CHAPTER III.--NEW YORK.
I did not feel rich enough to take a stateroom on the City of Lawrence;that would have cost a dollar extra; so I picked out a sofa in thebig gilt and white saloon, and sitting down upon it, proceeded to makemyself as comfortable as the circumstances would permit. A small boy,armed with a large sword, and standing guard over a hand-satchel anda square package done up in a newspaper--which last contained my UncleFlorimond’s copy of _Paul et Virginie_--I dare say I presented a curiousspectacle to the passers-by. Indeed, almost everybody turned to look atme; and one man, with an original wit, inquired, “Hello, sword, whereyou going with that boy?” But my mind was too busy with other andweightier matters to be disturbed about mere appearances. One thought inparticular occupied it: I must not on any account allow myself to fallasleep--for then I might be robbed. No; I must take great pains to keepwide awake all night long.
For the first hour or two it was easy enough to make this resolutiongood. The undiscovered country awaiting my exploration, the novelty andthe excitement of my position, the people walking back and forth, andlaughing and chattering, the noises coming from the dock outside, andfrom every corner of the steamboat inside, the bright lights of thecabin lamps--all combined to put my senses on the alert, and to banishsleep. But after we had got under way, and the other passengers hadretired to their berths or staterooms, and most of the lamps had beenextinguished, and the only sound to be heard was the muffled throbbingof the engines, then tired nature asserted herself, the sandman came, myeyelids grew very heavy, I began to nod. Er-rub-dub-dub, er-rub-dub-dub,went the engines; er-rub-dubdub, er-rub-er-rub-er-er-er-r-r...,
Mercy! With a sudden start I came to myself. It was broad day. I hadbeen sleeping soundly for I knew not how many hours.
My first thought, of course, was for my valuables. Had my fears beenrealized? Had I been robbed? I hastened to make an investigation. No!My money, my sword, my satchel, my _Paul et Virginie_, remained in theirproper places, unmolested. Having relieved my anxiety on this head, Igot up, stretched myself, and went out on deck.
If I live to be a hundred, I don’t believe I shall ever forget my firstbreath of the outdoor air on that red-letter April morning--it was sosweet, so pure, so fresh and keen and stimulating. It sent a glow of newvitality tingling through my body. I just stood still and drew in deepinhalations of it with delight. It was like drinking a rich, deliciouswine. My heart warmed and mellowed. Hope and gladness entered into it.
It must have been very early. The sun, a huge ball of gold, floated intorosy mists but a little higher than the horizon; and a heavy dew bathedthe deck and the chairs and the rail. We were speeding along, almost,it seemed, within a stone’s throw of the shore, where the turf wasbeginning to put on the first vivid green of spring, where the leaflesstrees were exquisitely penciled against the gleaming sky, and where,from the chimneys of the houses, the smoke of breakfast fires curledupward: Over all there lay a wondrous, restful stillness, which thepounding of our paddle-wheels upon the water served only to accentuate,and which awoke in one’s breast a deep, solemn, and yet joyous sense ofpeace.
I staid out on deck from that moment until, some two hours later, webrought up alongside our pier; and with what strange and strong emotionsI watched the vast town grow from a mere distant reddish blur to thegrim, frowning mass of brick and stone it really is, I shall not attemptto tell. To a country-bred lad like myself it was bound to be a stirringand memorable experience. Looking back at it now, I can truly say thatit was one of the most stirring and memorable experiences of my life.
It was precisely eight o’clock, as a gentleman of whom I inquiredthe hour was kind enough to inform me, when I stepped off the City ofLawrence and into the city of New York. My heart was bounding, but mypoor brain was bewildered. The hurly-burly of people, the fierce-lookingmen at the entrance of the dock, who shook their fists at me, andshouted, “Cadge, cadge, want a cadge?” leaving me to wonder what acadge was, the roar and motion of the wagons in the street, everything,everything interested, excited, yet also confused, baffled, and tosome degree frightened me. I felt as though I had been set down inpandemonium; yet I was not sorry to be there; I rather liked it.
I went up to a person whom I took to be a policeman, for he wore auniform resembling that worn by our one single policeman in NorwichCity; and, exhibiting the card that Mr. Marx had given me, I asked himhow to reach the street and house indicated upon it.
