CHAPTER XI.
BEN BECOMES A BAGGAGE-SMASHER.
The restaurant was a small one, and not fashionable in appearance,having a shabby look. The floor was sanded, and the tables were coveredwith soiled cloths. However, Ben had learned already not to befastidious, and he sat down and gave his order. A plate of roast beefand a cup of coffee were brought, according to his directions. Seatedopposite him at the table was a man who had nearly completed his dinneras Ben commenced. He held in his hand a Philadelphia paper, which heleft behind when he rose to go.
"You have left your paper," said Ben.
"I have read it through," was the reply. "I don't care to take it."
Ben took it up, and found it to be a daily paper which his father hadbeen accustomed to take for years. It gave him a start, as he saw thefamiliar page, and he felt a qualm of homesickness. The neat house inwhich he had lived since he was born, his mother's gentle face, rose upbefore him, compared with his present friendless condition, and thetears rose to his eyes. But he was in a public restaurant, and his pridecame to the rescue. He pressed back the tears, and resumed his knife andfork.
When he had finished his dinner, he took up the paper once more, readinghere and there. At last his eye rested on the following advertisement:--
"My son, Benjamin Brandon, having run away from home without any good reason, I hereby caution the public against trusting him on my account; but will pay the sum of one dollar and necessary expenses to any person who will return him to me. He is ten years old, well grown for his age, has dark eyes and a dark complexion. He was dressed in a gray-mixed suit, and had on a blue cap when he left home.
"JAMES BRANDON."
Ben's face flushed when he read this advertisement. It was written byhis father, he knew well enough, and he judged from the language that itwas written in anger. _One dollar_ was offered for his restoration.
Ben felt somehow humiliated at the smallness of the sum, and at thethought that this advertisement would be read by his friends andschool-companions. The softer thoughts, which but just now came to him,were banished, and he determined, whatever hardships awaited him, toremain in New York, and support himself as he had begun to do. But,embittered as he felt against his father, he felt a pang when he thoughtof his mother. He knew how anxious she would feel about him, and hewished he might be able to write her privately that he was well, anddoing well. But he was afraid the letter would get into his father'shands, and reveal his whereabouts; then the police might be set on histrack, and he might be forced home to endure the humiliation of a severepunishment, and the jeers of his companions, who would never let himhear the last of his abortive attempt.
At last a way occurred to him. He would write a letter, and place it inthe hands of some one going to Philadelphia, to be posted in the lattercity. This would give no clue to his present home, and would answer thepurpose of relieving his mother's anxiety.
Late in the afternoon, Ben went into a stationery store on NassauStreet.
"Will you give me a sheet of paper, and an envelope?" he asked,depositing two cents on the counter.
The articles called for were handed him.
"Can I write a letter here?" inquired Ben.
"You can go round to that desk," said the clerk; "you will find pen andink there."
Ben, with some difficulty, composed and wrote the following letter, forit was the first he had ever had occasion to write:--
"DEAR MOTHER,--I hope you will not feel very bad because I have left home. Father punished me for what I did not do, and after that I was not willing to stay; but I wish I could see you. Don't feel anxious about me, for I am getting along very well, and earning my own living. I cannot tell you where I am, for father might find out, and I do not want to come back, especially after that advertisement. I don't think my going will make much difference to father, as he has only offered one dollar reward for me. You need not show this letter to him. I send you my love, and I also send my love to Mary, though she used to tease me sometimes. And now I must bid you good-by.
"From your affectionate son,
"BEN."
After completing this letter Ben put it in the envelope, and directed itto
"MRS. RUTH BRANDON,
"_Cedarville,_
"_Pennsylvania._"
It may be explained that the Mary referred to was an elder sister, tenyears older than Ben, against whom he felt somewhat aggrieved, onaccount of his sister's having interfered with him more than he thoughtshe had any right to do. She and Ben were the only children.
If I were to express my opinion of this letter of Ben's, I should saythat it was wanting in proper feeling for the mother who had always beenkind and gentle to him, and whose heart, he must have known, would bedeeply grieved by his running away from home. But Ben's besetting sinwas pride, mingled with obstinacy, and pride prevailed over his lovefor his mother. If he could have known of the bitter tears which hismother was even now shedding over her lost boy, I think he would havefound it difficult to maintain his resolution.
