want to say here that this boy has never given me any trouble and we\nhave been companions ever since that night. He married a good Christian\ngirl and is in his own home to-day.\n\nI heard a little laugh, and there were my sister and Mary taking it all\nin. I could see then that it was a put-up job, this getting me to go up\nto my sister's house.\n\nTime passed and we were doing finely. One day we heard the boy playing\nthe piano, and we got him a teacher. In a short time he was able to play\nfor the smaller classes, the juniors. Then my friend Mrs. Bainbridge got\nhim a better teacher. He improved rapidly, and now he is organist in the\nFifty-seventh Street Presbyterian Church.\n\nI tell you it pays to be a Christian and on the level. If I hadn't done\nanything else but give that boy a musical education, it would have paid.\nI'm proud of him.\n\n\nMY FIRST SERMON\n\nI remember the first meeting I ever led. It came about like this: I had\nbeen sexton of Sea and Land Church about four years, was growing in\ngrace and getting on finely. One Wednesday night the minister asked me\nif I would lead the prayer-meeting the following week, as he was going\naway. I told him I did not know how to lead a meeting and I was afraid\nto undertake it, as I couldn't preach a sermon. \"Oh, that's all right,\"\nhe said. \"I'll write out something, and all you will have to do is to\nstudy it a little, read it over once or twice, then get up and read it\noff.\" I told him I'd try. I'd do the best I could. So he wrote about ten\nsheets of foolscap paper, all about sinners. I remember there was a\nstory about a man going over the falls in a boat, and lots of other\ninteresting things as I thought. I took the paper home and studied as\nhard as I could to get it into my head.\n\nThe night came on which I was to take the meeting--that eventful night\nin my life. I got on the platform, took the papers out of my pocket,\nand opened the big Bible at the chapter I was going to read, and laid\nout the talk just as I thought a minister might do. I read the chapter,\nthen we had a song, then it was up to me.\n\nDo you know I made the greatest mistake of my life that night! I went on\nthat platform trusting in my own strength and not asking God's help. I\ngot a swelled head and imagined I was the real thing. But God in His own\nway showed me where I was standing and brought me up with a short turn.\n\nI began reading the article written, and was getting on well, as I\nthought, taking all the credit myself and not giving God any. I read\nthree pages all right, when some one opened the window. It was a March\nnight, very windy, and when the window was opened something happened,\nand I thank God that it did.\n\nThe wind came directly toward me and took the sermon I was preaching and\nscattered it all over the room. I didn't know what to say or do. I\nforgot everything that was written on the papers, and I knew if I tried\nto get them back I would make a fool of myself.\n\nThere was a smile on every face in the congregation. There I stood,\nwishing the floor would open and let me through. I certainly was in a\nbox!\n\nJust at this moment God spoke to me and said, \"David, I did that, and I\ndid it for your own good. Now listen to me. You were not cut out for a\nminister. Just get up and tell these people how God for Christ's sake\nsaved you, and I'll be with you.\"\n\nI listened to the voice, bowed my head in prayer, and it seemed as\nthough the Lord put the words in my mouth. I told that roomful of people\nof my past life and how God saved and had blessed me for four years. We\nhad a grand meeting and a number were saved that night, and, above all,\nI received one of the greatest blessings of my life.\n\nOn his return the minister said, \"I hear you had a great meeting. How\ndid the reading go!\" I told him what had happened, and he was\nastonished, but saw God's hand in it, and said so.\n\nFrom that night on I never wrote up anything to read to my audience, and\nI have spoken all over within a circle of fifty miles of New York, and\neven farther away, including Boston, Philadelphia, Albany, and Troy. I\ntell the Bowery boys I'm what is called an extemporaneous talker. I\ndon't know the first word I'm going to say when I get on my feet, but\nGod never leaves me: I just open my mouth and He fills it. Praise His\nname!\n\nIt was a lesson to me and I have never forgotten it.\n\n\nTHE TESTIMONY OF A GAMBLER\n\nWhile I was sexton of the old Sea and Land Church I met among other men\none who came to be a great friend. We called ourselves pals and loved\neach other dearly, and yet I have never been able to bring him to\nChrist. When I told him I was writing the story of my life he said he\nwanted to add a few lines to tell, he said, what I could not. This is\nwhat he wrote:\n\n\"'Lead, Kindly Light,' was the song; I'll never forget it. I heard it on\nthe Bowery fifteen years ago. I was passing a Mission, and hearing it I\nwent in--I don't know why to this day. After the singing some one\nprayed, and I started to go out when the leader of the meeting called\nfor testimonies for Christ. I waited and listened, and I heard a voice\nthat made me sit down again. I shall never forget the man that was\nspeaking. What he said sounded like the truth. It was the greatest\nsermon I ever listened to. He was telling how much God had done for him,\nsaved him from drink and made a Christian man of him. I knew it was the\ntruth. I went home that night to wife and children, and told my wife\nwhere I had been. She laughed and said, 'Dan, you are getting daffy.'\nFrom that night on I have been a better husband and father.\n\n\"I left home one night about six o'clock and went down Cherry Street to\na saloon where the gang hang out. I had been telling the boys about the\nthings I had heard at the Mission. A young man said, 'Sullivan, there\nwas a young preacher down at my house and asked me to come to a young\npeople's meeting at the Sea and Land Church. I promised I would go, but\nI haven't got the courage.' In a moment I got churchy. I had never been\nin a church in New York. I said, 'Come on,' and we went to that meeting.\nI am glad I did. That night I met my friend Ranney. As I was passing out\nof the meeting he greeted me--he was the sexton--with a handshake and a\n'Good-night, old pal; come again!' There is something in a handshake,\nand as we shook I felt I had made another friend. I'll never forget that\nnight. We became fast friends. There is no one that knows Ranney better\nthan Sullivan. I have watched him in his climb to the top step by step\nto be in the grand position he fills, that of Lodging House Missionary\nto the Bowery under the New York City Mission and Tract Society.\n\n\"One day we were going up the Bowery and passing a Mission went in. We\nheard the testimonies, and I turned to Ranney and said, 'Are you a\nChristian?' He said, 'I am.' I said, 'Get up, then, and tell the men\nwhat God has done for you.' Now here I was a gambler telling this man to\nacknowledge God, and I did not do it myself! Ranney rose and turned all\ncolors. He finally settled down to that style of talking which he alone\npossesses. He told his story for the first time. I have heard him\nhundreds of times since, but to me that night fifteen years ago was the\ngreatest talk he ever gave, telling how God saved him from a crooked and\ndrunken life. It had the ring! I loved him from that night on. When he\ngot through I said, 'Dave, God met you face to face to-night. You will\nbe a different man from now on. God spoke to-night, not you. It was the\nbest talk I ever heard. It took you a long time to start, but nothing\ncan stop you now. One word of advice, pal, I'll give you: Don't get\nstuck on yourself. God will use you when He won't others among your own\nkind. He will make a preacher of you to men of your own stamp.' And\nRanney is to-day what I said and thought he would be.\n\n\"You would think that a man who had been the pal of Ranney for three\nyears would never say an unkind word to one that he loved, but that is\nwhat I did. We had a misunderstanding, and I said things to Dave Ranney\nthat he never will forget. I called him every name on the calendar. He\nwas speechless and I thought afraid of me. He never said a word. I left\nhim standing there as if petrified--his friend and pal talking to him\nlike that, his pal that sang with him, and joked with him!\n\n\"I went home and swore that never again would I have anything to do\nwith a Christian. I had forgotten for the moment all the little\nkindnesses he had done and how after I had been on a drunk he had been\nat my bedside, how he had spoken words of cheer and comfort and said,\n'Dan, old man, cheer up. Some day you are going to cut out drink'; and I\nwant to say right now that I have not drank in over twelve years. I'd\nforgotten all that. I only thought of how I might hang the best fellow\non this earth. I came to myself ten minutes after I left him, but the\nwork had been done, and I made up my mind I'd never see or speak to him\nagain. I'd go back to my old life of gambling and cheating, and I did.\n\n\"Five months passed. I had not seen Ranney in all that time. I was\nplaying poker one night, the 16th of September, 1899, with no more\nthought of Dave than if he had never lived. It was in the old ---- ----\nHotel on Water Street, a little before eight in the evening. My partner\nand I were having a pretty easy time stealing the other men's\nmoney--some call it cheating--when my thoughts turned to my old\nChristian pal Ranney. It was the eighth anniversary of his conversion.\nQuick as a flash I jumped to my feet and said, 'Boys, I'll be back in an\nhour. I've got to go!' My partner thought I had been caught cheating and\nwas going to cash his chips. I said, 'I'll be back in a little while.'\n\n\"I ran all the way up to the Bowery to the place where Ranney was\nholding his meeting. The Mission was packed. There were a lot of\nbig-guns on the platform. No one saw me that knew me. Ranney was asking\nfor those testimonies that would help the other fellow. I got on my feet\nand faced him. He turned pale. He thought I was going to set him out\nthen and there. He looked me straight in the eye and began to come\nslowly toward me, and when I had finished we had one another by the\nhand. This is part of what I said that night:\n\n\"'I make no pretense at being a Christian. I am a gambler. But the man\nstanding there--Dave Ranney--was once my chum and pal. We had a little\nmisunderstanding some five months ago, and I am here to-night to ask his\nforgiveness. Forgive me, Dave. I just left a card-game to come up to\nyour anniversary and help make you happy. I know you don't believe I\nmeant what I said. I love you more to-night than any time since I first\nmet you. Why, men, I would lay down my life that Ranney is one of the\nbest and whitest Christians in New York to-night. It ain't the big\nthings that a man does that show his real character. No, it's the little\nthings. I have watched Ranney, been with him; his sorrows are my\nsorrows, his joys my joys. I can't say any more to-night.'\n\n\"Dave begged me to stay. Mr. Seymour came down to speak to me, but I'd\ndone what I came to do, and I had got out quick--from Heaven to Hell,\nfrom my Christian pal to my pal in crime at the card-table.