He eyed me with unconcealed amusement at my accoutrements, and answered,“Ye wahk down tin blocks; thin turrun to yer lift four blocks; thin downwan; thin to yer roight chew or thray doors; and there ye are.”
“Thank you, sir,” said I, and started off, repeating his instructions tomyself, so as not to forget them.
I felt very hungry, and I hoped that Mr. Marx would offer me somebreakfast; but it did not occur to me to stop at an eating-house, andbreakfast on my own account, until, as I was trudging along, I presentlycaught sight of a sign-board standing on the walk in front of ashop, which advertised, in big conspicuous white letters upon a blackground:--
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Merely to read the names of these good things made my mouth water. Theprices seemed reasonable. I walked into the ladies’ and gents’ diningparlor--which was rather shabby and dingy, I thought, for a parlor--andasked for a beefsteak and some fried potatoes; a burly,villainous-looking colored man, in his shirt-sleeves, having demanded,“Wall, Boss, wottle you have?” His shirt-sleeves were not immaculatelyclean; neither was the dark red cloth that covered my table; neither, Ifeared, was the fork he gave me to eat with. To make sure, I picked thislast-named object up, and examined it; whereupon the waiter, with ahorrid loud laugh, cried, “Oh! yassah, it’s sawlid, sawlid silvah, sah,” which made me feel wretchedly silly and uncomfortable. The beefsteak waspretty tough, and not especially toothsome in its flavor; the potatoeswere lukewarm and greasy; the bread was soggy, the butter rancid; thewaiter took up a position close at hand, and stared at me with hiswicked little eyes as steadily as if he had never seen a boy before: so,despite my hunger, I ate with a poor appetite, and was glad enough whenby and by I left the ladies’ and gents’ dining parlor behind me, andresumed my journey through the streets. As I was crossing the threshold,the waiter called after me, “Say, Johnny, where joo hook the sword?”
Inquiring my way of each new policeman that I passed--for I distrustedmy memory of the directions I had received from the first--I finallyreached No. ----, Franklin Street and read the name of Krauskopf,Sollinger & Co., engraved in Old English letters upon a shining metalsign. I entered, and with a trembling heart inquired for Mr. Marx. Tenseconds later I stood before him.
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“Mr. Marx,” I ventured, in rather a timid voice.
He was seated in a swivel-chair, reading a newspaper, and smoking acigar. At the sound of his name, he glanced up, and looked at me for amoment with an absent-minded and indifferent face, showing no glimmerof recognition. But then, suddenly, his eyes lighted; he sprang from hischair, started back, and cried:--
“My kracious! was dot you, Bubby? Was dot yourself? Was dot--well, mykoodness!”
“Yes, sir; Gregory Brace,” I replied.
“Krekory Prace! Yes, dot’s a fact. No mistake about it. It’syourself, sure. But--but, koodness kracious, Bubby,what--how--why--when--where--where you come from? When you leaveNawvich? How you get here? What you--well, it’s simply wonderful.”
“I came down on the boat last night,” I said.
“Oh! you came down on de boat last night. Well, I svear. Well, Bubby,who came mit you?”
“Nobody, sir; I came alone.”
“You came alone! You don’t say so. Well, did your mamma--excuse me; youain’t got no mamma; I forgot; it was your uncle--well, did your uncleknow you was come?”
“Oh! yes, sir; he knows it; he said I might.”
“He said you might, hey? Well, dot’s fine. Well, Bubby, what you comefor? To make a little visit, hey, and go around a little, and see
thetown? Well, Bubby, this was a big surprise; it was, and no mistake. ButI’m glad to see you, all de same. Well, shake hands.”
“No, sir,” I explained, after we had shaken hands, “I didn’t come for avisit. I came to go into business. You said you would get me a job, andI have come for that.”
“Oh! you was come to go into pusiness, was you? And you want I shouldget you a chop? Well, if I ever! Well, you’re a great feller, Bubby;you got so much ambition about you. Well, dot’s all right. I get youthe chop, don’t you be afraid. We talk about dot in a minute. But now,excuse me, Bubby, but what you doing mit the sword? Was you going tokill somebody mit it, hey, Bubby?”
