Alger Horatio Jr.
Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy
CHAPTER XXII
ROBBED IN THE NIGHT
Herbert entered the cars, and took a seat by the window. His small bundle, containing all the extra clothing he had been able to bring away from the inhospitable home of Mr. Holden, he placed in the seat beside him.
It was yet early, and there were but few persons in the car. But as the hour for starting approached, it gradually filled up. Still, the seat next to Herbert remained untaken.
At length a young man, apparently about nineteen, walked up the aisle, and, pausing, inquired, “Is this seat engaged?”
“No,” said Herbert, at the same time removing his bundle.
“Then, if you have no objection, I’ll take possession.”
He accordingly seated himself, and commenced a conversation.
“Going to New York?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Herbert.
“Do you live there?”
“No; I have never been there before.”
“Are you going on a visit?”
“No; I am going to live there; that is, if I can find anything to do.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“So am I. Suppose we hitch teams.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Suppose we go to some hotel together. I have been there before, and can tell you where to go. It’s awful dull being alone. I always like to pick up company.”
Herbert hardly knew what to say to this proposition. He did not exactly like the appearance, or fancy the free and easy manners of his new acquaintance, but he felt lonely, and, besides, he hardly knew what excuse to make. He, therefore, gave his assent to the arrangement proposed.
“What’s your name?” asked his new friend, familiarly.
“Herbert Mason.”
“Mine is Greenleaf—Peter Greenleaf. Have you come from a distance?”
“From Waverley, in Ohio, not far from Cincinnati.”
“I am from Philadelphia. I’ve been in a store there, but I didn’t like the style, and I concluded to go to New York. There’s more chance for a fellow of enterprise there.”
“What sort of a store were you in?”
“Dry-goods store—Hatch & Macy. Old Hatch is a mean skinflint, and wouldn’t pay me half what I was worth. I don’t want to brag, but there wasn’t a man in that store that sold as much as I did. And how much do you think I got?”
“I don’t know.”
“Only seven dollars a week. If I hadn’t made something another way. I couldn’t have paid my expenses.”
“I should think you might live on seven dollars a week.”
This was before the war had increased the expenses of living.
“Couldn’t do it. Board cost me four dollars a week, and that only left three for other expenses. My cigars cost me nearly that. Then I wanted to go to the theater now and then, and, of course, I must dress like a gentleman. I tell you what, seven dollars a week didn’t begin to do me.”
“How did you manage, then?”
“Oh, I made so much more by banking.”
“By banking?” repeated Herbert, in astonishment.
“Yes; only it was a faro bank. I used to pick up considerable that way, sometimes.”
“A faro bank!” repeated Herbert, in dismay. “Why, that’s the same as gambling, isn’t it?”
“Well, what’s the odds? You take your chance, and you may win or lose. It’s a pretty fair thing.”
After this confession, Herbert became more than ever doubtful whether he should care to remain long in the company of his present companion.
Meanwhile, the cars were moving rapidly. Peter Greenleaf, as he called himself, talked volubly, and appeared to have a considerable familiarity with certain phases of life, the knowledge of which was not likely to have been very profitable to him. Still, Herbert was interested in his communications, though the opinion which he formed of him was far from favorable.
“Where are you going to stop when you get to New York?” inquired Peter.
“I don’t know anything about the city. I suppose I shall have to go to a hotel first.”
“Suppose we go to French’s Hotel?”
“Where is that?”
“Near the park. It’s on the European plan. You pay fifty cents a day for your rooms, and whatever you please for your meals.”
“I think I shall like that. I shall want to get into a boarding-house as soon as possible.”
“All right. We’ll take a room together at the hotel.”
This arrangement was not to Herbert’s taste, but he did not care to offend his companion by objecting to it, so by his silence, he gave consent.
“What are you going to do in New York?” he asked.
“I shall look up a situation. I won’t take less than fifteen dollars a week. A man of my experience ought to be worth that. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” said Herbert, dubiously, though it occurred to him that if he were an employer, he would not be likely to engage such a clerk at any price. But it is rather fortunate, all things considered, that we are able to keep our thoughts to ourselves, otherwise, the complacency of our companions, and sometimes our own, would run the risk of being rudely disturbed.
