ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK--A NIGHT IN A LODGING-HOUSE.
ON and on for the rest of the day walked Archie. His feet were sore,
he was weak from hunger, and he was made miserable with being homesick.
People who met him on the road turned around to look at the slender lad
with the pale face and the weary step, but he kept walking on, stopping
for nothing, and noticing no one. At noon he picked some apples in an
orchard, and these appeased his hunger. When evening drew near, however,
he felt that he could go without food no longer, so he didn’t hesitate
to stop at a house and ask for food. “I know mother would give a boy
food if one should come to our door,” he said to himself, “so I do not
think it wrong for me to ask for food here.” He was fortunate enough to
strike a pleasant housewife, who took him in and made him sit down at
the kitchen table, which she covered with good things to eat. There was
cold roast beef, some fried potatoes and a glass of good fresh milk. And
then she gave him some apple pie, so that when he had finished Archie
felt better than for many a day. While he ate he told the good woman why
he was going to New York, and her sympathy was enlisted at once. “Why,
you poor lad,” she exclaimed, “just to think of your being in the city
all alone. And what will your mother think?”
Archie couldn’t imagine what his mother did think. He had remembered her
every minute during the last few days, and was anxious to write her,
so he decided to ask the woman for some paper and a pencil. These were
gladly given him, and he sat down and told his mother that he was almost
to New York and that he had been having a splendid time. He was careful
not to say anything about his experience with Farmer Tinch, or the
night he spent with the tramps. He knew these things would only make her
unhappy, and it was just as well that she should think everything was
smooth sailing for him. His letter was filled with his enthusiasm and
his hope for the morrow, so that when good Mrs. Dunn received it she
was overjoyed, and hurried over to show it to the Widow Sullivan, who
enjoyed it thoroughly and said “I told you so.” Poor Mrs. Dunn had
been having a very miserable time of it. She was hardly surprised that
morning when she awoke and found Archie gone, but she was naturally much
worried for fear some accident would happen to him before he reached New
York. Once there, she felt that she needn’t worry much about him, for,
strange to say, Mrs. Dunn had a firm belief in the ability of city
policemen to take care of every one, and she knew that Archie would not
be allowed to suffer for want of food and a place to sleep. And when she
received this letter, saying that Archie was nearly to New York, and had
even been so successful as to earn some money, she felt more comfortable
than for some time, Of course she supposed that he would be home before
long. She was positive that he wouldn’t be able to get any work in the
city, and knew that as soon as his money gave out he would return. “It’s
all for the best,” she said to Mrs. Sullivan. “The habit of running away
from home was born in the boy. His father left home when he was no older
than Archie, and no harm ever came to him. So I’m not going to worry,
Mrs. Sullivan.” And then Mrs. Dunn would go back to her home, and at
sight of Archie’s old hat or some of his football paraphernalia, would
burst into tears.
The good woman who gave Archie his supper refused to let him start out
again on the road that night. She told him that he must remain with
them, for they had an extra bed up over the kitchen which was never
needed, and that he might just as well sleep there as not. So for the
first time in nearly a week Archie slept comfortably, and, as he heard
the familiar sounds in the kitchen below him in the morning, it was hard
for him to make up his mind that he was not at home, and that it was not
his mother who was grinding the coffee in the kitchen below. He heard
the ham frying in the skillet, and the rattle of the dishes as his
hostess set the table, and then he dressed himself and hastened
downstairs, feeling ready for a good day’s walking.
When he had eaten his breakfast he started out again. The woman told him
that it was only about fifteen miles to New York, and that after he
had walked about six of them he could take a trolley-car and ride the
remainder of the distance for five cents. So he thanked her for her
kindness, and promised to let her know how he succeeded in the city,
for the woman was much interested in his future. He felt almost sorry
to leave the home-like place, but the prospect of reaching the city this
very day was enough to make him anxious to be off. He covered the six
miles to the trolley-car before eleven o’clock in the morning, and then
in an hour and a quarter more the trolley landed him in lower New York.
His sensations as he was whirled along the smooth pavements, past
beautiful buildings and handsome residences, may be better imagined than
described. After looking forward to this day for so long, he was almost
overcome at the realisation of his hopes, and took the utmost delight in
everything about him. When the car stopped at the terminus of the line,
he got out and walked up the busiest street in the neighbourhood. He
hardly knew what to do first, but continued walking until he came to the
New York end of the great Brooklyn Bridge. Then he couldn’t resist the
desire to walk across the bridge, and he started out upon the journey.
Up the steps he walked, and soon he had climbed as far as the middle
of the magnificent structure. There he stood for some time, looking
out over Governor’s Island, nestled like a green egg in a nest of red
buildings, and past Staten Island to the open sea beyond It was all
grander, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before, and
he felt glad that he had come. Then in another direction he saw the
never-ending succession of buildings, some tall, some low ones, but all
inhabited with swarms of people. “There are three million people in this
great city,” he said to himself, “and over them in New Jersey, in those
cities I see, there are a million more, and I am one of four million.”
The thought was too much for the boy, and he continued his walk across
the bridge. Once across, he came back again, for Brooklyn was a strange
place to him. In New York City he felt more at home, for he had at least
spent two days within its limits.
Once back in the busy streets, he decided to look about for a cheap
place to stay for the night. It was the middle of the afternoon now, and
he felt that he ought to make some preparation. He knew better than to
apply at the police station for lodging, for he knew they would probably
turn him over to the famous Gerry Society, which would send him back
home before a day had passed, and then where would his ambitions be?
He remembered the place where he had stayed with Uncle Henry, but
he knew that this would be too high-priced for his pocketbook, so he
started up the Bowery, where he expected to find some very cheap places.
He didn’t like the looks of the people he met in the street, but
his experiences on the way to New York had taught him not to be too
particular about a little dirt. So when he came to a rickety building
with a sign up, “Beds, ten and fifteen cents,” he immediately went up
the dark, filthy stairway, and found himself in a large room at the top
which served as the “hotel” office. There were rows of chairs in
front of the windows and along the walls, and in the chairs were
the queerest-looking lot of men he had ever seen. He didn’t pay any
attention to them, though, but went up to the seedy individual behind
the desk, and asked him if he could get a bed for the night. “Sure,
Mike,” the man replied, and Archie signed his name in a dirty book with
torn pages. He paid the man ten cents, and asked if he could leave his
bundle while he went outside. “Sure, Mike,” was again his answer, and
the man took his little bundle of necessities and threw them on the
floor behind the counter. When Archie had gone out, a fat man with a
baby face came up and whispered to the clerk. “Anything in the bloke?”
he inquired. “Nit,” said the clerk, “don’t yer see his baggage? Does
it look like there’s anything in it?” And the mysterious conversation
closed, to be continued later in the evening.