\n\n\"I've never been converted. If I was I'd go like my pal Ranney out in\nthe world and tell how God saved me, and not let the ministers do all\nthe talking. At present all I can say is, 'God bless my pal! and some of\nthese days perhaps I'll be with him on the platform telling what God did\nfor me. God speed the day!'\"\n\n\nTRIED IN THE FIRE\n\nI had been sexton for over five years, and had been greatly blessed,\nwhen my wife became ill. Things did not always run smoothly, for there\nare ups and downs even in a sexton's life, and I had mine. When Mary and\nI took up again I determined to do all in my power to make amends for my\nformer treatment of her, to make life as pleasant for her as I could,\nand I did. When she was first taken sick I sent her and the boy over to\nIreland to visit her parents, thinking the change would do her good. She\nwas better for a little while, but on the 14th of March, 1902, she died.\nMy boy and I were at her bedside and promised to meet her on the other\nside, and with the help of God we are going to keep our word.\n\nYou know there are always \"knockers,\" and I knew quite a few. In every\nchurch and society there they are with their little hatchets ready to\ntrim and knock any one that goes ahead of them. Some of these people\nsaid of me, \"Oh, Ranney is under Christian influences. He is sexton. He\nis afraid. Wait until he runs up against a lot of trouble, then he will\ngo back to the Bowery again and drink worse than ever.\" I do think some\nof those people would have liked to see it happen. I've seen one of them\nin a sanitarium to be treated for drink who was my worst knocker, and I\ntold him I would pray for him. I'm not talking of the good Christian\npeople. They don't know how to \"knock,\" and I thank God for all such. I\nhad a thousand friends for every \"knocker,\" and they were ready to help\nme with kind words, money, or in any other way when I was in trouble.\n\nJust as an illustration of this take the act of the poor fellows of the\nMidnight Mission in Chinatown when my wife died. They wanted to show\ntheir sympathy and their love, and a delegation of them came in a body\nand placed a wreath on Mary's coffin. I learned afterwards how they all\nchipped in for the collection--some a few cents, some a nickel. Don't\nthink for a moment that the Bowery down-and-out has no heart, for it\nisn't so. Many a tough-looking fellow with a jumper instead of a shirt\nhas one of the truest hearts that beats. I only wish I could help them\nmore than I do.\n\nWhen God took Mary away I thought it was hard, and I was sore and ready\nto do anything, I didn't care what. There was a lady, Miss Brown, a\ntrained nurse, who had been with Mary all through her illness, whose\ncheering words did me a wonderful lot of good. One thing she said was,\n\"Trust.\" God bless her!\n\n\nA TESTING TIME\n\nMy old friend the Devil was in evidence during this hard time in all his\npomp and glory. I could hear him say, \"You see how God treats you! He\ndon't care much or He wouldn't have taken Mary away. What did He do it\nfor? Why, He don't know you even a little bit. Come, Dan, I'll be your\nfriend; didn't we always have a good time together on the Bowery? Go get\na 'ball'; it'll do you good and make you forget your troubles. You have\na good excuse even if any one sees you.\" I was tempted, but I said, \"Not\nthis time, you old Devil: get behind my back!\" People said, \"Keep your\neye on Ranney; he's up against it; now he will start to drink and go\ndown and out.\"\n\nI'm going to tell you how God came and helped me in my hour of need. It\nwas the day of the funeral, the 17th of March, 1902. The people who were\nhelping had gone home to get ready to attend the service, and my boy and\nI were left all alone with the dead. We were feeling pretty bad. My boy\nhad lost the best friend he ever had or would have in this world. Some\nfathers are all right and love their children, but it isn't like a\nmother's love. No wonder he was weeping and feeling badly.\n\nWe were walking about the room saying nothing, just thinking, and\nwondering what would happen next. We happened to meet just at the head\nof the casket (God's doing), and stood there as though held by some\nunseen power, when my boy opens up like this: \"Pop, you don't want me to\nsmoke any cigarettes, do you?\" I looked at him, astonished at such a\nquestion at this time, but I said, \"No, Willie, I don't want you to\nsmoke and hope you never will.\" Then he said, \"Father, you don't want\nme to drink, do you?\" I wondered at these questions, and looked at him\nwith tears in my eyes. I said, \"No, Bill, my poor boy, I would rather\nsee you dead and in your coffin beside your poor mother, and know you\nwere going to be buried to-day, than to know you would ever drink or be\nlike your father was. Bill, don't you ever take the first glass of beer\nor whiskey! Ask God to keep you from it.\"\n\nI wondered what was coming next, but I didn't have to wait long. The boy\nsaid, \"The people are watching you and say you won't come back from the\ngrave without having a drink, and that you won't be sober a week from\nnow. Pop, trust in the God that saved you ten years ago, won't you? You\nknow we promised to meet mother. Fool these people and let them see that\nyou are the man and father I love.\"\n\nI straightened up, looked at the lad, and out went my hand. We shook\nhands and I said, \"Son, with the help of God I'll never drink again.\"\nAnd there at the head of the coffin we knelt and asked God to help us\nand make us men such as He would have us be; we asked it in the name and\nfor the sake of the Christ who died for us.\n\nThat was March 17, 1902, and we have kept the faith up to the present\ntime.\n\nI'll never forget that prayer. Don't you think it pays to be on the\nlevel with God? If you ask Him to help you He will. Just trust Him and\nhave a little backbone, and you will win out every time. I know now that\nthis experience was God teaching me a lesson and drawing me closer to\nHim.\n\nThings went differently now; I could not run the church very well alone,\nso after a few months I handed in my resignation. The trustees wanted me\nto stay, but I couldn't; sad memories would come up, and I simply had\nto go. I left the old church where I had spent so many happy days with a\nrecord of ten years that money could not buy. I go there once in a while\neven now.\n\n[Illustration: THE CHURCH OF SEA AND LAND.]\n\n[Illustration: MIDNIGHT MISSION, CHINATOWN.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE MISSION IN CHINATOWN\n\n\nAbout two years previous to my wife's death a man, Mr. H. Gould, called\non me and asked me if I was the Ranney that was converted on the Bowery.\nI said, \"Yes, I was saved about ten years ago.\" He said, \"I've a\nproposal to make. I hear you are a natural-born leader of men, and I\nthink you look it. I'm one of the trustees of the Midnight Mission in\nChinatown. It's a hard place, but will you come and take charge of it? I\ncan't keep any one there longer than a few weeks; they get drunk or are\nlicked or done up some way. I want some one with backbone; will you take\nit?\" I thanked him. He had said enough to make any one refuse a job like\nthat, but I knew all the ins and outs of that quarter, and I thought\nI'd like the work. I asked God's guidance, and I spoke with Mr.\nDennison, the pastor of the Church of Sea and Land, and he said it was\nwonderful the way God was leading me. \"Go and see what it's like,\" he\nsaid. \"Try it. You can run the church also, but if you see you can't get\nalong, give it up.\"\n\nMy wife and boy were planning to go on a visit to Ireland to see if it\nwould improve her health, and when I told her of Mr. Gould's proposal\nshe did not want me to go: she was afraid I'd get killed. But I said it\nwould help to pass the time away until she came back. So in 1900 I took\ncharge of the Chinatown Midnight Mission, remained there six years, and\nleft to be a lodging-house missionary.\n\nI well remember the first night. There sat some of the old gang. They\ngave me the glad hand, and asked me if I was going to be the bouncer; if\nso, I could count on them. I said. \"Yes, I'm to be the 'main guy,'\nbouncer, etc.\" They were pleased, and gave me credit of always being on\nthe level. I made lots of friends while there.\n\n\nLEADING A MEETING\n\nI never had to use force to keep order but once while in that Mission. I\nhad been in charge two months or so when I got notice that the leader\nwould not be there that night, so it was up to me to lead the meeting.\nI'll never forget that night. There are some things a person can't\nforget, and that was one of them.\n\nIt was snowing and very cold outside, and the Mission was packed with\nmen and a few women. These poor creatures had no place to go, no home;\nthey were outcasts, there through various sins, but mostly through love\nof rum. I hoped some visitor would come in and I would get him to lead,\nbut no one came, and it was up to me to give the boys a talk. I had\nnever forgotten my first sermon at the church, so, asking God to help\nme, I went on the platform. I read the story of the Prodigal Son. That\nwas easy; the hard part was to come later on. I asked if some one would\nplay the piano, and a young fellow came up that looked as though he\nhadn't had a meal or slept in a bed in a month, but when he touched the\nkeys I knew he was a master. I found out later that he was a prodigal,\nhad left home, spent all, and was on the Bowery living on the husks.\n\nWe began by singing a hymn, after which I got up and began to talk to\nthe men. I gave my testimony, how God had saved me from a life of\ncrookedness and crime, and that I was no better than the worst man on\nthe Bowery, except by the grace of God. There was one big fellow sitting\nin the front row who was trying to guy me. While I was talking he would\nmake all sorts of remarks, such as, \"Oh, what do you know about it? Go\naway back and sit down,\" etc. I asked him to keep still or he would\nhave to get out. I went on trying to talk, but that man would always\nanswer back with some foolish remark. He was trying to stop the\nmeeting--so he told me afterwards.\n\nThere I was. I could not go on if he did, and I told him that when I got\nthrough I would give him a chance to talk. Now there were over four\nhundred men looking at me, wondering what I would do. Some of my old\npals shouted, \"Put him out, Danny!\" and the meeting was in an uproar. I\nknew if I did not run that meeting, or if I showed the \"white feather,\"\nI was done as a leader or anything else connected with that place. I\nsaid to him, \"My friend, if you don't keep still I'll make an example of\nyou.\" I could have called the police and had him locked up, but I didn't\nwant any one to go behind bars and know that I had him put there. I had\nbeen there and that was enough. I've never had one of these poor men\narrested in my life. I used kindness.\n\nI began to talk again, and he started in again, but before he got many\nwords out of his mouth I gave him a swinging upper cut which landed on\nthe point of his jaw, lifting him about two feet, and down he went on\nhis back. My old pals came up to help, but I said, \"Sit down, men; I can\nhandle two like that fellow.\" I called out a hymn; then I told him to\nget up, and if he thought he could behave himself he might sit down, if\nnot, he could get out. Well, he sat down and was as good as could be.\n\nThat was the making of me. The men all saw it. They knew that I was one\nof them, they saw that I could handle myself, and I never had any\ntrouble after that. And the man I hit is to-day one of my best friends.