CHAPTER III.
STREET SCENES.
"Here's Broadway," said Jerry, suddenly.
They emerged from the side street on which they had been walking, and,turning the corner, found themselves in the great thoroughfare, a blockor two above Trinity Church.
Ben surveyed the busy scenes that opened before him, with the eagerinterest of a country boy who saw them for the first time.
"What church is that?" he asked, pointing to the tall spire of theimposing church that faces Wall Street.
"That's Trinity Church."
"Do you go to church there?"
"I don't go anywhere else," said Jerry, equivocally. "What's the use ofgoing to church?"
"I thought everybody went to church," said Ben, speaking from hisexperience in a country village "that is, most everybody," he correctedhimself, as several persons occurred to his mind who were more punctualin their attendance at the liquor saloon than the church.
"If I'd got good clothes like you have I'd go once just to see what it'slike; but I'd a good sight rather go to the old Bowery Theatre."
"But you ought not to say that," said Ben, a little startled.
"Why not?"
"Because it's better to go to church than to the theatre."
"Is it?" said Jerry. "Well, you can go if you want to. I'd give more fora stunnin' old play at the Bowery than fifty churches."
Ben began to suspect that Jerry was rather loose in his ideas on thesubject of religion, but did not think it best to say so, for fear ofgiving offence, though in all probability Jerry's sensitiveness wouldnot have been at all disturbed by such a charge.
During the last portion of the conversation they had been standing stillat the street corner.
"I'm goin' to Nassau Street," said Jerry. "If you want to go upBroadway, that's the way."
Without waiting for an answer he darted across the street, threading hisway among the numerous vehicles with a coolness and a success whichamazed Ben, who momentarily expected to see him run over. He drew a longbreath when he saw him safe on the other side, and bethought himselfthat he would not like to take a similar risk. He felt sorry to haveJerry leave him so abruptly. The boot-black had already imparted to himconsiderable information about New York, which he saw was likely to beof benefit to him. Besides, he felt that any society was better thansolitude, and a sudden feeling of loneliness overpowered him, as he feltthat among the crowd of persons that jostled him as he stood at thecorner, there was not one who felt an interest in him, or even knew hisname. It was very different in his native village, where he kneweverybody, and everybody had a friendly word for him. The thought didoccur to him for a moment whether he had been wise in running away fromhome; but the thought of the unjust punishment came with it, and hisexpression became firmer and more resolute.
"I won't go home if I starve," he said proudly to himself; and armedwith this new resolution he proceeded up Broadway.
His attention was soon drawn to the street merchants doing business onthe sidewalk. Here was a vender of neckties, displaying a variedassortment of different colors, for "only twenty-five cents each." Nextcame a candy merchant with his stock in trade, divided up into irregularlumps, and labelled a penny apiece. They looked rather tempting, and Benwould have purchased, but he knew very well that his cash capitalamounted to only twenty-five cents, which, considering that he was asyet without an income, was likely to be wanted for other purposes.
Next came a man with an assortment of knives, all of them open, andsticking into a large board, which was the only shop required by theirproprietor. Ben stopped a moment to look at them. He had always had afancy for knives, but was now without one. In fact he had sold ahandsome knife, which he had received as a birthday present, forseventy-five cents, to raise money for his present expedition. Of thissum but twenty-five cents remained.
"Will you buy a knife to-day, young gentleman?" asked the vender, whowas on the alert for customers.
"No, I guess not," said Ben.
"Here's a very nice one for only one dollar," said the street merchant,taking up a showy-looking knife with three blades. "Its the best ofsteel, warranted. You won't get another such knife for the price in thecity."
It did look cheap certainly. Ben could not but allow that. He would liketo have owned it, but circumstances forbade.
"No, I won't buy to-day," he said.
"Here, you shall have it for ninety-four cents," and the vender began toroll it up in a piece of paper. "You can't say it isn't cheap."
"Yes, it's cheap enough," said Ben, moving away, "but I haven't got themoney with me."
This settled the matter, and the dealer reluctantly unrolled it, andreplaced it among his stock.
"If you'll call round to-morrow, I'll save it for you till then," hesaid.
"All right," said Ben.
"I wonder," he thought, "whether he would be so anxious to sell, if heknew that I had run away from home, and had but twenty-five cents in theworld?"
Ben's neat dress deceived the man, who naturally supposed him to belongto a city family well to do.
Our young hero walked on till he came to the Astor House. He stood onthe steps a few minutes taking a view of what may be considered theliveliest and most animated part of New York. Nearly opposite wasBarnum's American Museum, the site being now occupied by the costly andelegant Herald Building and Park Bank. He looked across to the lower endof the City Hall Park, not yet diverted from its original purpose forthe new Post Office building. He saw a procession of horse-cars inconstant motion up and down Park Row. Everything seemed lively andanimated; and again the thought came to Ben, "If there is employment forall these people, there must be something for me to do."
He crossed to the foot of the Park, and walked up on the Park Row side.Here again he saw a line of street merchants. Most conspicuous were thedealers in penny ballads, whose wares lined the railings, and werevarious enough to suit every taste. Here was an old woman, who mighthave gained a first prize for ugliness, presiding over an apple-stand.
"Take one, honey; it's only two cints," she said, observing that Ben'sattention was drawn to a rosy-cheeked apple.
