The train made good time, and in two hours arrived in Jersey City. From
the shed to the two story ferry-boat which plied between the two shores
was but a step. When the boat pulled out into the stream, Herbert was
dazzled by the sight that met his eyes. Through force of circumstances
over which he had no control, he had never visited New York, and so it
came about that this was to be his first view of the wonderful city
of the Western Continent. His gaze rested first on the magnificent
Statue of Liberty enlightening the world--that colossal bit of statuary
placed in New York harbor not only to typify the grandeur of American
institutions, but also to emphasize the long friendship existing
between America and France. Beyond this he beheld that great piece of
engineering known as the Brooklyn Bridge, the girdle, the connecting
link which is the visible bond uniting the two great cities of Greater
New York.
In the harbor boats were coming and going in every direction, carrying
people and merchandise from the four corners of the earth. A monster
ocean steamer plowing its way majestically through the waves, its deck
literally black with people eager for the first glimpse of land, was
making towards the new Castle Garden, there to empty upon the shores
of America more men and women than there were in the entire population
of Cleverly. Another magnificent ocean greyhound just going down the
bay was filled with rich Americans, millionaires and men made suddenly
rich who were embarking for foreign shores to spend the money they had
dug from the bowels of the earth, or cleverly obtained by ingenuity or
trade from their fellow countrymen.
Herbert felt as he gazed out on this constantly moving panorama, as if
the whole world had suddenly burst on his view. From the time he left
the Jersey City shore until he reached the New York side, his mind was
in a whirl trying to grasp and comprehend all the strange sights that
were constantly coming within his view. No time was lost in landing,
and in a minute or two the country-reared boy found himself in the
midst of what seemed to be a hopeless confusion of trucks and drays
and cursing drivers. A policeman with uplifted club soon straightened
out this tangle, and Herbert proceeded on his way up Cortlandt Street.
The rush and roar of the elevated trains, the shouts and protests of
the wagon drivers, the yells of the cabmen and peddlers, and the never
ceasing hum of talk from the hurrying pedestrians, made Herbert feel as
if this were all some wonderful dream.
He spoke to a policeman, asking him the way to Broadway.
“Follow your nose, Johnny, for two blocks,” was the flippant rejoinder.
Herbert flushed up a little at this. He was not accustomed to being
addressed in such a manner. In fact before he left Cleverly he was
looked upon as one of the important persons of the town; but in New
York, like many other persons of greater importance, Herbert was soon
stripped of his dignity and self-esteem. He continued on his way up
the hilly street until he finally found himself on a corner of that
throbbing, pulsating, crowded and ever changing thoroughfare which
is known by reputation all over the civilized world as Broadway. He
walked along its diagonal length for some distance looking in the shop
windows, gazing at the crowds, and greedily drinking in the sights that
presented themselves on all sides. The noise and the hum and the din
were continuous. It began to give him a headache. He wondered how the
people were able to stand such a tumultuous existence. Still more, he
wondered how soon he would become accustomed to this new condition of
things, little thinking that most of that confused multitude had come
to New York like himself, a stranger in a strange city, and many of
them strangers in a strange land.
After he had partially satisfied his curiosity he determined to look
for lodgings. He had the address of Mr. Anderson on a little card. He
knew from a letter he had received that it was somewhere on upper Sixth
Avenue, and after making one or two mistakes in the direction he took,
he finally succeeded in boarding a Sixth Avenue elevated train and was
whizzed along towards the up-town section of New York City. It was
quite a sensation to ride so far up in the air and to be able to look
into the open bedroom windows of the people who lived on either side of
the elevated road. He thought he must have surely struck New York on
wash-day, because every window and every areaway appeared to be filled
with shirts and other articles of wearing apparel. Finally he reached
the street that was nearest his destination, and getting out of the
train, walked down the high steps towards that section of Sixth Avenue
which had been described to him by his former teacher.
On the way, for the first time it dawned upon him that his appearance
must be a little bit odd to the pedestrians who passed him on the
street. He was twenty-one years old, tall, slender, pale and plain,
with twenty-five dollars in his pocket--he had persisted in giving
his mother the remainder of his money, claiming that with a position
assured he had no need of a large surplus. Nearly all of the clothing
he possessed was on his back, and in addition to that his total capital
was a knowledge of so much of the art of printing and so much of the
art of reporting and editing as a youth is enabled to learn in the
office of an enterprising country newspaper. But the most acute feeling
that came over him at this time was a sense of terrible loneliness.
With the possible exception of Mr. Anderson, he knew no human being
within two hundred miles, and his rustic manner and address, he felt
satisfied, did not favor the immediate making of new friendships. His
personal estate, which was neatly tied up in a little packet, did
not encumber him, and he stepped along lightly in his search for Mr.
Anderson’s boarding house. The landlady proved to be a very pleasant
woman, and when he inquired for his friend, told him that he had been
unexpectedly called out of the city and would be gone for a week.
When he inquired about accommodations she showed him a nice, pleasant
room which he could have with board for the sum of $8 a week. Herbert
immediately rejected this proffer as being a little more expensive than
he was able to undertake.