\n\nI told the men that the Devil sent in one of his angels once in a while,\nthe same as to-night, to disturb the meeting-place of God. I said, \"You\nmen would be a marker for God if you would only take a stand for God\nand cut out your sins. I never in my palmy days disturbed a meeting,\ndrunk or sober. I always respected God's house. If I didn't like it I\nwent out, and I think, fellows, that's one of the reasons He picked me\nup when I was away down in sin and made me what I am to-night. He will\ndo the same for any one here; why not give Him a chance?\"\n\n\nSOMETHING NEW\n\nThis was something new for the men. Here was a man that they knew, no\nstranger, but one of themselves eight years before. He had been in\nprison with them, drunk with them, stolen with them, and in fact had\ndone everything that they did, and now here he was telling his old pals\nhow they could be better men, how God would help them if they would only\ngive Him a chance.\n\nGod was with me that night. It didn't seem to be Ranney at all. I asked\nwho wanted to get this religion, who wanted me to pray for them, and\nabout seventy-five hands went up. A number of men came forward and took\na stand for Jesus. It was early in the morning when the meeting closed.\nIt was cold and snowing outside.\n\nIt is a hard matter to get these men to declare themselves, for they are\nafraid of the laugh, but I told them not to mind that; that my pals gave\nme the laugh when I started out. \"If we are honest and have sand and\nhelp ourselves after asking God's help,\" I told them, \"we will take no\nnotice of a grin or a sneer. My companions wagged their heads when I\nstarted out in the new life in September, 1892. They said, 'Oh, we'll\ngive Danny a couple of weeks. He's trying to work the missionary; he'll\nbe back again!' Don't you men see I'm still trusting? and there isn't a\nman in the Mission right now that can say I'm not on the level, that\nI've drank whiskey or beer or done an unmanly act since I gave my life\ninto His keeping. Why? Because I'm trusting, not in man or woman, but\nI'm honestly trusting in God.\"\n\nI was satisfied that among the whole roomful of men there were not half\na dozen that had a bed to sleep on that night. I didn't have the money\nto put them to bed, but I departed from the rules, and calling them to\norder, said, \"Boys, how many of you would like to be my guest for the\nnight?\" You ought to have seen them look at me! Never such a thing had\nbeen known. It set them to thinking. The saloon-keeper wouldn't do it;\nwhat did he care for them? I said, \"Boys, I'm not doing this; I don't\nwant you to think so. It's God through me.\"\n\nMany's the night after that I kept the Mission open and let the poor\nfellows sleep there, on the chairs and on the floor, and they\nappreciated it. I was winning them through kindness. When I was ready to\ngo home to my nice warm bed, I'd read them a little riot act telling\nthem there were always a few among a lot of men that would spoil a good\nthing, ending up, \"Be good, boys, and have a good sleep. Good-night,\"\nand they would say so heartily, \"Good-night, Danny! God bless you and\nkeep you!\"\n\nLetting the men stay didn't cost me a cent, and there was a big fire to\nkeep them warm and it meant much to them, poor fellows. I had the Board\nof Health get after me quite a few times, but I'd explain things to\nthem, and they would go away saying, \"You're all right.\" Big hard men\nsaid, \"If people who want to do good would only get a place to house the\npoor unfortunates, there would be less crime and misery.\" I knew that\nwas true, and I'm praying for the day when we can have just such a\nplace, and God is going to give it in His own good time.\n\nI had won the boys, and I stayed in that Mission over six years and saw\nlots of men and women saved and living good lives. Many times\nwell-dressed men will come into my place and say, \"Mr. Ranney, don't you\nknow me?\" and when I can't place them they will tell me how I was the\nmeans of saving their lives by letting them stay in out of the cold, and\ngiving them a cup of coffee and a piece of bread in the morning. I could\ncount them by the hundreds. Praise His name!\n\n\nA POOR OUTCAST\n\nOne night just as the doors opened, there came into the Mission a woman\nwho evidently had seen better days. She was one of the poor unfortunates\nof Chinatown. She asked if she might sit down, as she was very tired and\ndid not feel well. \"Go in, Anna,\" I said, and she went in and took a\nseat. When I passed her way she said, \"Mr. Ranney, will you please give\nme a drink of water?\"\n\nNow this woman had caused me lots of trouble. She would get drunk and\ncarry on, but when sober she would be good and feel sorry. I gave her a\ncup of water and she said, \"Thank you, Dan, and may God bless you!\" An\nhour after that I gave her another cup, and she thanked me again,\nsaying, \"God bless you for your patience!\" The next time I looked at her\nshe had her head on the seat in front and I thought she was sleeping.\nNow I never wake any sleepers. I feel that an hour's sleep will do them\ngood, for when the Mission closes and they go out they have no place to\nsleep. They have to find a truck or a hallway or walk up and down the\nBowery all night. I've been there, and it takes one that has been\nthrough the mill to sympathize with the \"down-and-outs.\" So I did not\ndisturb this woman.\n\nThe meeting was over and the people were all out, when I noticed Anna\nstill in the same position. I went over and called her, and receiving no\nanswer shook her a little, but she never moved. I bent over and raised\nher head; a pair of sightless eyes seemed to look at me, and I knew she\nwas dead. I never had such a start in my life. Two hours before\nalive--now dead! I learned that she was from a town in Connecticut, of\ngood parents, who took her to her last resting-place in the family\nplot--a wayward girl who ran away from home. Her \"God bless you, Dan!\"\nstill rings in my ears and her dead face I'll never forget.\n\nHere was a case that, so far as I knew, did not come under the influence\nof God's Spirit, and I could only say, \"God have mercy on her poor\nsoul!\" but there have been scores of other women whom I have been able\nto reach and help by the grace of God. I shall never forget the \"white\nslave.\"\n\n\nRESCUED FROM A DIVE\n\nWhen I had charge of the Chinatown Mission a party of three came down to\nsee the sights and do a little slumming in the district, and they asked\nme to show them around. Now there wasn't a hole or joint in Chinatown\nor on the Bowery that I didn't know, but I didn't as a rule take women\nto such places. I don't like the idea of their looking at other people's\nmisery, and there's nothing but woe and want to be seen when you go\nslumming. Lots of it is brought on by the people themselves, but still\nthey are human and do not like to be looked at.\n\nHowever, this night was an exception, and away we went to see the\nsights. I took them to the Joss House--the temple where the Chinese pray\nto Confucius--and other places down on Cherry Hill. But they wanted to\nsee something hard, so I took them to a place that I thought was hard\nenough. If you were a stranger and went into this place and displayed a\nroll of \"the green\" you would be done up.\n\nWe went into one of the worst places on the Bowery, the women being as\nanxious to go as the rest. The waiter piloted us to a small round table,\nand we sat down and called for some soda. I'd been there before to\nbring out a man or a woman or a girl as the case might be, and was\npretty well known as \"Sky-Pilot Dan.\"\n\nThe party with me were astonished and wondered how such things as they\nsaw could exist in a city like New York. There were all classes in the\nplace, sailors, men, women, and girls, who had lost all self-respect and\nthought of nothing but the drink and the dance.\n\nWhile sitting there the lady's attention was drawn to a girl at the next\ntable who sat there looking at the lady, with the tears streaming down\nher cheeks. The lady said, \"Mr. Ranney, what is the matter with that\ngirl? Ask her to join us.\" I got another chair and asked the girl to\ncome over and sit beside the lady, who asked her how she came to be\nthere, and why she was crying.\n\nAt that the girl began to cry harder and sobbed as though her heart\nwould break. After she became a little more quiet she said, \"You look\nlike my mother, and I'll never see her again! Oh, I wish I was dead!\" We\nasked her why she didn't go home to her mother. She cried out, \"I can't!\nThey won't let me! And if I could get away how could I get to\nCincinnati, Ohio, where my mother lives?\"\n\nWe got her story from the girl, and this is how it ran: She got into\nconversation with a well-dressed woman in Cincinnati one day who said\nthat she could get her a position as stenographer and typewriter at a\nfine salary. After telling her mother about it, she and the woman\nstarted for New York, the woman paying the fare. The woman gave her an\naddress of a party, but when the poor girl got there, there was no job\nfor a typewriter; it was a very different position. The young girl had\nbeen lured from home on false promises, and here she was a \"white slave\"\nthrough no fault of her own.\n\nA difficult situation confronted us. The girl was in trouble and needed\nhelp, and what were we going to do about it? She was as pretty a girl as\nI ever saw, with large black eyes, a regular Southern type of beauty,\nand just beginning the downward career. That means, as the girls on the\nBowery put it, first the Tenderloin, then the white lights and lots of\nso-called pleasure, until her beauty begins to fade, which usually takes\nabout a year. Second, Fourteenth Street, a little lower down the grade.\nThird, the Bowery, still lower, where they get nothing but blows and\nkicks. The fourth and last step, some joint like this, the back room of\na saloon, down and out, all respect gone, nothing to live for; some\nmother's girl picked up some morning frozen stiff; the patrol, the\nmorgue, and then Potter's Field. Some mother away in a country town is\nwaiting for her girl who never comes back.\n\nGod help the mothers who read this, for it's true. Look to your girls\nand don't trust the first strange woman who comes into your house, for\nshe may be a wolf in sheep's clothing. She wants your daughter's fresh\nyoung beauty, that's her trade, and the Devil pays good and plenty.\n\nI asked the girl whether she had any friends near, and she said she had\nan aunt living on Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, that she thought might\ntake her. Then looking around the room she said, \"But he won't let me go\nanyhow.\" I followed her look, and there standing with his back to the\nwall was a man I knew. Here was this young girl made to slave and earn a\nliving for this cur! There's lots of it done in New York--well-dressed\nmen doing no work, living on the earnings of young girls.\n\nWe got the address of the aunt in Philadelphia, and I went out and sent\na message over the wire, asking if she would receive Annie if she came\nto Philadelphia. I received an answer in forty-two minutes saying,\n\"Yes, send her on. I'll meet her at the station.