In course of time the terminus of the road was reached, and, crossing over from Jersey City, Herbert found himself, for the first time in his life, in the noise and whirl of the great city.
“And I am actually to live here,” thought Herbert. “I wonder what Mr. Holden would say if he knew where I was?” Uncertain as his prospects were, he felt very glad that he was out of the clutches of the petty despot, whose chief pleasure was to make him uncomfortable. Here, at least, the future was full of possibilities of good fortune; there, it was certain discomfort and little to hope for.
“Where is the hotel you spoke of?” he asked, turning to Greenleaf.
“I’ll lead you to it.”
They walked up to Broadway, then up by the Astor House, and across the park to the hotel.
“We’ll go in and secure a room the first thing,” he said.
They entered, Greenleaf taking the lead.
“Show us a room with two beds,” said Peter to the clerk.
A servant was summoned, and the room assigned to them was indicated.
“Have you any baggage?” asked the clerk.
“No,” said Greenleaf, carelessly. “Mine was checked through from Philadelphia. I shan’t send for it till morning.”
“Then I must ask you to pay in advance.”
“All right. Fifty cents, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Mason,” said Greenleaf, “have you got a dollar about you? I’ve got nothing less than a ten.”
Herbert drew out a dollar and paid for himself and his companion.
They were now shown up to a room on the third floor, which proved to be a very comfortable one, looking out on the street. Herbert was glad to get a chance to wash himself thoroughly after the dusty journey which he had just completed. This ceremony over, they went down to the restaurant connected with the hotel, and took a hearty meal. Greenleaf made an effort to have Herbert pay for both, but this time Herbert also had a bill to change. It was rather a suspicious circumstance, he thought, that Greenleaf, who had no bill smaller than a ten, paid for his meal out of a one-dollar bill.
After supper Greenleaf bought a couple of cigars, and offered Herbert one.
“No, thank you,” said our hero.
“Don’t you smoke?”
“No.”
“Where have you been living all your life? I couldn’t get along without my cigar.”
“Don’t you think it hurtful to a boy to smoke?”
“I don’t know about that. I’m a man now, but I’ve smoked ever since I was a boy. I think it does a fellow good.”
“But it’s expensive.”
“Yes, that’s so. I expect I’ve smoked a thousand dollars’ worth of cigars in the course of my life.”
“Don’t you wish you had the money instead?”
“Yes; I should rather like the money, but I shouldn’t be half the man I am if I hadn’t smoked. It’s mostly milksops that don’t smoke. Nothing personal, you know, Mason.”
“Of course not,” said Herbert, smiling.
“Better have a cigar.”
“No; I guess not.”
“You’ll come to it in time. I’ll smoke it for you, then.”
After smoking, Greenleaf expressed his intention of going to the theater. Herbert preferred to go to bed early, feeling rather tired. He was kept awake at first by the noise of the horse-cars and the bustle of the street outside, as well as by the exciting thoughts that crowded upon him, suggested by his actual arrival in the city, where he hoped to make a place for himself by energy and industry. But at last he fell asleep.
He slept soundly through the night. But towards morning he had a dream in which Abner Holden figured. His old employer seemed to be approaching him with a smile of exultation, and was about to lay violent hands upon him, when he awoke. It was broad daylight, being already seven o’clock in the morning. Herbert remembered where he was, and looked across the room for Greenleaf. But he was not visible. The bed was disarranged, and evidently had been slept in, but the occupant had risen.
“I didn’t think he was a fellow to rise early,” thought Herbert. “I suppose he is downstairs. I might as well get up, too.”
Herbert jumped out of bed, and, going to the wash-stand, washed his face and hands. He then proceeded to dress.
“I wonder Greenleaf didn’t wake me up,” he thought.
But the reason was too soon made evident. Happening to put his hand in the pocket where he usually kept his pocketbook, he was startled at finding it empty. Somewhat alarmed, he began to hunt round upon the floor, thinking it possible that it might have dropped out. But his search was vain. It was not to be found. He then examined carefully the remaining pockets, still without success.
It was not until this moment that a suspicion entered his mind concerning his companion.