Ben was rather hungry, and reflecting that probably apples were as cheapas any other article of diet, he responded to the appeal by purchasing.It proved to be palatable, and he ate it with a good relish.
"Ice-cream, only a penny a glass," was the next announcement. Theglasses, to be sure, were of very small size. Still ice-cream in anyquantity for a penny seemed so ridiculously cheap that Ben, poor as hewas, could not resist the temptation.
"I'll take a glass," he said.
A dab of ice-cream was deposited in a glass, and with a pewter spoonhanded to Ben. He raised the spoon to his mouth, but alas! the mixturewas not quite so tempting to the taste as to the eye and the pocket. Itmight be ice-cream, but there was an indescribable flavor about it, onlyto be explained on the supposition that the ice had been frozendish-water. Ben's taste had not been educated up to that point whichwould enable him to relish it. He laid it down with an involuntarycontortion of the face.
"Give it to me, Johnny," he heard at his elbow.
Turning, he saw a small, dirty-faced boy of six, with bare feet andtattered attire, who was gazing with a look of greedy desire at thedelicious mixture.
Ben handed him the glass and spoon, and stood by, looking at him withsome curiosity as he disposed of the contents with a look of evidentenjoyment.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"It's bully," said the young epicure.
If Ben had not been restricted by his narrow means, he would havepurchased another glass for the urchin. It would have been a very cheap"treat." But our young adventurer reflected that he had but twenty-twocents left, and prudence forbade.
"I don't see how he can like the nasty stuff," he thought.
But the time was to come when Ben himself, grown less fastidious, wouldbe able to relish food quite as uninviting.
Ben made his way across the Park to
Broadway again. He felt that it washigh time for him to be seeking employment. His ideas on this subjectwere not very well defined, but when he left home he made up his mindthat he would try to get a place in a store on Broadway. He supposedthat, among the great number of stores, there would be a chance for himto get into some one. He expected to make enough to live in acomfortable boarding-house, and buy his clothes, though he supposed thatwould be about all. He expected to have to economize on spending moneythe first year, but the second year his wages would be raised, and thenit would come easier. All this shows how very verdant and unpracticalour young adventurer was, and what disappointment he was preparing forhimself.
However, Ben's knowledge was to come by experience, and that beforelong.
Reaching Broadway, he walked up slowly on the west side, looking in atthe shop-windows. In the lower part of this busy street are manywholesale houses, while the upper part is devoted principally to retailshops. Coming to a large warehouse for the sale of ready-made clothing,Ben thought he might as well begin there. In such a large place theremust be a good deal to do.
He passed in and looked about him rather doubtfully. The counters, whichwere numerous, were filled high with ready-made garments. Ben saw no oneas small as himself, and that led him to doubt whether his size mightnot be an objection.
"Well, sonny, what do you want?" asked a clerk.
"Don't you want to hire a boy?" asked our young adventurer, plunginginto his business.
"I suppose you have had considerable experience in the business?" saidthe clerk inclined to banter him a little.
"No, I haven't," said Ben, frankly.
"Indeed, I judged from your looks that you were a man of experience."
"If you don't want to hire me, I'll go," said Ben, independently.
"Well, young man, I'm afraid you'll have to go. The fact is, we shouldhave to _higher_ you before we could _hire_ you;" and the clerk laughedat his witticism.
Ben naturally saw nothing to laugh at, but felt rather indignant. Hestepped into the street, a little depressed at the result of his firstapplication. But then, as he reflected, there were a great many otherstores besides this, and he might have better luck next time. He walkedon some distance, however, before trying again. Indeed, he had got aboveBleecker Street, when his attention was arrested by a paper pastedinside of a shop-window, bearing the inscription:--
"CASH-BOYS WANTED."
Ben did not clearly understand what were the duties of a cash-boy,though he supposed they must have something to do with receiving money.Looking in through the glass door he saw boys as small as himselfflitting about, and this gave him courage to enter and make anapplication for a place.
He entered, therefore, and walked up boldly to the first clerk he saw.
"Do you want a cash-boy?" he asked.
"Go up to that desk, Johnny," said the clerk, pointing to a desk aboutmidway of the store. A stout gentleman stood behind it, writingsomething in a large book.
Ben went up, and repeated his inquiry. "Do you want a cash-boy?"
"How old are you?" asked the gentleman looking down at him.
"Ten years old."
"Have you ever been in a store?"
"No, sir."
"Do you live in the city?"
"Yes, sir."
"With your parents?"
"No, sir," said Ben, with hesitation.
"Who do you live with, then?"
"With nobody. I take care of myself."
"Humph!" The gentleman looked a little surprised, not at the idea of aboy of ten looking out for himself, for such cases are common enough inNew York, but at the idea of such a well-dressed lad as Ben being inthat situation.
"How long have you been your own man?" he inquired.
"I've only just begun," Ben admitted.
"Are your parents dead?"
"No, sir; they're alive."
"Then I advise you to go back to them. We don't receive any boys intoour employment, who do not live with their parents."
The gentleman returned to his writing, and Ben saw that his case washopeless. His disappointment was greater than before, for he liked thelooks of the proprietor, if, as he judged, this was he. Besides, boyswere wanted, and his size would be no objection, judging from theappearance of the other boys in the store. So he had been sanguine ofsuccess. Now he saw that there was an objection which he could notremove, and which would be very likely to stand in his way in otherplaces.
Ben, the Luggage Boy; Or, Among the Wharves Page 3