\"\n\nI hurried back, thanking God for the answer, and found them sitting at\nthe same table. Annie was looking better than when we first met her. I\nsaid, \"It's all right; her aunt will take care of her; now all we have\nto do is to get her to the ferry and buy her ticket.\"\n\nThere was a tap on my shoulder, and looking around I saw the man she had\npointed out, and he said, \"You want to keep your hands off that girl,\nDan, or there's going to be trouble.\" Now I knew this kind of man; I\nknew he would do me if he got a chance, and he was a big fellow at that;\nbut I thought I could hold my own with him or any of his class. I didn't\nmind what he said; all I was thinking about was getting the girl to\nCortlandt Street Ferry.\n\nWhen we got on our feet to make a start he came over and said, \"She\ndon't go out of this place; if she does there's going to be trouble.\" I\nsaid, \"Well, if you're looking for trouble you will get all that's\ncoming to you, and you'll get it good and plenty.\" And I started toward\nthe door. He came after me, asking me what I was going to do. I said,\n\"I'm not going to bother with you, I'm merely going to get a couple of\n'Bulls'--policemen--and they will give you all the trouble you want. But\nthat girl goes with me.\"\n\nHe weakened. He knew his record was bad and he did not want to go up to\n300 Mulberry Street (Police Headquarters), so he said, \"All right,\nDanny, take her, but you are doing me dirty.\"\n\nWe got down to the ferry all right, and the lady and I went to\nPhiladelphia and placed Annie in her aunt's house and bid her good-by.\n\nFrequently I get a letter from Cincinnati from Annie. She is home with\nher mother, and a team of oxen couldn't pull her away from home again.\nShe writes, \"God bless and keep you, Dan! I thank God for the night you\nfound me on the Bowery!\"\n\n\n\"TELL HER THE LATCH-STRING IS OUT\"\n\nI was in a Baptist church one Sunday night speaking before a large\naudience and had in the course of my talk told the above story. The\nmeeting had been a grand one. I felt that God had been with us all the\nway through. I noticed one man in particular in the audience while I was\ntelling this story. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was\ngreatly agitated. I was shaking hands all around after the meeting was\nover when this man came and said, \"Mr. Ranney, can I have a little talk\nwith you?\" I said, \"Yes.\" \"Wait till I get the pastor,\" he said, and in\na few minutes the minister joined us in the vestry. The man could not\nspeak. I saw there was something on his heart and mind, and wondered\nwhat it could be. I've had lots of men come and tell me all about\nthemselves, how they were going to give up stealing, drinking, and all\nother sins, but here was something different, so I waited. He tried to\nspeak, but could only sob. Finally he cried out with a choking sob,\n\"Sister!\" The minister's hand went out to his shoulder, mine also, and\nwe tried to comfort him; I never saw a man in such agony. After a little\nhe told this story:\n\n\"Mr. Ranney, I am sure God sent you here to-night. I had a lovely\nsister; she may be living yet; I don't know. Seventeen years ago she\nwent out to take a music lesson, and we have never laid eyes on her\nsince, and have never had the first line from her. Oh, if I only knew\nwhere she is! She was one of the sweetest girls you ever saw, just like\nthe girl you spoke about to-night. She was enticed away from home by a\nman old enough to be her father, who left his own family to starve. I've\nhunted for them all over. I've never passed a poor girl on the street\nwithout giving a helping hand, always thinking of my own sweet sister,\nwho might perhaps be in worse circumstances. Mr. Ranney, will you\npromise me whenever you tell that story--which I hope will be very\noften--just to mention that girl who left a New Jersey town some years\nago? Say that mother is waiting for her daughter with arms open. Say the\nlatch-string is out and there's a welcome. Perhaps--who can tell?--you\nmay be the means of sending that daughter back to home and mother!\"\n\nHe gave me his name and address, the girl's name also, and I promised\nwhat he wanted. Would to God this book might be the means of uniting\nthese separated ones and sending the gray-haired mother home to heaven\nrejoicing! Oh, how many a mother's girl is in bondage to-night for the\nwant of a helping hand and some kind friend to give advice!\n\n[Illustration: READING ROOM, SQUIRREL INN.]\n\n[Illustration: MEN'S CLUB AT CHURCH OF SEA AND LAND.]\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nBOWERY WORK\n\n\nGod moves in a mysterious way to work out His ends, and I can testify\nthat His dealings with me have been wonderful indeed,--far beyond\nanything that I have ever merited. During all the years since my\nconversion I had always kept in touch with Dr. A. F. Schauffler,\nSuperintendent of the City Mission and Tract Society, visiting him at\nhis office once in a while, and he was always glad to see me. He would\nask me about my work and we would have a little talk together.\n\n\nLODGING-HOUSE MISSIONARY\n\nOne day I said, \"Dr. Schauffler, do you know I'm a protege of the New\nYork City Mission?\" He said, \"I know it, and we have kept our eyes on\nyou for the last ten years, and have decided to make you Lodging-House\nMissionary to the Bowery, if you accept.\"\n\nPraise God! Wasn't it wonderful, after thirteen years of God's grace in\nmy life, to get such an appointment! Lodging-House Missionary--I\ncouldn't understand it! It struck me as being queer in this way; the man\nwho under God was the means of my salvation, who was a missionary when I\nwas converted, had resigned a few years after to become a minister, and\nnow here was Ranney, the ex-crook and drunk, being asked to take the\nsame position!\n\nWe don't understand God's ways and purposes; they are too wonderful for\nus; but here I am on the Bowery, my old stamping-ground, telling the\nstory of Jesus and His love. And I don't believe there's a man in this\nbig world that has a greater story to tell of God's love and mercies\nthan I have. I'm writing this seventeen years after being saved, and\nI'll still say it's a grand thing to be a Christian. I would not go\nback to the old life for anything in the world.\n\nPart of my work has been in Mariners' Temple, corner of Oliver and Henry\nStreets, Chatham Square, New York City, right on the spot where I did\neverything on the calendar but murder. There I could see the men every\nnight, for we had a meeting all the year round, and every day from 1 to\n2 P. M. We invited all those who were in trouble to come, and if we\ncould help them we gladly did so. If they wanted to go to the hospital\nwe placed them there and would do whatever we could for them, always\ntelling them of Jesus the Mighty to save.\n\n\nFROM NOTHING TO $5000 A YEAR\n\nI remember and love a man who was my partner in the Tuesday night\nmeetings in the Mariners' Temple, when we fed the poor fellows during\nthe winter--a fine Christian gentleman. You would never think to look\nat him he was once such a drunkard! He told me his story. He had spent\nmonths hanging out in the back room of a saloon on Park Row, only going\nout once in a while to beg a little food. He had sold everything he\ncould sell and he was a case to look at. He must have been, or the\nproprietor would never have said, \"Say, you are a disgrace to this\nplace! Get out and don't come in here again!\" The poor fellow went out.\nHe was down and out sure enough! He thought he would end it all, and he\nbent his steps toward the East River, intending to jump in, but was\nchased from the dock by the watchman.\n\nHe passed a Mission, heard the singing, and went in. He heard men that\nwere once drunkards get up and testify to the power of God to save a\nman. He knew a few of the men and thought, \"If God can save them He\nsurely can me!\" What a lot there is in testimony for the other fellow!\n\nHe went out that night and slept in a hallway. He waited until the\nMission opened, and going in, heard the same thing again. When the\ninvitation was given he went forward and was gloriously saved. He did\nnot walk the street that night nor has he since. He went to work at his\ntrade--he was a printer--and he and his dear wife, who had always prayed\nfor her husband, were united and are now working together in the\nMaster's vineyard.\n\nThis was over three years ago. Today this man has a position at a salary\nof $5000 a year! Three years ago ordered out of a Park Row saloon as a\ndisgrace! Doesn't it pay to be a Christian and be on the level! I could\ngo right on and tell of hundreds that have come up and are on top now.\nGod never leaves nor forsakes us if we do our part.\n\nThe Bowery boys are queer propositions. You can't push or drive them;\nthey will resent it and give you back as good. But if, on the other\nhand, you use a little tact spiced with a little kindness, you will win\nout with the Bowery boy every time.\n\nIt was a kind word and a kind act that were the means of saving me, and\nI never tire of giving the same.\n\n\nA MISSIONARY IN COURT\n\nI remember a few years ago a fellow was arrested for holding up a man on\nChatham Square. Now this fellow was an ex-convict and had a very bad\nrecord, but he came to our meeting one night to see the pictures of\nChrist, and was so touched by them that he came again and finally raised\nhis hand for prayers, and when the invitation was given went up to the\nmercy seat and was saved. At the time he was arrested he had been a\ngrand Christian for two years.\n\nHe used to pump the organ. On this Sunday night when he was arrested I\nhad gone over to the Chinatown Mission with him. When he left to go to\nhis lodging-house it was 10:30, and he was arrested right after leaving\nthe meeting on the charge of robbing a man on the Bowery at 9:30 P.M.\n\nWhen he was arrested he sent for me and told me why he was arrested. Now\nI knew he had not robbed any one while he was with me.\n\nThe day of his trial came on. Judge Crane was the judge--a good clean\nman. After the man had sworn that J---- was the man who robbed him I was\nasked to go on the stand and tell what I knew. I told him I was a\nmissionary to the Bowery, and that J----, the man arrested, was not the\nman who did the robbing, for he was with me at the time the robbery took\nplace.\n\nJudge Crane asked my name. I told him and gave him a brief history of my\npast life. He was amazed. Then I spoke a few words to the jury. The case\nwas then given to the jury, and after twenty minutes they came in with\na verdict of not guilty.\n\nMy dear readers, suppose Reilly (Ranney), the crook of sixteen years\nbefore, had been on that witness-stand. The Judge would have asked my\nname and when I'd said, \"Reilly, the crook,\" they would have sent both\nof us off to prison for life. But the past has been blotted out through\nJesus, and it was the word of the redeemed crook that set J---- free.\n\nThere are lots of cases I could write about where men are arrested and\nsend for me. I go to the Tombs to see them, and as I go up the big stone\nsteps where the visitors go in, the big barred gate opens, and the\nwarden touches his hat and says, \"How do you do, Mr. Ranney,\" and I go\nin. There's always a queer feeling comes over me when that gate is shut\nbehind me. I realize that I am coming out in an hour or so, but there\nwas a time when I was shoved through the old gate, and didn't know when\nI would come out.