“O, no, sir! it--it’s a keepsake.”
“Oh! it was a keepsake, was it, Bubby? Well, dot’s grand. Well, who wasit a keepsake of? It’s a handsome sword, Bubby, and it must be worthquite a good deal of money. If dot’s chenu-wine gold, I shouldn’t wonderif it was worth two or three hundred dollars.--Oh! by the way, Bubby,you had your breakfast yet already?”
“Well, yes, sir; I’ve had a sort of breakfast.”
“A sort of a breakfast, hey? Well, what sort of a breakfast was it?”
I gave him an account of my experience in the ladies’ and gents’ diningparlor. He laughed immoderately, though I couldn’t see that it was sovery funny. “Well, Bubby,” he remarked, “dot was simply immense. Dotoughter go into a comic paper, mit a picture of dot big nigger staringat you. Well, I give ten dollars to been there, and heard him tellyou dot fork was solid silver. Well, dot was a. pretty poor sort of abreakfast, anyhow. I guess you better come along out mit me now, and weget anudder sort of a breakfast, hey? You just wait here a minute whileI go put on my hat. And say, Bubby, I guess you better give me dotsword, to leaf here while we’re gone. I don’t believe you’ll need it.Give me dem udder things, too,” pointing to my satchel and my book.
He went away, but soon came back, with his hat on; and, taking my hand,he led me out into the street. After a walk of a few blocks, we turnedinto a luxurious little restaurant, as unlike the dining parlor as afine lady is unlike a beggar woman, and sat down at a neat round tablecovered with a snowy cloth.
“Now, Bubby,” inquired Mr. Marx, “you got any preferences? Or will yougive me card blanch to order what I think best?”
“Oh! order what you think best.”
He beckoned a waiter, and spoke to him at some length in a foreignlanguage, which, I guessed, was German. The waiter went off; and then,addressing me, Mr. Marx said, “Well, now, Bubby, now we’re settled down,quiet and comfortable, now you go ahead and tell me all about it.”
“All about what, sir?” queried I.
“Why, all about yourself, and what you leaf your home for, and whatyou expect to do here in New York, and every dings--the whole pusiness.Well, fire away.”
“Well, sir, I--it--it’s this way,” I began. And then, as well as Icould, I told Mr. Marx substantially everything that I have as yet toldyou in this story--about my grandmother, my Uncle Florimond, myUncle Peter, and all the rest. Meanwhile the waiter had brought thebreakfast--such an abundant, delicious breakfast! such juicy muttonchops, such succulent stewed potatoes, such bread, such butter, suchcoffee!--and I was violating the primary canons of good breeding bytalking with my mouth full. Mr. Marx heard me through with every signof interest and sympathy, only interrupting once, to ask, “Well, what Iordered--I hope it gives you entire satisfaction, hey?” and when I haddone:--
“Well, if I ever!” he exclaimed. “Well, dot beats de record! Well, dotUncle Peter was simply outracheous! Well, Bubby, you done just right,you done just exactly right, to come to me. The only thing dot surprisesme is how you stood it so long already. Well, dot Uncle Peter of yours,Bubby--well, dot’s simply unnecheral.”
He paused for a little, and appeared to be thinking. By and by he wenton, “But your grandma, Bubby, your grandma was elegant. Yes, Bubby, yourgrandma was an angel, and no mistake about it. She reminds me, Bubby,she reminds me of my own mamma. Ach, Krekory, my mamma was so loafly.You couldn’t hardly believe it. She was simply magnificent. Your grandmaand her, they might have been ter_vins_. Yes, Krekory, they might havebeen ter_vin_ sisters.”
Much to my surprise, Mr. Marx’s eyes filled with tears, and there was afrog in his voice. “I can’t help it, Bubby,” he said. “When you told meabout dot grandma of yours, dot made me feel like crying. You see,” headded in an apologetic key, “I got so much sentiment about me.”