“Is it possible,” he thought, “that Greenleaf has been mean enough to strip me of my money?”
Herbert did not want to believe this. He disliked to think badly of anyone, and he still hoped it would prove otherwise. It was barely possible that Greenleaf had taken his money by way of playing a practical joke upon him, and he might now be downstairs, waiting to be amused at Herbert’s look of dismay when he discovered that he was penniless. Drowning men will catch at straws, and Herbert, in his trouble, tried to think this was probably the way it had happened.
“Greenleaf is rather a hard case, according to his own account,” he said to himself, “but I can’t believe he would be mean enough to rob me. I will go downstairs and see if I can find him.”
Accordingly, leaving his chamber, he descended the staircase, and made his way to the office.
Herbert went up and spoke to the clerk who chanced to be inside.
“Have you seen my roommate?” he asked.
“What is the number of your room?”
“No. –.”
“I remember now. He has gone.”
“Gone!” echoed Herbert, in dismay.
“Yes; didn’t you know of it?”
“He went away while I was asleep. How long since did he go?”
“He came to the office two hours since, and said he should not require the room any longer.”
“Did he leave any message for me?”
“No.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.”
Such an expression of dismay and perplexity overspread Herbert’s face that the clerk could not help observing it.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Herbert. “He has robbed me of my pocketbook, containing all my money.”
“Whew!” whistled the clerk. “How much had you?”
“About sixty dollars.”
“You’re unlucky, that’s a fact. Have you nothing left?”
Just then it flashed across Herbert’s mind that when he had paid for his supper he had changed a five-dollar bill, and placed the balance, about four dollars and a half in his vest pocket. He at once felt in that pocket, and found it still there. Greenleaf had contented himself with the pocketbook.
“I have a little left,” he said.
He paid for his room in advance for another day, and went down to breakfast.
CHAPTER XXIII
A BUSINESS CALL
It was certainly a startling discovery for Herbert to make, that out of sixty dollars he had only four left, now that he had paid for another day at the hotel, and this small sum must be further diminished by the expense of a breakfast. Unfortunately, too, he was quite hungry, for his misfortune had not taken away his appetite.
“I will make a good breakfast, at any rate,” said Herbert, philosophically. “Afterwards, I will consider what to do.”
He ordered a substantial breakfast, which, even at the low prices of a dozen years ago, amounted to fifty cents, and did full justice to what was set before him.
After paying at the desk, he went outside.
It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and this, with the comfortable feeling produced by having eaten a good breakfast, gave him courage for the new career upon which he was about to enter.
While considering what he should do first, the thought of the letter given him by Mr. Carroll flashed upon him. He felt for it hastily, and was rejoiced to find that that was safe, at least. Greenleaf had not taken that away, fortunately.
He looked at the direction. It was addressed to
“Messrs. Godfrey & Lynn,
“No. – Pearl St.”
It was not sealed, and was probably meant to be read by Herbert. At any rate, our hero so concluded, and opened the letter, not without curiosity as to what Mr. Carroll had written about him. He knew it must be favorable, of course, but found it even more so than he anticipated.
Here it is:
“MY DEAR MR. GODFREY: This letter will be handed you by a young friend of mine, by name Herbert Mason. My acquaintance with him has been brief, but he has been able, by his coolness and bravery, to do me a most important service, having saved me from being robbed of a large sum of money while acting as my escort from Ohio to Philadelphia. I have talked with him freely about his plans, and find that he will reach New York without friends, and with a very small sum of money, hoping before it is gone to secure a place in some counting-room, where he can make an honest living. I feel a strong interest in his success, and am persuaded that wherever he is placed, he will show rare capacity and fidelity. I wish it might be in your power to receive him into your own counting-room. But, of course, that must be according to your convenience. At any rate, may I rely on you to act a friendly part by my young friend, and to exert your influence toward procuring him a position elsewhere, if you cannot employ him yourself? Anything that you may have it in your power to do for Herbert, I shall consider as a favor done to myself.
I have just left my daughter, who, with her family, is well. Sincerely, your friend,
JAMES CARROLL.”
“That is a very kind letter,” thought Herbert, gratefully. “I hope it will do me good.”