\n\n\nA COUNT DISGUISED AS A TRAMP\n\nOne night in Mariners' Temple, on Chatham Square, I was leading a\nmeeting for men; it was near closing time and the invitation had been\ngiven. There were three men at the front on their knees calling on God\nto help them.\n\nI look back to that night as one I never can forget. One of the men who\ncame up front had no coat; it had been stolen from him in some saloon\nwhile he was in a drunken sleep, so he told me. After prayer had been\noffered and we got on our feet we asked the men to give their testimony.\nIn fact, I think it is a good thing for them to testify, as it helps\nthem when they have declared themselves before the others. They each\ngave a short testimony in which they said that they intended to lead a\nbetter life, with God's help.\n\nThe man without a coat said he had but himself to blame for his\ncondition, and, if God would help him, he was going to be a better man.\n\nI saw to it that the man had a lodging and something to eat, when out\nfrom the audience stepped a fine-looking man with a coat in his hand and\ntold the man to put it on. I looked at the man in astonishment. He was\nabout five-feet-ten, of fine appearance, a little in need of a shave and\na little water, but the man sticking out of him all over.\n\nIt is not the clothes that make the man, for here was a man who hadn't\nanything in the way of clothes, but you could tell by looking at him\nthat he was a gentleman. I just stood and looked at him as he helped the\nother fellow on with the coat. I thought it one of the grandest acts I\never saw. He was following Christ's command about the man having two\ncoats giving his brother one. I saw the man had on an overcoat, but,\neven so, it was a grand act, and I told him so.\n\nI did not see him again for some time, when one night, about a week\nafter the coat affair, I saw him sitting among the men at the Doyer\nStreet Midnight Mission, of which I had charge. I went over where he was\nsitting and while shaking hands with him said, \"Say, that was the\ngrandest act you ever did when you gave that man your coat. What did you\ndo it for? You don't seem to have any too much of this world's goods.\nHow did it happen? Are you a Christian? Who are you?\" He looked at me a\nmoment and said, \"Mr. Ranney, if I can go into your office I'll tell you\nall about it.\"\n\nWe went into the office, and he said, \"How did you find me out?\" Well,\nthe question was a queer one to me. How did I find him out? I didn't\nknow what he meant, but I didn't tell him so; I just smiled.\n\nWell, he said he was a French Count (which was true), over here writing\na book about the charitable institutions in the United States. He had\nbeen in Chicago, San Francisco, and in fact, all over the States, for\npoints for his book. He told me what he had and hadn't done. He had\nworked in wood-yards for charity organizations; had given himself up and\ngone to the Island; stood in bread-lines; in fact, he had done\neverything the tramp does when he is \"down and out.\"\n\nI took quite a fancy to him. He took me up to his room in Eighteenth\nStreet, showed me his credentials, and we became quite chummy. We used\nto do the slums act, and I would put on an old suit of clothes so I\nwouldn't be known. We would stand in the bread-line just like the rest\nof them and get our roll and coffee. It reminded me of my old life, and\nsometimes I would imagine I was \"down and out\" again, but it's different\nwhen you have a little change in your pocket. A dollar makes a big\ndifference, and you can never appreciate the feelings of a poor \"down\nand out\" if you never were there yourself.\n\nWe had been going around together for about three or four weeks when\none day he showed me a cable dispatch from Paris telling him he was\nwanted and to come at once. We had had a nice time together and I was\nsorry he was going.\n\nHe asked me for one of my pictures to put in his book, which I gave him.\nThen he wanted to know what he could do for me. I thought a moment, then\nsaid, \"Give the poor fellows a feed Sunday night.\" I was the Sunday\nnight leader and I wanted him on the platform. He said, \"All right. Be\nat the Mission Sunday afternoon.\"\n\nAbout 5 P. M. there drove up to the Mission door a carriage with a man\nin it who said, \"Is this 17 Dover Street, and is your name Mr. Ranney?\"\nI said, \"Yes.\" He had four large hampers filled with sandwiches, which\nwe carried into the Mission. He said he was the Count's valet and the\nCount wished him to make tea for the men. I said, \"All right.\" I\nthought it would be a change for the men, although coffee would have\nbeen all right.\n\nThe tea was made and everything was ready for the feed. I wanted the\npapers to know about it, so I sent my assistant to the office and told\nthe reporters that a real French Count was going to give a feed that\nnight. They were on hand and the next day the papers all had an account\nof it.\n\nAs soon as the doors opened the men came in and the place was jammed to\nthe limit. The meeting was opened with prayer, then the sandwiches and\ntea were passed around. The Count, wearing a dress-suit, was sitting on\nthe platform. I introduced him as the \"man of the hour\" who had given\nthe lay-out to the boys. They thanked him with three cheers.\n\nI asked the men to look him over and see if they had ever seen him\nbefore. Now the Bowery men are sharp, and over seventy-five hands went\nup. They had seen him somewhere, in Mission bread-lines and different\nplaces.\n\nThe Count spoke for about five minutes and then sat down. He sailed on\nthe following Tuesday and I never met him again. He may be in London for\nall I know, studying up something else. But I'm sure he enjoyed himself\nwhen feeding the men. And I have often thought, no matter who or what he\nwas, he had his heart in the right spot. God wants men of his stamp, for\nHe can use them for His honor and glory.\n\n\nA MUSICIAN WON TO CHRIST\n\nThere isn't a week passes in my work that there are not some specially\ninteresting happenings. One Wednesday night about six months ago we were\nhaving our usual Wednesday night meeting. I found I did not have any one\nto play the piano; my player had not yet come. I did not worry over\nthat, however, as sometimes we had to go on and have a meeting without\nmusic. I generally asked if any one could play, and I did so this night.\nPresently a man came up the aisle. I asked, \"Can you play?\" He said, \"A\nlittle. What number shall I play?\" I said, \"I guess we will sing my\nfavorite hymn, 'When the Roll Is Called up Yonder, I'll Be There.'\" He\nfound the hymn and when he began to play I saw that he was a real\nmusician. He made that old piano fairly talk. \"Ah,\" said I, \"here is\nanother 'volunteer organist.'\" I had seen the man and talked with him\nlots of times before, but always took him for a common drunkard. You\ncan't tell what an old coat covers.\n\nAfter the meeting I had a little talk with him and asked him why he was\nin such a condition. \"Oh,\" he answered, \"it's the old, old story, Mr.\nRanney--the drink habit. I know what you are going to say: why don't I\ncut it out? Well, I can't. I have tried time and again. I'll go on\ndrinking until I die.\" I told him to stop trying and ask God to help\nhim, just to lean on His arm, He wouldn't let him fall. I left him\nthinking it over, and I kept track of him, getting in an odd word here\nand there and giving him food and lodging.\n\nIn four weeks we won out and he became a good Christian man. Now he\nplays at our meetings and takes a share in them, giving his testimony.\nI've had him over to my home many times. He takes great delight in our\ngarden there and waits with longing for Thursday to come, for that's the\nday he visits us, the best one in the week for him. There's nothing like\nthe country for building a man up.\n\nThis man came from a good German family, and can play three instruments,\npiano, violin, and clarinet. I asked him if he was married. \"No,\" he\nanswered, \"thank God I never was married. I have not that sin on my\nsoul! I've done nearly everything any one else has done: been in prison\nmany a time, drank and walked the streets lots of nights. I've written\nhome to my mother and told her I had taken her Jesus as mine, and, Mr.\nRanney, here's a letter from her.\" I read the letter. It was the same\nold letter, the kind those loving mothers write to their wayward boys,\nthanking God that she lived to see her boy converted and telling him the\ndoor was always open, and for him to come home. How many mothers all\nover the world are praying for their boys that they have not seen for\nyears, boys who perhaps are dead or in prison! God help those mothers!\n\n\nSAVED THROUGH AN OUTDOOR MEETING\n\nPart of my work consists in holding outdoor meetings. Through my friend\nDan Sullivan I received a license for street preaching, so whenever an\nopportunity opens I speak a word for the Master, sometimes on a\ntemporary platform, sometimes standing on a truck, and sometimes from\nthe Gospel Wagon. It is \"in season and out of season,\" here, there, and\neverywhere, if we are to get hold of the men who don't go near the\nchurches or even the missions.\n\nOne night while holding an outdoor meeting on the Bowery at Bleecker\nStreet, I was speaking along the line of drink and the terrible curse it\nwas, how it made men brutes and all that was mean, telling about the\nprodigal and how God saved him and would save to the uttermost. There\nwere quite a number of men around listening.\n\nThe meeting ended and we had given all an invitation to come into the\nMission. One young man, well dressed, came up to me and, taking my hand,\nsaid he believed every word I said. I saw at a glance he was not of the\nBowery type. I got to talking to him and asked him into the Mission. He\nsaid he had never been into a place like that in his life and did not\ntake any stock in them, but my talk had interested him. He could not\nunderstand how I had given up such a life as I said I had led and had\nnot taken a drink in sixteen years. I said I had not done this in my own\nstrength, but that God had helped me win out, and that God would help\nany one that wanted to be helped.\n\nWe got quite friendly and he told me all about himself. He had just got\nhis two weeks' salary, which amounted to $36.00. He was married and had\ntwo sweet little children and a loving wife waiting for him uptown. He\ntold me he had taken a few drinks, as I could plainly see, and he was\ngoing down to see the Bowery and do a little sight-seeing in Chinatown.\nI knew if he went any further he would be a marker for the pickpocket or\nothers and would know nothing in a little while, so I tried to get him\ninto the Mission, and after quite a while succeeded, and we took a seat\nright by the door. He was just tipsy enough to fall asleep, and I let\nhim do it, for a little sleep often does these men a great deal of good,\nchanging all their thoughts when they wake. When he woke the testimonies\nwere being given. I rose to my feet and gave my testimony, and sat down\nagain. The invitation came next, for all those that wanted this Jesus to\nstand. I tried to get him on his feet, but he would not take a stand;\nstill the seed had been sown.\n\nHe told me where he was working and where he lived--wrote it down for\nme. He was bent on going, so I said I would go up to the corner with\nhim. He wanted one more drink--the Devil's temptation!