Somewhat disappointed, he boarded the elevated train once more and
was soon whirled down-town. He wandered about aimlessly for some time,
wondering where he should look for a boarding house. Passing one of the
newspaper offices, he purchased an evening edition and looked in the
columns marked “Boarding” and “Rooms to Rent.” There were hundreds of
advertisements, but they gave no clue to the character of the houses,
and very few of them announced their terms. He threw the paper away as
useless and continued walking towards the North River. Finally he came
to a rather respectable looking house with a brick front, containing
the sign “Boarding.” He entered, introduced himself to the landlady,
and was offered shelter and subsistence at $5 a week. The room that
was offered for his inspection was comfortable, and the price seemed
reasonable, so he closed the bargain at once.
After depositing his little package in his room and washing himself
and ridding his clothing of the stains of travel, he left the house
to make some purchases of little articles that were necessary for his
attire. Once again he walked about in a rather aimless manner, and in
the course of his travels finally reached the thoroughfare known as the
Bowery. It proved to be quite a different place from the street that he
had pictured in his mind. There were some few dance halls and concert
rooms, it is true, but in addition to that he was surprised to see the
unusually large number of bright looking retail stores and business
houses. He was gazing in the window of one of these stores when someone
tapped him on the arm and said in a whining voice:
“Say, boss, can’t you help a poor fellow out?”
He turned quickly, and to his great astonishment, beheld Harry Adler
standing before him. He had not seen the man since he left Cleverly
in company with Arthur Black. The appearance of Adler indicated that
he had been a victim either of great misfortune, or of the persistent
laziness which seemed to be part of his character. He was very thinly
clad; in fact his coat seemed to be a mass of rags, and there were
holes in the rough shoes that he wore on his feet. A hat with a torn
brim covered his bushy hair, and he was entirely innocent of collar or
necktie. A heavy beard suggested continuous neglect of the barber.
“Harry Adler!” exclaimed Herbert. “You are the last man in the world I
expected to meet.”
“Yes, I guess that’s so,” said Adler, beginning to sniffle; “but you
see, Herbert, I’ve been playing in very hard luck. I came to the city
to get work, and after I had been at it for about a week I was taken
sick and sent to the hospital. When I came out of that institution I
was so weak that I was not able to hunt for employment, and I finally
got in such a condition that I had to beg for a bit to eat.”
Herbert looked at the fellow in a skeptical manner. Then he gave a
significant sniff of his nose.
“I guess you’ve been drinking,” he cried. “Probably that has prevented
you from being a successful business man in New York.”
Adler pretended not to notice this bit of irony and continued:
“Herbert, you’ve got a chance to make a man out of me. I know we
haven’t been very good friends; but if you will help to straighten me
out you will never have cause to regret it.”
“Where is Arthur Black?” asked Herbert, disregarding the other’s appeal.
“He’s up at my boarding house,” replied Adler, with a whimper.
“Well, I would like to see him very much,” responded Herbert. “Will
you promise to make an arrangement so that I can meet him somewhere
to-night?”
“Yes, indeed I will,” replied the other, “if you will help me out a
little bit I will do anything for you.”
“Well I don’t want you to do anything, except to have Arthur Black meet
me.”
“All right; I’ll do that.”
“Where is your boarding house?” asked Herbert.
Adler looked a little bit scared at this question, and then said in a
husky tone:
“Oh, it wouldn’t do for you to come to our boarding house. It’s too
humble for the likes of you; but I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll arrange
to have Arthur Black meet you in the corridor of the main post office
building at eight o’clock to-night. I’ll do that sure if you help me
out.”
The constant appeal for personal help finally impressed itself upon
Herbert, and he said:
“What do you want?”
“Well,” said the other in a quavering voice, “I guess a coat and a
shave and a pair of shoes wouldn’t be bad to start with.”
“All right, I’ll try to fit you out with them,” said Herbert, “if you
don’t let it cost too much.”
So the queerly assorted pair entered a clothing house on the Bowery,
where Adler succeeded in obtaining a coat and a pair of shoes for ten
dollars. Following that he was taken into a barber shop and treated
to a clean shave and haircut. The improvement in his appearance was
remarkable.
“How do you feel now?” asked Herbert, looking at him approvingly.
“Pretty good, but mighty hungry.”
“Well, come with me, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
The two men repaired to a near-by restaurant and Adler was treated to
what was probably the best meal he had enjoyed in many a long day.
Herbert settled the score, and once more telling him to be sure to have
Arthur Black at the post office at eight o’clock, parted with him and
went around to his own lodgings. He looked over his money and found
that after paying his board and spending money for food and clothing
on Adler and giving the lazy one a two dollar bill, he had only four
dollars left to his credit. He was somewhat annoyed at this; but
consoled himself with the thought that he would begin employment the
next day and would soon have sufficient ready money to satisfy all of
his needs. At times he felt angry with himself for having helped Adler,
who after all that was said and done, was a very worthless sort of
fellow. But on reflection he felt that he might have done the man some
good, and that thought was sufficient to give him a feeling of pleasant
self-satisfaction.
He left the house immediately after dinner, and after a short walk on
Broadway, found himself in the corridor of the main post office at a
quarter before eight. He stationed himself in such a position as to
command a view of all of those who entered or left the building. It
was irksome business waiting for anyone in that place. The hands of
the clock gradually moved around and it finally struck eight, but
there was no sign of Arthur Black. Herbert waited on, feeling that the
expected visitor would be likely to come in at any minute; but time
continued to pass, and finally the clock struck nine. Herbert turned
and left the building, filled with great disgust:
“Buncoed!” he muttered to himself. “Buncoed, by gosh! My first day
in New York and I permit myself to be buncoed by a man who was even
without standing in Cleverly! That’s a pretty good lesson for my first
day in the metropolis.”