He was silent again for a little, and then again by and by he went on,“But I tell you what, Krekory, it’s awful lucky dot you came down toNew York just exactly when you did. Uddervise--if you’d come tomorrowinstead of to-day, for example--you wouldn’t have found me no more.Tomorrow morning I start off on the road for a six weeks’ trip. What youdone, hey, if you come down to New York and don’t find me, hey, Bubby?Dot would been fearful, hey? Well, now, Krekory, now about dot chop.Well, as I got to leaf town to-morrow morning, I ain’t got the time tofind you a first-class chop before I go. But I tell you what I do. Itake you up and introduce you to my fader-in-law; and you stay mit himtill I get back from my trip, and then I find you the best chop in themarket, don’t you be afraid. My fader-in-law was a cheweler of the nameof Mr. Finkelstein, Mr. Gottlieb Finkelstein. He’s one of the nicestgentlemen you want to know, Bubby, and he’ll treat you splendid. As soonas you get through mit dot breakfast, I take you up and introduce you tohim.”
We went back to Mr. Marx’s place of business, and got my traps; and thenwe took a horse-car up-town to Mr. Finkelstein’s, which was in ThirdAvenue near Forty-Seventh Street. Mr. Marx talked to me about hisfather-in-law all the time.
“He’s got more wit about him than any man of my acquaintance,” he said,“and he’s so fond of music. He’s a vidower, you know, Bubby; and Imarried his only daughter, of the name of Hedwig. Me and my wife, weboard; but Mr. Finkelstein, he lives up-stairs over his store, mit anold woman of the name of Henrietta, for houze-keeper. Well, you’ll likehim first-rate, Bubby, you see if you don’t; and he’ll like you, yougot so much enerchy about you. My kracious! If you talk about eating, hesets one of the grandest tables in the United States. And he’s so fondof music, Krek-ory--it’s simply wonderful. But I tell you one thing,Bubby; don’t you never let him play a game of pinochle mit you, or elseyou get beat all holler. He’s the most magnificent pinochle player inNew York City; he’s simply A-number-one.. . . Hello! here we are.”
We left the horse-car, and found ourselves in front of a small jeweler’sshop, which we entered. The shop was empty, but, a bell over the doorhaving tinkled in announcement of our arrival, there entered next momentfrom the room behind it an old gentleman, who, as soon as he saw Mr.Marx, cried, “Hello, Solly! Is dot you? Vail, I declare! Vail, how goesit?”
The very instant I first set eyes on him, I thought this was one of thepleasantest-looking old gentlemen I had ever seen in my life; and I amsure you would have shared my opinion if you had seen him, too. He wasquite short--not taller than five feet two or three at the utmost--andas slender as a young girl; but he had a head and face that were reallybeautiful. His forehead was high, and his hair, white as snow and softas silk, was combed straight back from it. A long white silky beardswept downward over his breast, half-way to his waist. His nose was aperfect aquiline, and it reminded me a little of my grandmother’s,only it was longer and more pointed. But what made his face especiallyprepossessing were his eyes; the kindest, merriest eyes you can imagine;dark blue in color; shining with a mild, sweet light that won your heartat once, yet having also a humorous twinkle in them. Yes, the moment Ifirst saw Mr. Finkelstein I took a liking to him; a liking which wasere a great while to develop into one of the strongest affections of mylife.
“Vail, how goes it?” he had inquired of Mr. Marx; and Mr. Marx hadanswered, “First-class. How’s yourself?”
“Oh! vail, pretty fair, tank you. I cain’t complain. I like to bebetter, but I might be vorse. Vail, how’s Heddie?”
“
Oh! Hedwig, she’s immense, as usual. Well, how’s business?”
“Oh! don’t aisk me. Poor, dirt-poor. I ain’t made no sale vortmentioning dese two or tree days already. Only vun customer here dismorning yet, and he didn’t buy nodings. Aifter exaiming five tousandtol-lars vort of goots, he tried to chew me down on a two tollar and ahaif plated gold vatch-chain. Den I aisked him vedder he took myestablishment for a back-handed owction, and he got maid and vent avay.Vail, I cain’t help it; I must haif my shoke, you know, Solly. Vail,come along into de parlor. Valk in, set down, make yourself to home.”