--but at last I\ncoaxed him to the Elevated Station at Houston Street. He said, \"I wish\nyou could see my home and family. Will you come up with me?\" It was 10\nP. M. and going would mean home for me about the early hours. But I went\nup to the Bronx, got to his home, saw him in, was bidding him\ngood-night; nothing would do but I should come in. He had a nice little\nflat of five rooms. I was introduced to his wife, who was a perfect\nlady. He wanted to send out for beer. I objected, and his wife said,\n\"George, don't drink any more! I think you have had enough.\"\n\nNow was the time for me to get in a little of God's work, so I told him\nmy life, and what drink did for me, and I had an attentive audience.\nWhen I finished, his wife said, \"I wish my husband would take your\nJesus, Mr. Ranney. I'm a Christian, but, oh, I'd give anything if George\nwould take Christ and give up his drinking!\" He made all kinds of\nobjections and excuses, but we pleaded and prayed. God was working with\nthat man, and at 3 o'clock in the morning we knelt down, the wife, the\nhusband and I, way up in the Bronx, and God did mightily save George. He\nwent to his business on Monday sober. That was three years ago, and he\nhas held out well. He has been advanced twice, with a raise in salary,\nand comes down to help me in my work on the Bowery. God has blessed him\nwonderfully, and He will any one who has faith to believe.\n\n\nJIM THE BRICKLAYER\n\nWhere I meet so many men every day and have so many confessions and try\nto lend a helping hand in so many places, I do forget some of the men,\nfor it seems as though there was an endless procession of them through\nthe Bowery. But some cases stand out so prominently that I shall never\nforget them. I remember one man in particular who used to come into the\nMission. He was one of the regulars and was nearly always drunk. He used\nto want us to sing all the time. He was a fine fellow, but down and out,\nand every cent he could earn went to the saloons. I would talk to him\nnearly every night and ask him why he did not stop his drinking. He\nwould listen, but the next night he would be drunk just the same.\n\nThere was good stuff in him, for he was a good bricklayer and could make\nfrom $5.00 to $6.00 per day. He told me he was married, and his wife and\ntwo children were in Syracuse, living perhaps on charity, while he,\ninstead of making a living for them and giving them a good home, was\nhere on the Bowery drinking himself to death.\n\nHe would often say, \"Danny, if I could only sober up and be a man and go\nback to my family, I'd give anything. But what's the use of trying? I\ncan't stop, and I wish sometimes that I was dead. And sometimes, Mr.\nRanney, I'm tempted to end it all in the river.\"\n\nI reasoned with this man time and time again, but with no effect. He\nknew it was the right way to live, but thought it was not for him, and I\nthought that if a man was ever gone it was that young man.\n\nOne night as the invitation was being given I caught his eye and I\nsaid, \"Jim, come up front and get rid of that drink.\" But he said,\n\"What's the use?\" I went down, took him by the hand, led him up front,\nand we all knelt down and asked God to save these poor men. I asked them\nall to pray for themselves and when I got to Jim I said, \"Jim, now\npray.\" And he said, \"Lord, help me to be a man and cut the 'booze' out\nof my life for Jesus' sake. Amen.\"\n\nHe meant business that night and was as sincere as could be. We all got\nup from our knees, and I put the usual question to them all, now that\nthey had taken Jesus, what were they going to do? It came Jim's turn,\nand he said, \"Mr. Ranney, I've asked God to help me, and I'm going out\nof this Mission and I'm not going to drink any more whiskey.\" Then\nalmost in the same breath he said, \"I wonder if God will give me a pair\nof pants.\" That created a smile in the audience. I knew I could get Jim\na pair of pants, and he needed them badly. Just imagine a man six feet\ntall with a pair of pants on that reached just below the knees, and you\nhave Jim.\n\nI said, \"Jim, you have asked God to help you, and He will if you let\nhim. If you keep sober until Friday night, and come in here every night\nand give your testimony, no matter how short, God will send you a pair\nof pants.\" This was on Monday night, my own special night. I knew if Jim\ncame in every night sober, something was doing. Tuesday night came, and\nsure enough there was Jim with his testimony. He got up and thanked God\nfor being one day without taking a drink. I said, \"Praise God! Keep it\nup, Jim!\" Wednesday night Jim thanked God for two days' victory. He was\ndoing finely. Thursday came, and Jim was there with his testimony of\nthree days saved. He had one more day to go before he got his pants.\nFriday night came and I had gone up and got the pants, but no Jim made\nhis appearance. Near closing time the door opened and in walked Jim. He\nstood back and just roared out, \"Danny, I'm as drunk as a fool; I've\nlost the pants!\" then walked out.\n\nI did not see him for a couple of nights, then he came into the Mission,\nsat down and was fairly quiet. I reached him in the course of the\nevening and shook hands with him, but I did not say a word about his\ngoing back. That worried him a good deal, for he said, \"Dan, are you mad\nwith me?\" I said, \"No, Jim, I'm mad with the Devil, and I wish I could\nkick him out of you and kill him.\" Jim smiled and said, \"You're a queer\none.\"\n\nI did not give Jim up, but I did not say anything to him about giving up\nthe drink again for about a week. He would always be in the meeting and\nI would notice him with a handshake and a smile. I could see he was\nthinking quite hard and he was not drinking as much as he had been. I\nwas praying for that man, and I was sure that He was going to give me\nJim.\n\nOne night about a month after Jim had tried the first time, I was giving\nthe invitation to the men, as usual, for all who wanted this salvation\nto come forward and let us pray with them. After coaxing and pleading\nwith them there were six fellows that came forward and knelt down, when\nto my astonishment who came walking up the aisle but Jim! He knelt down\nwith the others and prayed. I did not know what the prayer was, but when\nhe rose he went back and took his seat and said nothing.\n\nA month went by to a day. There were testimonies every night from all\nover the Mission about what God had done and was doing, but Jim never\ngave the first word of testimony. I often wondered why. This night he\ngot on his feet, and this is what he said: \"Men, I've been everything\nthat's bad and mean, a crook and a drunkard, separated from wife and\nchildren, a good-for-nothing man. I want to stand here before you\npeople and thank God for keeping me for one whole month; and, men, this\nis the happiest month I've spent in my life. I asked God to help me and\nHe is doing so. I only wish some of you men would take Jesus as your\nfriend and keeper the same as I have. I'm going to stick, with God's\nhelp. I want you Christian people to keep on praying for me, as I feel\nsome one has,\" and he sat down. Oh, how I did thank God for that\ntestimony! You know a person can tell the true ring of anything, gold,\nsilver, brass, everything, and I knew the ring of that testimony.\n\nJim stayed after the meeting and we talked things over pretty well. He\nwas a mechanic, but his tools were in pawn. I said, \"Jim, I'll meet you\nto-morrow and we will go and get your tools out.\" In the morning Jim and\nI went down to the pawnbroker in New Chambers Street, and Jim produced\nthe tickets, paid the money due, with interest, and received his stock\nin trade, the tools.\n\nThe next thing was a job. I knew a boss mason who was putting up a\nbuilding in Catherine Street. We saw the boss and he took Jim on. He\nwent to work and made good. He would always come and see me at night,\nand always testify to God's keeping power. He would ask me, \"Do you\nthink I can get back to my wife and children again?\" \"Yes,\" I would\nanswer; \"wait a little while. Have you written to her?\" \"Yes.\" \"Got any\nanswer?\" \"Yes, a couple of letters, but I don't think she takes any\nstock in my conversion. Dan, can't we have our pictures taken together?\nI have written my wife a lot about you. I told her you were worse than I\never was. Perhaps if she sees our faces and sees how I look, she may\nthink of old times and give me one more chance.\"\n\nJim had been four months converted at this time, and God had him by the\nhand. It was great to see that big strong man, like a little child in\nGod's love. We went out and had our pictures taken and Jim asked me to\nwrite and urge his wife to give him one more chance. I did as Jim wanted\nme; in fact, I wrote her about everything he said and enclosed the\npicture.\n\nEvery night Jim would come around with the question, \"Danny, any word\nfrom up State yet?\" \"Not yet, Jim: have a little patience, she will\nwrite soon.\" We finally got the longed-for letter, but it wasn't\nfavorable. Among other things she said she took no stock in her husband,\nand that she knew he was the same old good-for-nothing, etc. It was hard\nlines for poor Jim, who was reading that letter over my shoulder. I\nlooked at him. I could see some of the old Devil come into his eyes. The\nwife little knew what an escape Jim had then and there. I cheered him up\nand we got on our knees and prayed good and hard, and God heard the\nprayer and Jim was sailing straight once more and trusting Jesus.\n\nA thought flashed through my mind, and I said, \"Jim, have you any\nmoney?\" \"Yes,\" he said, \"I have over sixty dollars.\" He gave me the\nmoney and we went to the postoffice and I took out a money-order to Mrs.\nJim, Syracuse, N. Y., for sixty dollars and sent it on signed by Jim and\ntook the receipt and put it in my pocket.\n\nFive days after I was sitting at my desk in the Mission. A knock came to\nthe door. I said, \"Come in,\" and a woman with two little girls entered.\nI placed a chair and waited. She said, \"You are Mr. Ranney. I recognize\nyou from your picture.\" She was Jim's wife, as she told me. Then she\nbegan about her troubles with her husband: he was a good man, but he\nwould drink. She said, \"I begin to think that Jim has religion, for if\nhe hadn't something near it, he would never have sent me the money. Do\nyou think he is all right, Mr. Ranney?\" To which I answered that I\nreally believed he was, and that he would be a good husband and father.\nI asked her if she was a Christian, and she said, \"Yes, I go to church\nand do the best I can.\" I told her going to church was a good thing, but\nto have Jesus in your heart and home is a better one.\n\nShe wanted to see Jim, so we went round to where he was working. There\nhe was up four stories laying front brick. I watched him, so did his\nwife. Finally I put my hands like a trumpet and called, \"Hello, Jim!\"\nJim looked down, seeing me, and then looking at the woman and children a\nmoment he dropped everything, and to watch that man come down that\nladder was a sight. He rushed over, threw his arms around his wife, then\ntook the little girls in his arm, and what joy there was! There was no\nmore work that day.\n\nJim showed her the saloons he used to get drunk in, and he did not\nforget to show the place where he was converted, and on that very spot\nwe all had a nice little prayer-meeting, and as a finale, Mrs. Jim took\nJesus, saying, \"If He did all that for Jim, I want Him too.