He decided to call and deliver it the same forenoon. If he had not been robbed of nearly the whole of his small capital, he would, first, have gone about the city, which was entirely new to him. But, with less than four dollars between himself and utter destitution, he felt that he had no time for sight-seeing. It was necessary that he should get to work as soon as possible.
He waited till ten o’clock, thinking it possible that the heads of the firm might not reach the counting-room till about that time. It was now eight o’clock only. He had two hours, therefore, to look about him.
“Shine yer boots?” said a ragged urchin, approaching, with a suggestive look at his soiled shoes.
It occurred to Herbert that it would be best to look as well as possible when visiting Godfrey.
“Ten cents.”
“It’s too much,” said Herbert, thinking how few dimes constituted his entire worldly wealth.
“Well, five, then,” said the bootblack, coming down to his regular price.
“Do you get much to do?” asked our hero.
“Some days I get considerable.”
“How much do you make?”
“Pleasant days I makes a dollar, but when it rains, there ain’t much to do.”
“How much do you have to pay for sleeping?”
“Six cents.”
“Six cents!” repeated Herbert, in surprise. “Where can you get lodged for that?”
“At the lodgin’ house, corner of Fulton and Nassau Streets.”
“Well,” thought Herbert, “I needn’t starve. If I can’t get anything better to do, I can buy a box of blacking and a brush, and set up in business for myself.”
To be sure, this would not be an agreeable occupation, but Herbert was bound to make a living by honest labor. If one avenue was closed to him, he must enter such as were open to him. He could not afford to be particular.
After his shoes were brushed, he crossed the park, and walked up Broadway. It was a wonderful sight to the country-bred boy, this gay thoroughfare, with its busy and bustling crowds, and its throngs of vehicles, never ceasing wholly, save at the dead hours of night. He thought to himself what a quantity of business there must be to do. Certainly, there must be room for one more worker. So, on the whole, the busy scene gave him courage, and he sauntered along as cheerfully as if he were not next-door to a beggar.
But at last the time came when he might safely seek out the gentleman to whom he had an introduction. Being a stranger in the city, he had to inquire for Pearl Street from a policeman, who answered his inquiry very civilly. He followed the direction, and found it at length. But the number of which he was in search was not so easily found, for he found the street meandered in a very perplexing way, so that at times he was not quite sure whether he was still in it, or had wandered from his way.
At last he found the place. It was a large, solid-looking building, of four stories in height. There were a number of boxes outside on the sidewalk. Inside, there was a large apartment occupying the entire first floor, with the exception of a room in the rear, which had been partitioned off for a counting-room. The partition was of glass, and, as he looked from the entrance, he could see a couple of high desks and a table.
“Is this Godfrey & Lynn’s?” he asked of a porter at the entrance.
“Yes,” said the porter.
“I want to see Mr. Godfrey.”
“I don’t think he’s in. You can go to the office and inquire.”
Accordingly, Herbert passed down the length of the warehouse, and, pausing a moment before the door, he opened it, and entered.
There were two persons in the office. One was a thin-faced man, who sat on a high stool at one of the desks, making entries apparently in the ledger. This was the bookkeeper, Mr. Pratt, a man with a melancholy face, who looked as if he had lived to see the vanity of all things earthly. He had a high forehead naturally—made still higher by the loss of his front hair. Apparently, he was not a man to enjoy conviviality, or to shine on any festive occasion.
Besides Mr. Pratt, there was a boy, if we may take the liberty of calling him such, of about Herbert’s age. He was fashionably dressed, and his hair was arranged with exceeding care. In fact, as Herbert entered, he was examining the set of his necktie in a little hand-glass, which he had taken from his coat pocket. Not quite suiting him, he set himself to rearranging it.
“Have you copied that bill, Thomas?” asked Mr. Pratt, looking up.
“Not yet, sir.”
“You have been long enough about it. Put back that glass. You are quite too much troubled about your appearance.”
“Yes, sir.
“If I didn’t look any better than some people,” said Thomas, sotto voce, “I shouldn’t look in a glass very often.”
Herbert naturally concluded that Mr. Pratt was the man to whom his inquiries should be addressed.