When the letter was written, Ben went across to the post-office, andbought a three-cent stamp, which he placed on the envelope. Then,learning that there was an evening train for Philadelphia, he went downto the Cortlandt Street Ferry, and watched till he saw a gentleman, whohad the air of a traveller. Ben stepped up to him and inquired, "Are yougoing to Philadelphia, sir?"
"Yes, my lad," was the answer; "are you going there also?"
"No, sir."
"I thought you might want somebody to take charge of you. Is thereanything I can do for you?"
"Yes, sir. If you would be so kind as to post this letter inPhiladelphia."
"I will do so; but why don't you post it in New York? It will go just aswell."
"The person who wrote it," said Ben, "doesn't want to have it knownwhere it came from."
"Very well, give it to me, and I will see that it is properly mailed."
The gentleman took the letter, and Ben felt glad that it was written. Hethought it would relieve his mother's anxiety.
As he was standing on the pier, a gentleman having a carpet-bag in onehand, and a bundle of books in the other, accosted him.
"Can you direct me to the Astor House, boy?"
"Yes, sir," said Ben.
Then, with a sudden thought, he added, "Shall I carry your carpet-bag,sir?"
"On the whole I think you may," said the gentleman. "Or stay, I thinkyou may take this parcel of books."
"I can carry both, sir."
"No matter about that. I will carry the bag, and you shall be my guide."
Ben had not yet had time to get very well acquainted with the city; butthe Astor House, which is situated nearly opposite the lower end of theCity Hall Park, he had passed a dozen times, and knew the way to itvery well. He was glad that the gentleman wished to go there, and not toone of the up-town hotels, of which he knew nothing. He went straight upCortlandt Street to Broadway, and then turning north, soon arrived atthe massive structure, which, for over thirty years, has welcomedtravellers from all parts of the world.
"This is the Astor House, sir," said Ben.
"I remember it now," said the gentleman; "but it is ten years since Ihave been in New York, and I did not feel quite certain of finding myway. Do you live in New York?"
"Yes, sir."
"You may give me the package now. How much shall I pay you for yourservices?"
"Whatever you please, sir," said Ben.
"Will that answer?" and the traveller placed twenty-five cents in thehands of our young hero.
"Yes, sir," said Ben, in a tone of satisfaction. "Thank you."
The traveller entered the hotel, and Ben remained outside,congratulating himself upon his good luck.
"That's an easy way to ear
n twenty five cents," he thought. "It didn'ttake me more than fifteen minutes to come up from the ferry, and Ishould have to sell twenty-five papers to make so much."
This sum, added to what he had made during the day by selling papers,and including what he had on hand originally, made one dollar and thirtycents. But out of this he had spent twenty-five cents for dinner, andfor his letter, including postage, five cents. Thus his expenses hadbeen thirty cents, which, being deducted, left him just one dollar. Outof this, however, it would be necessary to buy some supper, and pay forhis lodging and breakfast at the Newsboys' Home. Fifteen cents, however,would do for the first, while the regular charge for the second would bebut twelve cents. Ben estimated, therefore, that he would haveseventy-three cents to start on next day. He felt that this was asatisfactory state of finances, and considered whether he could notafford to spend a little more for supper. However, not feeling veryhungry, he concluded not to do so.
The next morning he bought papers as usual and sold them. But it seemedconsiderably harder work, for the money, than carrying bundles.However, Ben foresaw that in order to become a "baggage-smasher" (forthis is the technical term by which the boys and men are known, who waitaround the ferries and railway depots for a chance to carry baggage,though I have preferred to use the term luggage boy), it would benecessary to know more about localities in the city than he did atpresent. Accordingly he devoted the intervals of time between theselling of papers, to seeking out and ascertaining the locality of theprincipal hotels and streets in the city.
In the course of a fortnight he had obtained a very fair knowledge ofthe city. He now commenced waiting at the ferries and depots, though hedid not immediately give up entirely the newspaper trade. But at lengthhe gave it up altogether, and became a "baggage-smasher," by profession,or, as he is styled in the title of this book, a luggage boy.
Thus commences a new page in his history.
Ben, the Luggage Boy; Or, Among the Wharves Page 11