\"\n\nThey are back in Syracuse, living happily. Jim has a class of boys in\nthe Sunday-school and is a deacon in the church. I had the pleasure of\neating dinner in their home. I often get a letter from Jim, telling of\nGod's goodness. He says he will never forget the fight he made for the\npants or his friend Danny Ranney.\n\n[Illustration: ONE OF MR. RANNEY'S OPEN-AIR MEETINGS.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nPRODIGAL SONS\n\n\nA CESSPOOL\n\nThe Bowery has always been a notorious thoroughfare. Twenty years ago\nthere were few places in the world that for crime, vice and degradation\ncould be compared with it. Many changes for the better have taken place\nin the last few years, however. Following the Lexow Commission\ninvestigation, scores of the worst haunts of wickedness were closed and\nvice became less conspicuous. The Bowery, however, still maintains its\nindividuality as a breeding-place of crime. It is still the cesspool for\nall things bad. From all over the world they come to the Bowery. The\nlodging-houses give them cheap quarters, from 7 cents to 50 cents per\nnight. These places shelter 30,000 to 40,000 men and boys nightly, to\nbreathe a fetid and polluted air. Those who have not the price--and God\nknows they are many--homeless and weary, \"about ready to die,\" sleep in\nhallways, empty trucks, any place for a lie-down.\n\nSome of the lodging-houses are fairly respectable and run on a good\nscale, and others are the resort of the lowest kind of human outcasts.\nOn one floor, the air poisoned beyond description, the beds dirty, will\nbe found over a hundred men, of all classes, from the petty thief to the\nWestern train-wrecker, loafers, drug-fiends, perhaps a one-time college\nman, who through the curse of drink has got there. But they are not all\nbad on the Bowery. No one not knowing the conditions can imagine what a\nlarge class there is who would work if they could get it, but once down\nit's hard to get up. A few weeks of this life wrecks them and makes old\nmen of them. No one but God can help them, and most of them go down to\nearly graves unknown.\n\n\nA REMARKABLE DRUNKARD\n\nI knew once one of the best lawyers of his day, living here a little off\nChatham Square, in a lodging-house, brought there through rum. I've\nknown men, lawyers, coming to see this man and getting his opinion on\nlegal matters. He had many such visitors in his room, but he wasn't\nworth anything unless he was about half full of whiskey. These men would\nknow that. They would bring a couple bottles of the stuff, as though for\na social time, and then ask him questions pertaining to the case in\nhand. Then he would imagine himself the lawyer of old days, and plead as\nhe saw the case, and he was right nine times out of ten! Oh, what a\nfuture that man had thrown away for the Devil's stuff, rum! Those\nlawyers would go away with advice from that man worth thousands of\ndollars, bought with a few bottles of whiskey. He told me he had left\nhis wife and family to save them from shame. He has sons and daughters\nin good standing. They never see him want for anything and pay his\nroom-rent yearly, only he must not go near them.\n\n\nFORGIVING FOR CHRIST'S SAKE\n\nWhere I am located at this writing, at the Squirrel Inn, No. 131 Bowery,\nis a grand place for my work. I come in touch with all classes, and when\nI see a man or a boy that I think will stick, I rig him up, put a front\non him and back him until he gets work. I wish I had more clothes so I\ncould help more men, but at least I can give them a handshake, a kind\nword, and a prayer, and that, by God's grace, can work wonders for the\npoor fellows. There's not a man or boy comes in that I do not see, and I\nmingle with them and get their hard-luck stories, also their good-luck\nones. Sitting there at my desk, I glance down the room, and I can tell\nat a glance the newcomers and the regulars. I can tell what has brought\nthem there.\n\nOver at one of the tables trying to read sat one day a man about fifty,\nhis clothes worn and threadbare, but wearing a collar, and that's a good\nsign. I beckoned him to come over to me and I pointed to a chair,\ntelling him to sit down. If that chair could only speak, what a tale it\ncould tell of the men who have sat there and told their life stories!\n\nI asked him how he came to be there, and he told me the same old story\nthat can be summed up in one word--drink! He came from up the State, at\none time owned a farm outside of Oswego, and was living happily. He was\na church member and bore a good name. \"I used to take an odd drink, but\nalways thought I could do without it,\" said he. \"Eighteen years ago I\nlost my wife and to drown my sorrow I got drunk. I had never been\nintoxicated before, and I kept at it for over three months, and when I\nbegan to come to myself, I was told that I had to get out of my home. I\ncouldn't understand it, but I was told I had sold my farm and everything\nI owned for a paltry $200 to a saloon-keeper, who I thought was my\ndearest friend!\n\n\"That happened eighteen years ago, and I've been pretty near all over\nthe world since then, sometimes hungry, sometimes in pretty good shape,\nbut I'll never forget that saloon-keeper. I'll see him again, and he\nwill pay for what he did!\"\n\nI gave that man a ticket for lodging and a couple of meals. We talked\nabout his early life, and I asked why he didn't start out and be a\nChristian and not harbor a grudge; to let God punish that saloon-keeper.\nI told him I'd been through something like the same experience, a man\nwhose word I trusted selling me some Harbor Chart stock and making me\nthink he was doing me a good turn, and I lost several hundred dollars.\nThat was in the years when I first started to be a Christian. I had the\nhardest time to forgive this man, but thank God I did!\n\nI reasoned with that man day after day and saw that the light was\nbreaking in his heart. Weeks went on, and he came to a point where he\ntook Jesus as his guide and friend, and to-day he is a fine Christian\ngentleman. I have had him testifying in the church to the power of\nChrist to save a man. He tells me he has forgiven that saloon-man for\nChrist's sake.\n\n\nSAVED ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICE\n\nOne afternoon about 5 o'clock I was sitting at my desk at the Mission\nRoom when I noticed among the men who came there to read and rest and\nperhaps take a nap, a young man, a boy rather, clean and wearing good\nclothes. I looked at him a moment and thought, \"He has got into the\nwrong place.\" I spoke to him, as is my habit, and asked him what he was\ndoing there. I brought him over and got him to sit down in that old\nchair where so many confessions are made to me and said kindly, \"Well,\nwhat's your story?\" I thought of my own boy, and my heart went out to\nthis young fellow.\n\nHe said, \"You are Mr. Ranney. I've often heard about you, and I'm glad\nto see you now.\" He told me how he had given up his job on Eighth Avenue\naround 125th Street the day before. He had had a \"run in,\" as he called\nit, at home, and had determined to get out. His mother had married a\nsecond time, and his stepfather and he could not agree on a single\nthing. He loved his mother, but could not stand the stepfather. He had\ndrawn his pay at the jewelry store where he was working and had spent\nthe night before at a hotel uptown, intending to look for a job the next\nday.\n\nHe had risen at 8 A. M. intending to get work before his eight dollars\nwas all gone. Well, the money was burning a hole in his pocket. He\nwanted to see a show and he came down on the Bowery and got into a cheap\nvaudeville show, and quite enjoyed himself. \"I came out of that show,\"\nhe said, \"and went into a restaurant to eat, and when I went to pay the\ncashier I did not have a cent in my pocket. The boss of the place said\nthat was an old story. He was not there to feed people for nothing. I\nsaid I had been robbed or lost my money somehow, but he wouldn't believe\nme. He wanted his twenty cents, or he would have me arrested. Oh, he was\nmad for fair, Mr. Ranney. He got me by my coat-collar and shook me and\nsaid I was a thief, and he finished up by kicking me through the door,\nand here I am down on the Bowery homeless.\"\n\nAnother young fellow gone wrong! Could I help him? I urged him to go\nback home, but he didn't want to. The night before was pay-night, and he\nwas always expected to give in his share towards the home expenses, and\nnow here was his money all gone. What could he do?\n\nI took him around the room and pointed out the hard cases there,\nwretched, miserable specimens of men, and asked him if he wanted to be\nlike them, as he surely would if he went on in the course he was\nstarting. He said, \"Indeed I don't!\" \"Well, then,\" I said, \"take my\nadvice and go home. Be a man and face the music. It will mean a scolding\nfrom your father, but take it. Tell them both that you will make up the\nmoney as soon as you get work, and that you are going to be obedient and\ngood from now on.\"\n\nAt last he said he would go if I would go with him, but I couldn't that\nnight, for I had a meeting to address. I told him I would give him a\nlodging for the night, and we would go up to Washington Heights the next\nday. I put him in about as tough a lodging as I could get, for I wanted\nhim to realize the life he would drift into, told him to meet me at one\no'clock the next day, and said good-night to him.\n\nThe next day I met him; we had something to eat, and I asked him how he\nhad slept. \"Oh,\" he said, \"it was something awful! I could not sleep\nany, there was such a cursing and drinking and scrapping. Oh, I wish I\nwas home!\"\n\nWe went up to Washington Heights, around 165th Street, and found the\nplace. We got there about six o'clock. I went in and knocked at the\ndoor, which opened very quickly. The mother and father came forward;\nthey had been crying, I could see that. \"Oh, has anything happened to my\nboy!\" she cried, when I asked if she had a son. \"Tell me quick, for\nGod's sake!\" I told them that Eddie was all right, and I called to him.\nHe came in, and like a manly boy, after kissing his mother, he turned to\nhis stepfather and said, \"Forgive me; I'll be a better boy and I'll\nmake everything all right when I get a job. This is Mr. Ranney, the\nBowery missionary.\" I went in and was asked to stay for supper, and we\nhad an earnest talk, leading to the father giving up beer. What he was\ngoing to drink for supper was thrown into the sink. I see these people\noccasionally, and they are doing well.\n\n\nTHE PRODIGAL SON ON THE BOWERY\n\nHere is a picture story of a boy who left home and took his journey to\nthe \"far country.\" It is a true story.\n\nAway up in northern New York there is a rich man whose family consists\nof a wife, two sons and a daughter, all good church members. It is of\nthe younger boy I want to speak. He is a little wayward, but good at\nheart, and would do anything to help any one.\n\nNow, there has lately come back from New York a young man who has\nstarted the drink habit. This man is telling all about New York, what a\ngrand place it is, and, if a fellow had a little money, he could make a\nfortune. He succeeds in arousing the fancies of this young boy, and he\nbelieves all the fellow says. People up the State look on a man as sort\nof a hero because he has been to New York.