Without stopping his talk, he led us into the room behind the shop,which was very neatly and comfortably furnished, and offered us chairs.“Set down,” said he, “and make yourself shust as much to home as if youbelonged here. I hate to talk to a man stainding up. Vail, Solly, I’mreal glaid to see you; but, tell me, Solly, was dis young shentleman mityou a sort of a body-guard, hey?”
“A body-guard?” repeated Mr. Marx, “how you mean?”
“Why, on account of de sword; I tought maybe you took him along forbrodection.”
“Ach, my kracious, fader-in-law, you’re simply killing, you got so muchwit about you,” cried Mr. Marx, laughing.
“Vail, I must haif my shoke, dot’s a faict,” admitted Mr. Finkelstein.“Vail, Soily, you might as vail make us acqvainted, hey?”
“Well, dot’s what brought me up here this morning, fader-in-law. Iwanted to introduce him to you. Well, this is Mr. Krekory Prace--Mr.Finkelstein.”
“Bleased to make your acqvaintance, Mr. Prace; shake hands,” said Mr.Finkelstein. “And so your name was Kraikory, was it, Shonny? I used toknow a Mr. Kraikory kept an undertaker’s estaiblishment on Sixt Aivenue.Maybe he was a relation of yours, hey?”
“No, sir; I don’t think so. Gregory is only my first name,” I answered.
“Well, now, fader-in-law,” struck in Mr. Marx, “you remember dot boy Itold you about up in Nawvich, what jumped into the water, and saved memy fishing-pole already, de udder day?”
“Yes, Solly, I remember. Vail?”
“Well, fader-in-law, this was the boy.”
“What! Go ‘vay!” exclaimed Mr. Finkelstein. “You don’t mean it! Vail, ifI aifer! Vail, Shonny, let me look at you.” He looked at me with all hiseyes, swaying his head slowly from side to side as he did so. “Vail, Iwouldn’t haif believed, it, aictually.”
“It’s a fact, all de same; no mistake about it,” attested Mr. Marx. “Andnow he’s come down to New York, looking for a chop.”
“A shop, hey? Vail, what kind of a shop does he vant, Solly? I shouldtink a shop by de vater-vorks vould be about his ticket, hey?”
“Oh! no shoking. Pusiness is pusiness, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marxprotested. “Well, seriously, I guess he ain’t particular what kind of achop, so long as it’s steady and has prospects. He’s got so much enerchyand ambition about him, I guesss he’ll succeed in ‘most any kind of achop. But first I guess you better let him tell you de reasons he leafhis home, and den you can give him your advice. Go ahead, Bubby, andtell Mr. Finkelstein what you told me down by the restaurant.”
“Yes, go ahead, Shonny,” Mr. Finkelstein added; and so for a second timethat day I gave an account of myself.
Mr. Finkelstein was even a more sympathetic listener than Mr. Marx hadbeen. He kept swaying his head and muttering ejaculations, sometimes inEnglish, sometimes in German, but always indicative of his eagerinterest in my tale. “_Mein Gott!_” “_Ist’s moglich?_” “You don’t sayso!” “Vail, if I aifer!” And his kind eyes were all the time fixed uponmy face in the most friendly and encouraging way. In the end, “Vail, Ideclare! Vail, my kracious!” he cried. “Vail, Shonny, I naifer heardnodings like dot in all my life before. You poor little boy! All alonein de vorld, mit nobody but dot parparian, dot saivage, to take care ofyou. Vail, it was simply heart-rending. Vail, your Uncle Peter, he’doughter be tarred and feddered, dot’s a faict. But don’t you be afraid,Shonny; God will punish him; He will, shust as sure as I’m sitting here,Kraikory. Oh! you’re a good boy, Kraikory, you’re a fine boy. You makeme loaf you already like a fader. Vail, Shonny, and so now you was comedown to New York mit de idea of getting rich, was you?”
“Yes, sir,” I confessed.
“Vail, dot’s a first-claiss idea. Dot’s de same idea what I come todis country mit. Vail, now, I give you a little piece of information,Shonny; what maybe you didn’t know before. Every man in dis vorld wasborn to get rich. Did you know dot, Shonny?”
“Why, no, sir; I didn’t know it. Is it true?”
