THE HOTEL.
One of Oscar's most intimate companions was a boy of about his own age,
named Alfred Walton, who attended the same school with him. Alfred's
father was dead; but he had a step-father, whom he called father, and
with whom he lived. His home was to Oscar a very attractive one; for
it was a public house, and had large stables and a stage-office
attached, and was usually full of company. Alfred's step-father was
the landlord of the hotel, and of course he and his young friends were
privileged characters about the premises. Oscar and Alfred were
together a great deal of the time, when out of school, and quite a warm
friendship existed between them. On Wednesday and Saturday afternoons,
and during the other play hours of the week, Oscar might generally be
found about the hotel premises, or riding on the coaches with Alfred.
He only regretted that he could not stay there altogether; for he
thought it must be a fine thing to live in such a place, where he could
do pretty much as he pleased, without anybody's interference. Such, at
least, seemed to be the privilege of Alfred; for everybody, from his
step-father down to the humblest servants, appeared to have too much
other business on their hands to give much attention to his boyish
movements.
Oscar made many acquaintances at the hotel, not a few of which were
anything but desirable for a boy of his age and character. He was on
chatty terms with all the stage-drivers, hostlers, and servants about
the premises, and also got acquainted with many strangers who stopped
there for a season. He was very fond of listening to the stories of
the drivers and other frequenters of the stage-office, and he would sit
by the hour, inhaling the smoke of their cigars, admiring their long
yarns, and laughing at the jokes they cracked. Much of this
conversation was coarse and even vulgar, such as a pure mind could not
listen to without suffering contamination, or at least a blunting of
its delicate sensibilities. It is a serious misfortune for a youth to
be exposed to such influences, but Oscar did not know it, or did not
believe it.
Among the hangers about the stable, was a queer fellow who went by the
name of Andy. His real name was Anderson. He was weak-minded and
childish, his lack of intellect taking the form of silliness rather
than of stupidity. Indeed, he was bright and quick in his way, but it
was a very foolish and nonsensical way. He was famous among all the
boys of the neighborhood, for using strange and amusing words, and
especially for a system of spelling on which he prided himself, and
which is not laid down in any of the dictionaries. He afforded much
sport to the boys, who would gather around him, and give him words by
the dozen to spell. The readiness and ingenuity with which he would
mis-spell the most simple words, was quite amusing to them. He never
hesitated, nor stopped to think, but always spelt the given word in his
peculiar way, just as promptly as though he did it according to a rule
which he perfectly understood.
One Saturday afternoon, as Oscar and Alfred were looking about the
stable, Andy suddenly made his appearance, and asked them for a bit of
tobacco. Both of the boys, by the way, wished to be considered
tobacco-chewers, and usually carried a good-sized piece of the vile
weed in their pockets, though it must be confessed that the little they
consumed was rather for appearance sake, than because they liked it.
They also smoked occasionally, for the same reason.
"You must spell us a word or two, first," said Alfred, in reply to
Andy's request.
"No, I can't stop--got important business to negotiate," replied Andy.
"Yes, you must," continued Alfred; "spell fun."
"P-h-u-g-n," said Andy.
"Spell hotel," continued Alfred.
"H-o-e-t-e-l-l-e."
"Spell calculate," said Oscar.
"K-a-l-k-e-w-l-a-i-g-h-t--there, that 'll do," continued Andy.
"No, spell one more word--spell tobacco, and you shall have it," added
Alfred.
"T-o-e-b-a-c-k-k-o-u-g-h--now hand over the 'baccy.'"
"I have n't got any--have you, Oscar?" said Alfred
Oscar fumbled in his pockets, but there was none to be found.
"You mean, contemptible scalliwags!" exclaimed Andy, "why did n't you
tell me that before? You catch me in that trap again, if you can!" and
he walked off in a passion, amid the laughter of Oscar and Alfred.
"Let's go and see the pups, Alf," said Oscar, after they had got done
laughing over the joke they had played upon Andy.
Alfred's step-father had a fine dog of the hound species, with a litter
of cunning little pups. A bed had been made for her and the little
ones in a corner of the yard, adjoining the stable, with a rough
covering to shelter them from wind and storms. The pups were now
several weeks old. There were five of them, and a fat and frolicksome
set they were too. As the boys approached them, they were frisking and
capering as usual; tumbling and rolling over one another, climbing upon
the back of their mother, and pulling and barking at the straw. Their
mother, whose name was Bright, sat watching their gambols with a very
affectionate but sedate look. Perhaps she was wondering whether _she_
was ever so mischievous and frisky as these little fellows were. When
the pups looked up and saw the boys, they stopped their fun for a time,
for they were not yet much accustomed to company. Bright, however,
knew both Alfred and Oscar; and as she was a dog of good education and
accomplished manners, she did not allow herself to be disconcerted in
the least by their presence.
"You did n't know father had given all the pups but one to me, did you,
Oscar?" inquired Alfred.
"No,--has he, though?" asked Oscar.
"Yes, he has. I knew I could make him say yes, and so I teased him
till he did. He 's going to pick out one, to keep, and I 'm to have
all the rest."
"That's first-rate," said Oscar; "and you 'll give me one, won't you?"
"Yes, you may have one," replied Alfred; "but don't tell the boys I
gave it to you, for I mean to sell the others."
"Then I 'll pay you for mine," continued Oscar; "I can get the money
out of father, I guess."
"No, you shan't pay for it, for I meant you should have one of them, if
you wanted it," replied Alfred.