“I would like to see Mr. Godfrey, sir.” he said.
“He is out of the city.”
“Out of the city!” repeated Herbert, disappointed. “When will he be back?”
“Nor till day after to-morrow.”
Herbert’s countenance fell. In his reduced circumstances, he could hardly afford to wait two days. At his present rate of expenditure, he would be penniless by that time.
“Is Mr. Lynn likely to be in soon?” he asked, thinking that perhaps he would do in Mr. Godfrey’s absence.
“No; he is sick at home. He may not be here for a week. Perhaps, I can attend to your business,” he added. “What is it?”
“I think,” said Herbert, “that I will wait till day after to-morrow, if you think Mr. Godfrey will be back then. I have a letter for him.”
“If it’s a business letter, you had better leave it.”
“It is a letter of introduction,” said Herbert. “I would rather present it in person.”
“Very well,” and Mr. Pratt went back to his ledger.
Thomas looked critically at the boy who had a letter of introduction to Mr. Godfrey, and said to himself, “He got his clothes from a country tailor, I’ll bet a hat.”
CHAPTER XXIV
FINDING A BOARDING PLACE
Herbert left the counting-room of Godfrey & Lynn, not a little depressed in spirits. The two days which must elapse before he could see Mr. Godfrey were to him a formidable delay. By that time his money would be almost exhausted. Then, suppose, which was very probable, Mr. Godfrey could do nothing for him immediately, but only hold out his promise of future assistance, how was he to live in the meantime? After all, he might have to realize his thought of the morning, and join the ranks of the bootblacks. That was not a pleasant thought to a boy of his education. All labor is honorable, to be sure, but, then, some occupations are more congenial than others.
If Greenleaf had not robbed him so basely, he could have afforded to wait. He felt sore and indignant about that. Nobody likes to own that he has been victimized, but Herbert was obliged to confess to himself that such was the case with him.
He walked about rather aimlessly, feeling miserable enough. But, all at once, it occurred to him, “Would it not be cheaper for him to take board by the week in some boarding-house?” Reckoning up, he found that his hotel bill would be three dollars and a half a week, while his meals, even if he were quite abstemious, would make as much more; in all, seven dollars. Surely, he could be boarded somewhere for less than that.
In the reading-room of the hotel he found a daily paper, and carefully ran his eye down the advertisements for boarders and lodgers. The following attracted his attention:
“BOARDERS WANTED.—A few mechanics may obtain comfortable rooms and board at No. – Stanton Street, at three dollars per week.”
This, be it remembered, was previous to the war, and before the price of board had doubled.
“Three dollars a week!” repeated Herbert. “Less than half my present rate of expense. I must go at once and secure it.”
He found the way to Stanton Street, and found that No. – was a shabby-looking house in a shabby neighborhood. But he could not afford to be fastidious. He accordingly stepped up without hesitation, and rang the bell, which emitted a shrill sound in reply.
A middle-aged woman, with a red handkerchief tied around her head, and a broom in her hand, opened the door and looked inquiringly at our hero.
“What’s wanted?” she said.
“I saw your advertisement for boarders,” said Herbert.
“Yes; I advertised in the paper this morning.”
“Will you let me see your rooms?”
“Who are you looking for?”
“Myself.”
“I don’t know as you’ll be suited. My price is low, and I can’t give first-class accommodations for three dollars.”
“No; I suppose not.”
“Come up, if you would like to see what I’ve got.”
The interior of the house was shabby like the outside, the oilcloth carpet faded, and the wall paper torn off in places. The stairs, too, were narrow and uncarpeted. All this Herbert observed, but he could not afford to be critical.
On the third floor, his guide threw open the door of a dark, little hall bedroom, meagerly furnished.
“I could give you this room by yourself,” she said, “or a larger room with someone else.”
“I would rather be alone.”
“That’s the only single room I have. Will you take it?”
“I think so,” said Herbert, though he did not anticipate much enjoyment in such a poor place.
“When do you want to come?”
“To-morrow morning.”
“Very well. I shall expect a deposit, so that I may be sure the room is let.”
“How much?”
“A dollar will do.”