“Yes, sir; it’s a solemn faict. I leaf it to Solly, here. Every man indis vorld is born to get rich--only some of ‘em don’t live long enough.You see de point?”
Mr. Marx and I joined in a laugh. Mr. Finkelstein smiled faintly, andsaid, as if to excuse himself, “Vail, I cain’t help it. I must haif myshoke.”
“The grandest thing about your wit, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx observed,“is dot you don’t never laugh yourself.”
“No; dot’s so,” agreed Mr. Finkelstein. “When you get off a vitticism,you don’t vant to laif yourself, for fear you might laif de cream offit.”
“Ain’t he immense?” demanded Mr. Marx, in an aside to me. Then, turningto his father-in-law: “Well, as I was going to tell you, I got to leaftown to-morrow morning for a trip on the road; so I thought I’d ask youto let Krekory stay here mit you till I get back. Den I go to vork andlook around for a chop for him.”
“Solly,” replied Mr. Finkelstein, “you got a good heart; and your brainsis simply remarkable. You done shust exaictly right. I’m very glaidto have such a fine boy for a visitor. But look at here, Solly; I wastinking vedder I might not manufacture a shop for him myself.”
“Manufacture a chop? How you mean?” Mr. Marx queried.
“How I mean? How should I mean? I mean I ain’t got no ready-mait shopson hand shust now in dis estaiblishment; but I might mainufacture a shopfor the right party. You see de point?”
“You mean you’ll make a chop for him? You mean you’ll give him a chophere, by you?” cried Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solomon, if you was as vise as your namesake, you might haifknown dot mitout my going into so much eggsblanations.”
“My kracious, fader-in-law, you’re simply elegant, you’re simply loafly,and no mistake about it. Well, I svear!”
“Oh! dot’s all right. Don’t mention it. I took a chenu-wine liking toKraikory; he’s got so much enterprise about him,” said Mr. Finkelstein.
“Well, what sort of a chop would it be, fader-in-law?” questioned Mr.Marx.
“Vail, I tink I give him de position of clerk, errant boy, and sheneralassistant,” Mr. Finkelstein replied.
“Well, Krekory, what you say to dot?” Mr. Marx inquired.
“De question is, do you accept de appointment?” added Mr. Finkelstein.
“O, yes, sir!” I answered. “You’re very, very kind, you’re very goodto me. I--” I had to stop talking, and take a good big swallow, to keepdown my tears; yet, surely, I had nothing to cry about!
“Well, fader-in-law, what vages will you pay?” pursued Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solly, what vages was dey paying now to boys of his age?”
“Well, they generally start them on two dollars a week.”
“Two tollars a veek, and he boards and clodes himself, hey?”
“Yes, fader-in-law, dot’s de system.”
“Vail, Solly, I tell you what I do. I board and clode him, and give hima quarter a veek to get drunk on. Is dot saitisfaictory?”
“But, sir,” I hastened to put in, pained and astonished at his remark,“I--I don’t get drunk.”
“O, Lord, Bubby!” cried Mr. Marx, laughing. “You’re simply killing! Hedon’t mean get drunk. Dot’s only his witty way of saying pocket-money.”
“Oh! I--I understand,” I stammered.
“You must excuse me, Shonny,” said Mr. Finkelstein. “I didn’t mean tomake you maid. But I must haif my sho
ke, you know; I cain’t help it.Vail, Solly, was de proposition saitisfaictory?”
“Well, Bubby, was Mr. Finkelstein’s proposition satisfactory?” asked Mr.Marx.
“O, yes, sir! yes, indeed,” said I.
“Vail, all right; dot settles it,” concluded Mr. Finkelstein. “And now,Kraikory, I pay you your first veek’s sailary in advaince, hey?” and hehanded me a crisp twenty-five-cent paper piece.
I was trying, in the depths of my own mind, to calculate how long itwould take me, at this rate, to earn the hundred dollars that I neededfor my journey across the sea to my Uncle Florimond. The outlook wasnot encouraging. I remembered, though, a certain French proverb thatmy grandmother had often repeated to me, and I tried to findsome consolation in it: “_Tout vient à la fin à qui saitattendre_”--Everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.
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