A MEMORABLE NIGHT
When Rex came to his senses again he found himself leaning against a
brown stone stoop. His head felt very queer.
“I wonder if it can be the effect of that glass of punch I drank?” he
asked himself.
Then he glanced down at the sidewalk and saw that his valise—a handsome
new one—was missing. A terrible fear came to him.
He put his hand to the breast pocket of his coat. Yes, it was true. He
had been assaulted and robbed in the street.
His money, his return ticket to Philadelphia, were gone, to say nothing
of his satchel and the clothes that were in it. He looked helplessly up
and down the street.
All was quiet as it had been before. A man was coming toward him on the
other side of the way. But that individual could have had nothing to do
with robbing him.
No, the thief had made his escape long since, and it was hopeless to
try to overtake him.
Rex had one thing with which to console himself. His watch—a silver one
Syd had recently given him—had not been taken. He thrust his hands into
his trousers pockets.
Yes, there was some loose change there. He took it out and anxiously
counted it under a lamp. There were seventy-three cents all told.
And now the question arose, What was he to do? For one instant the
expedient of returning to the hotel and throwing himself on the good
will of those he had left there suggested itself to him. But only for
an instant.
The recollection of the scene he had quitted came back with all its
vividness. No, he would not go back there.
He deserved all that had befallen him. He had been a fool ever to take
up with Harrington. The fellow had only encouraged him because it
flattered his vanity to be looked up to the way Rex had looked up to
the collegian.
But he had no time now for self reproaches. He must decide what he
should do.
He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to one. He did not remember
to have been up so late in his life. But he did not feel sleepy. He was
far too excited for that.
“If I could only get back to Philadelphia,” was his thought.
He knew that the single fare was two dollars and a half. What if he
bought a ticket to a place as far as his seventy-three cents would
carry him? He would be that much nearer home at any rate.
But there were no trains at this time of night, What should he do with
himself in the meantime? To pay for a night’s lodging would only still
further deplete his scanty stock of cash.
Poor Rex felt as destitute, as desolate as any waif in all that great
city. He had been cared for all his life, and now that he was suddenly
thrown upon his own resources, he felt helpless, like a rudderless bark
on a tossing sea.
For all he was much more ready to express an opinion than Roy, he had
not half the push and energy of the latter, who, although quieter, was
nevertheless the more determined character of the two.
Rex walked on now rapidly till he reached the lighted avenue. He had
had all the experience he wanted of lingering in the side street. He
halted on the corner and looked up and down in search of an Elevated
Railroad station. He thought he had better get down to where the train
started, so that he might be ready to take the first one.
The idea of telegraphing home had already occurred to him, but he
dismissed it at once.
“No,” he said, “I’ve done enough harm as it is. Some one would have to
come on for me, and mother would worry. They’ll think now till noon
to-morrow, and perhaps later, that I’m with Scott. Perhaps I can even
get back before they know I haven’t been there.”
If he only had his wheel! He had no clear idea of just how far the two
cities were apart. He only knew that it hadn’t taken him very long to
come over in the Chicago Limited.
He found the station of the Elevated, and after waiting a long time he
boarded a train. The people scattered through the cars were nearly all
asleep. Rex dropped off himself almost as soon as he sank into a seat.
He was utterly worn out.
The next thing of which he was conscious was that the train was at a
standstill and that the guard was shaking him, with the words:
“Here, wake up, young man. We’re at the Battery. The train doesn’t go
any farther.”
Rex rubbed his eyes. It took him an instant or two to realize where he
was.
The guard was not rough with him.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“To the Pennsylvania station,” answered Rex.
“Then you’ve come too far. You ought to have got off at Cortlandt
Street.”
“Is it too far to walk back?” asked Rex, mindful of his small supply of
money.
“About three stations. You can keep along the river. It’ll be nearer
that way.”
“Thank you,” returned Rex. He wasn’t in a hurry. He might as well walk.
But he was terribly sleepy, and when he got to the foot of the
stairway, he became rather confused.
He heard the water washing against the sea wall. He walked on in the
direction of the sound and found himself standing at the very end of
Manhattan Island looking toward the bay.
It was very quiet except for the light splash of the waves and the soft
sound of escaping steam from an engine overhead. Rex was not certain in
which direction he ought to go to reach the ferry. There seemed to be
water on both sides of him.
There was nobody around of whom to inquire except a tramp or two asleep
on one of the benches, and he did not wish to go near them. He turned
away from the river and walked off through Battery Park till he saw a
policeman.
The latter directed him how to go, looking at him pretty sharply. Rex
hurried off, but presently stopped under a lamp post to glance at his
watch. It was a quarter to two. There was no need to hurry.
But he was afraid to walk slow. It was very quiet along the water front
at this time of night. He did not want to be “held up” again and lose
his watch and what little money he had left.
Here was a man coming toward him now. But he was drunk. Rex was not
afraid of him. He was only filled with a shame that sent the color to
his cheeks.
Why was Dudley Harrington any better than this reeling sailor? And
Harrington had been his ideal.
He reached the ferry just as a boat went out. He fell asleep while
waiting for the next one. He was awakened by one of the attendants. The
company evidently did not intend to allow the ferry rooms to be turned
into a free lodging house.
The ticket office was not open on the New York side, so Rex just paid
his ferriage. On reaching Jersey City he found that there was to be no
train till 6:20 a. m.
He could not sleep in the waiting room. He walked out in the streets of
the city a little distance, but was so tired he could scarcely drag one
foot after the other. He was so sleepy, too, that his eyes kept closing
every minute.
Then he was afraid of meeting a footpad. He did not know where to go.
To hire a room at a hotel would take all his money. And yet he could
not walk the streets all night.
Ah, he was being well punished for all his sins! And where had been the
“good time” for which he had been willing to commit them?
He thought of Roy asleep in his comfortable bed at home. When should he
(Rex) ever be able to feel as cosy in mind as this twin brother of his
must? For even if he did succeed in getting home without something
terrible befalling him, there remained his confession to make.
For he must tell everything. He had made up his mind to that.
But this was in the future. Meantime the present must be provided for.
He turned and walked back to the ferry.
If he could only lie down somewhere, he thought.
There was a boat just starting out. He paid his three cents and went
aboard. He fell asleep almost as soon as he touched the seat. A man
came through when they reached New York, woke him up and made him get
off.
But he was reckless now. He walked out to the street, but immediately
turned about again, paid another ferriage and walked on the boat, where
he instantly fell asleep once more.
And he kept this up till half-past five, when it began to grow light.
Then he went ashore to the station in Jersey City and bought some
fruit, which he ate for his breakfast.
By that time the ticket office was open and he went up to the agent and
asked how far he could ride for fifty cents.
The man looked at him closely for a minute.
“Which way?” he inquired then.
“I want to go to Philadelphia,” Rex answered frankly. All his pride had
gone now. “I’ve only got fifty cents to spend on the ride, though. I
want to get as close to it as I can.”
The agent named a town and passed out a ticket.
When the cars were opened Rex lost no time in settling himself in a
seat. He put his ticket in his hat and went to sleep at once.
The result was that he was carried past his stopping place, and the
station at which he was set off was a few miles nearer Philadelphia
than he had hoped to get. But the brakeman told him that the Quaker
City was still fifty miles away.