"Thank you," said Oscar, "I should like one very much."
After looking at the dogs awhile, and canvassing their respective
merits, they happened to notice that one of the drivers was about
starting off with his coach.
"Halloo, Mack!" cried Alfred, "where are you going!"
"To the depôt," replied the driver.
"Let's go, Oscar," said Alfred; and both boys ran for the coach, the
driver stopping until they had climbed up to his seat.
A ride of five minutes brought them to the depôt, where the driver
reined up, to await the arrival of a train, which was nearly due. Many
other carriages, of various kinds, were standing around the depôt, for
the same purpose. Oscar and Alfred rambled about the building and
adjoining grounds, watching the operations that were going on; for
though they had witnessed the same operations many times before, there
is something quite attractive about such scenes, even to older heads
than theirs. On one track, within the depôt, were six or eight cars,
beneath which a man was crawling along, carefully examining the running
gear, and giving each wheel two or three smart raps with a hammer, to
see if it had a clear and natural ring. These cars had lately arrived
from a distant city, and must undergo a careful scrutiny before they
are again used. If any break or flaw is discovered, the car is sent
out to the repair-shop. On another track, the men were making up the
next outward train. The particular baggage and passenger cars that
were to be used, had to be separated from the others, and arranged in
their proper order. Another track was kept clear, for the train that
was soon to arrive. Two or three locomotives, outside of the depôt,
were fizzing and hissing, occasionally moving back or forward, with a
loud coughing noise, or changing from one track to another.
The bell of the looked-for train was at length heard. The engine, as
it approached, was switched upon a side-track, but the cars, from which
it had been detached, kept on their course until the brakes brought
them to a stand in the depôt. The passengers now swarmed forth by
hundreds--a curious and motley crowd of men, women, and children;
good-looking people, and ill-looking ones; the fine lady in silk, and
the rough backwoods-man in homespun; the middle-aged woman in black,
with three trunks and four bandboxes, and the smooth-faced dandy, whose
sole baggage was a slender cane.
The cars were at length emptied of their living freight, and most of
the passengers had secured their baggage. Those who wished to ride,
had mostly engaged seats in the various hacks and coaches, whose
drivers accosted every passenger, as he got out of the cars, with their
invitations to "ride up." Alfred and Oscar now started to look after
the stage-coach in which they rode to the depôt. They found it loaded
with passengers and baggage, and the driver was talking with two small
lads, of from twelve to thirteen years of age.
"Here, Alf," said the driver, "you are just the fellow I want, but I
thought you had gone. These boys want to go to the hotel, but I have
n't room to take them. They say they had just as lief walk, and if you
'll let them go with you, I 'll take their trunk along."
This was readily agreed to. The driver made room for the trunk on the
top of the coach, and the young strangers started for the hotel, in
company with Alfred and Oscar. As they walked along, they grew quite
sociable. The two new-comers,--who, by the way, were quite respectable
in their appearance,--stated that they belonged in one of the cities of
Maine, and had never been in Boston before. They were brothers; and
both their parents being dead, they said they were on their way to the
west, where they had an uncle, who had sent for them to come and live
with him. They had a good many questions to ask about Boston, and said
they meant to look around the city some the next day, as they must
resume their journey on Monday. Alfred said he would go with them, and
show them the principal sights; and Oscar, too, would have gladly
volunteered, were it not that his father required him to go to church
and the Sabbath-school on that day, and to stay in the house when not
thus engaged.
The boys had now reached the hotel, where the trunk had already
arrived. A room was appropriated to the young guests, and Alfred and
Oscar conducted them to it, and remained awhile in conversation with
them. By-and-bye, the oldest of the strangers asked Alfred if he would
go and show them where they could buy some good pistols. Alfred
readily agreed to this, and the four boys started off towards the shops
where such articles are sold. On their way through the crowded
streets, the new-comers found much to attract their attention. They
seemed inclined to stop at every shop window, to admire some object,
and it was nearly dark when they reached the place where they were to
make their purchase. Here, amid the variety of pistols that were
exhibited to them, they were for a time unable to decide which to
choose. At length, however, aided by the advice of Alfred and Oscar,
they picked out two that they concluded to buy. They also purchased a
quantity of powder and balls, and then desired to look at some dirks,
two of which they decided to take. Some fine pocket-knives next
arrested their attention, which were examined, and greatly admired by
all the boys. The oldest of the strangers, who did all the business,
concluded to take four of these, and then settled for all the articles
purchased. The bill was not very small, but his pocket-book was
evidently well supplied, and he paid it with out any difficulty.
After they had left the store, the oldest boy gave Oscar and Alfred,
each, one of the pocket-knives, to pay them for their trouble, as he
expressed it. They were much pleased with their present, and felt very
well satisfied with their afternoon's adventure. They were a little
surprised, however, that their new friends should think it necessary to
invest so largely in weapons of defence; and on their hinting this
surprise, the boy who purchased the articles said, with a careless,
business-like air:
"O, we 've got to travel a good many hundred miles, and there 's no
knowing what rough fellows we may fall in with. But give me a good
revolver and dirk, and I bet I will take care of myself, anywhere."
The seriousness with which this brave language was uttered by a boy
scarcely yet in his teens, would have made even Alfred and Oscar smile,
but for the consciousness of the new knives in their pockets.
It was now quite dark, and on coming to a street which led more
directly towards his home, Oscar left the other boys, with the promise
of seeing them again Monday morning.