\n\nTom thinks he would like to go to the city, and when he gets home he\nbroaches the subject to his mother. He says, \"I'll get a job and make a\nman of myself.\" The mother tells him he had better stay at home and\nperhaps later on he would have a chance to start a business in the\nvillage where he was born. No, nothing but New York will do for him. He\nteases his father and mother nearly to death, until his father says,\n\"Well, my boy, if you will, you will.\" Then he gives him a couple\nhundred dollars and a letter to a merchant whom he knows.\n\nTom packs his valise and is all ready to start. I can see the mother\nputting a Testament into her boy's hand and telling him to read it once\na day and be sure to write home often. Oh, he promises all right, and is\nanxious to get away in a hurry. I can see them in the railroad station\nwhen the mother takes him to her bosom and kisses him. There's a dry\nchoking in the father's throat when he bids him good-by--and then the\ntrain is off!\n\nNow, Tom has a chum in New York, so at the first station at which they\nstop he gets off and sends a telegram to his friend, saying: \"Ed, I'm\ncoming on the 2.30 train. Meet me at the Grand Central Station.\" You may\nbe sure Ed meets him at the station--Ed is not working--and he gives him\nthe hello and the glad hand. He takes Tom's grip and they start for the\nhotel. I can see them going into a saloon and having a couple of beers,\nthen going to the hotel, getting a room and supper, and having a good\ntime at the theatre and elsewhere.\n\nTime goes on. Two hundred doesn't last long. I can see Ed shaking Tom\nwhen the money is running low. I can see Tom counting the little he has\nleft and going to a furnished room at $1.50 a week. Tom is beginning to\nthink and worry a bit. He has lost the letter to the merchant his father\ngave him, and he doesn't know where to find him. No wonder he is down in\nthe mouth! He looks for work, but can't get anything to do.\n\nNow, all he has to do is to write home and tell his father the facts,\nand he will send back a railroad ticket. But Tom is proud, and he hasn't\nreached the point where, like the prodigal, he says, \"I will arise and\ngo to my father.\" No, he has not as yet reached the end of his rope. I\ncan see him pawning the watch and chain given him by his parents. This\ntides him over for a little while. When that money is gone, his overcoat\ngoes, and, in fact, everything he has is gone.\n\nHe goes down and down, and finally reaches the Bowery, where they all\ngo in the end. He is down and out, without a cent in his clothes,\nwalking the streets night after night---\"carrying the banner.\" Sometimes\nhe slips into a saloon where they have free lunch and picks up a piece\nof bread here and a piece of cheese there. Sometimes he is lucky to fill\nin on a beef stew, but very seldom.\n\nNow, if that isn't living on husks, I don't know what you call it! His\nclothes are getting filthy and he is in despair. How he wishes he had\nnever left home! He hasn't a friend in the big city, and he doesn't know\nwhich way to turn. He says, \"I'll write home.\" But no, he is too proud.\nHe wants to go home the same as he left it. And the longer he waits the\nworse he will be. No one grows any better, either bodily or morally, by\nbeing on the Bowery. So the quicker they go to some other place the\nbetter.\n\nBut the Bowery draws men by its own strange attraction. They get into\nthe swing of its life, and find the company that misery loves. God\nknows there's plenty of it there! I've seen men that you could not drive\nfrom the Bowery. But when a man takes Jesus as his guide he wants to\nsearch for better grounds.\n\nWell, Tom had hit the pace that kills. And one night--about five years\nago--there wandered into the Mission where I was leading a meeting a\nyoung man with pale cheeks and a look of utter despair on his face,\nlooking as though he hadn't had a square meal in many a day. It was Tom.\nI didn't know him then. There are so many such cases on the Bowery one\ngets used to them. But I took particular notice of this young man. He\nsat down and listened to the services, and when the invitation was given\nto those who wanted to lead better lives he put up his hand.\n\nNow there was something striking about his face, and I took to him. I\nthought of my own life and dreaded the future for him. I spoke to him,\ngained his confidence by degrees, and he told me his story as written in\nthe preceding pages.\n\nHere was a prodigal just as bad as the one in the Bible story. Well, he\nwas converted that night and took Jesus as his helper. He told me all\nabout his home, mother, and friends who had enough and to spare. The\nservants had a better time and more to eat than he. \"Tom,\" I said, \"why\ndon't you go home?\" \"Oh, Mr. Ranney,\" he said, \"I wish I could, but I\nwant to go back a little better than I am now.\" And God knows he was in\nbad shape; the clothes he had on you couldn't sell to a rag-man; in\nfact, he had nothing!\n\nI pitied the poor fellow from my heart. I was interested. I got his\nfather's address and sat down and wrote him a letter telling him about\nhis son's condition, etc. In a few days I received a letter from his\nfather inclosing a check for $10, and saying, \"Don't let my son starve;\ndo all you can for him, but don't let him know his father is doing\nthis.\"\n\nCan't you see plainly the conditions? Our Father in heaven stands ready\nat all times to help, but we must do something--meet the conditions.\nTom's father was ready to forgive and take him back, but he wanted Tom\nto make the surrender.\n\nI looked after Tom to a certain extent, but I wanted him to learn his\nlesson. There were times when he walked the streets and went hungry. I\ncorresponded with his father and told him how his son was getting along.\nI got Tom a job washing dishes in a restaurant--the Bowery's main\nemployment--at $2.50 per week, and he stuck.\n\nI watched him closely. He would come to the Mission nearly every night\nand would stand up and testify to God's goodness. He was coming on\nfinely. Many's the talk we would have together about home. The tears\nwould come to his eyes and he would say, \"Oh, if I ever go home I'll be\nsuch a different boy! Do you think father will forgive me, Mr. Ranney?\"\n\nWell, eight months went on, and I thought it was time to get him off the\nBowery--he had had his lesson. So I wrote his father, and he sent the\nnecessary cash for clothes, railroad ticket, etc. And one night I said,\n\"Tom, would you like to go home?\" You can imagine Tom's answer! I took\nhim out and bought him clothes, got back his watch and chain from the\npawnbroker, and went with him to the Grand Central Station. I got his\nticket, put him on the train, said \"Good-by and God bless you!\" and Tom\nwas bound for home.\n\nI receive a letter from him every month or so. I have visited his home\nand have been entertained right royally by his father and mother. I\nvisited Tom last summer, and we did have a grand time fishing, boating,\ndriving, etc. I asked him, \"Do you want to go back to New York, Tom?\"\nand he smiled and said, \"Not for mine!\" If any one comes from New York\nand happens to say it's a grand place to make your fortune, Tom says,\n\"New York is a grand place to keep away from.\" You couldn't pull him\naway from home with a team of oxen.\n\n\"He arose and went to his father.\" Tom fed on husks. He learned his\nlesson--not too dearly learned, because it was a lasting one. He is now\na man; he goes to church and Sunday-school, where he teaches a class of\nboys. Once in a while he rings in his own experience when he was a\nprodigal on the Bowery and far from God, and God's loving-kindness to\nhim.\n\nThere are other boys on the Bowery from just as good families as\nTom's--college men some of them--who are without hope and without God's\nfriendship or man's. What can you and I do for them?\n\n\nLAST WORDS\n\nI have married again, and have a good sweet Christian as companion, and\nwe have a little girl just beginning to walk. I'm younger, happier, and\na better man in mind and body than I was twenty years ago. I've a good\nhome and know that all good things are for those that trust.\n\nI remember one night, when I was going home with my wife, I met a\npoliceman who had arrested me once. He had caught me dead to\nrights--with the goods. After awaiting trial I got off on a technical\npoint. I said, \"Helen, let me introduce you to the policeman that\narrested me one time.\" He had changed some; his hair was getting gray.\nHe knew me, and when I told him I was a missionary, he said, \"God bless\nyou, Reilly\" (that's the name I went under), \"and keep you straight! You\ndid cause us fellows a lot of trouble in those days.\"\n\nIndeed I did cause trouble! There wasn't a man under much closer watch\nthan I was twenty years ago. Just one incident will illustrate this and\nshow what a change God brings about in a man's life when he is soundly\nconverted. It was in 1890 that a pal of mine and I were told of a place\nin Atlantic City where there was any amount of silverware, etc., in a\nwealthy man's summer home, so we undertook to go there and see if we\ncould get any of the good things that were in the house. We reached the\ncity with our kit of tools, and my pal went and hid them a little way\nfrom the station, waiting till night, as we did not want to carry them\naround with us. Tom said, \"Dan, I'm hungry; I'll go and see what I can\nget in a bakery.\" We were not very flush and could not afford anything\ngreat in the way of a dinner. Off he went, and I was to wait till he\ncame back.\n\nI sat down in the waiting-room, when a man came up and sat down beside\nme, giving me a good-day. \"Nice weather,\" said he. I said, \"Yes.\" Said\nhe, \"How's little old New York?\" \"All right,\" I answered. \"Have you got\nyour ticket back?\" said he. I thought he was a little familiar, and I\nsaid, \"It's none of your business.\" He was as cool as could be. \"Oh,\nyes,\" he said, \"it is my business,\" and turning the lapel of his coat he\nheld a Pinkerton badge under my nose, at the same time saying, \"The\ngame's called, and I know you. Where's the tools?\" I told him I did not\nhave any. \"The only thing that saves you,\" said he. \"Now you get out of\nhere when that next train goes, or there will be a little trouble.\" My\npal came in at this time, and I winked at him to say nothing. He\nunderstood. We took that train all right, and lost our tools.\n\nI never saw Atlantic City again until 1908, when I was asked to speak at\nthe Y. M. C. A. I told this story in my talk. I've been back four times;\nI've been entertained at one of the best hotels there, the Chalfonte,\nfor a week at a time. What a change! Twenty years ago, when I was in the\nDevil's employ, run out of town; now, redeemed by God, an invited guest\nin that same place. See what God can do for a man!\n\nIt's a hard thing to close this record of the grace of God in my life,\nfor I feel as though I was leaving a lot of friends. If at any time you\nare on the Bowery--not down and out--and want to see me, why, call at\nNo. 131, the Squirrel Inn Mission and Reading Room, and you'll find a\nhearty welcome.","title":"Dave Ranney: Or, Thirty Years on the Bowery; An Autobiography","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":35369}