Herbert drew a dollar from his pocket, and handed it to Mrs. Morgan, for such, she informed him, was her name.
Then he went downstairs and out into the air again.
“Well,” he said to himself, “I’m sure of a home, such as it is, for a week. In that time something must turn up.”
Examining his pocketbook he found that he had two dollars and a half left. Of that sum, two dollars must be reserved to pay the balance of his week’s board. Out of the remaining fifty cents he must pay for his meals until the next morning, when he would take possession of his new boarding place. He wished that he had proposed to come to breakfast, but it was too late now.
With such a small sum in hand, he could not afford to dine on the same magnificent scale as he had breakfasted, but he must be rigidly economical. He decided that the cheapest food he could buy was a five-cent loaf at some baker’s. This would probably last him through the day, and might prove sufficient for breakfast also, since he would take a regular dinner, though he doubted, from what he had seen of the establishment in Stanton Street, whether it would be a very inviting repast. But it was the best he could afford, and that was all he need consider.
Late in the afternoon, it occurred to Herbert to wonder where, in the city, his Uncle Stanton lived. Not that he had any intention of applying to him for assistance, even if matters came to a crisis, but he felt a natural curiosity as to how his uncle was situated. He found the directory readily, and, turning to the letter S, ran down the list of names till he came to Stanton, Benjamin.
He learned that his uncle’s store was in the lower part of Broadway, while his house was in West Seventeenth Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.
“I should like to see what sort of a house Uncle Benjamin lives in,” thought Herbert.
There was nothing to prevent his gratifying this wish, as he had plenty of time on his hands. If he had had more money, he would have taken the horse cars, but in his present circumstances this would be imprudent. He decided, as it was only five o’clock, to take a leisurely walk up Broadway, noticing his uncle’s place of business on the way.
A few minutes brought him in front of the latter—an imposing-looking building, with all the appearance of belonging to a prosperous merchant. Appearances are deceitful, to be sure, and no doubt there are some merchants, as outwardly prosperous, who might profitably change places with their head clerks. But Herbert naturally judged from appearances, and he could not help contrasting in his mind his own condition with that of his uncle’s. But he was too manly to be despondent on this account, and thought rather, “I am young and ready to work, Some time, if I am patient and work hard. I may be as well off as Uncle Benjamin.” The thought of applying to him for assistance was as far off as ever.
He pursued his way uptown, finding it a longer walk than he anticipated, arriving at half-past five at Union Square. At the upper end he turned off, and went down Seventeenth Street.
Carefully noting the numbers, he at length found his uncle’s house. It was a handsome, substantial city mansion, and seemed appropriate as the residence of a rich New York merchant.
“So my uncle lives here,” thought Herbert, and there rose involuntarily in his mind the memory of the humble Western home where he and his mother had struggled against poverty, while his uncle, who was evidently so amply provided with the world’s goods, coldly held aloof, and forbore to offer the assistance which he could so well afford.
“If I had a sister, I could never treat her like that,” thought Herbert, indignantly. “He would not help my mother. I will starve before I ask him to help me.”
He paused a moment on the opposite side of the street to look at his uncle’s house. While he was standing there, a boy of about his own age, apparently, came down the street whistling, and ascended the steps of his uncle’s house.
“I wonder if that is my cousin Tom,” thought Herbert. He knew the names of his cousins from his mother, though he had never seen them.
While he looked, he was struck by something familiar in the appearance of this boy. Where had he seen him before?
All at once it flashed upon him. It was the same boy he had seen in the counting-room of Godfrey He knew him by his dandified dress and his face, which he had noticed at the time.
This was certainly a strange coincidence, that his cousin, for it was doubtless he, should be the first boy he encountered after reaching New York. It would be still stranger if Mr. Godfrey should offer him employment, and he should find himself a clerk in the same office as the son of his rich uncle. But it was by no means certain that he would be lucky enough to obtain such employment. Therefore there was no need of wondering whether, under such circumstances, Tom would recognize him as a relation.
Herbert walked thoughtfully back, and on reaching his room ate the remainder of the loaf which he had purchased at the baker’s in the morning. It was not a very luxurious repast, but his walk had given him an appetite, and he had no difficulty in disposing of all that was left.
