FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE CITY.
There are few boys who do not enjoy a trip on the railroad, especially
for the first time. The five hours which Sam spent on his journey gave
him unqualified delight. Occasionally his attention was called off
from the scenery by an exclamation from the old lady, who at every
jolt thought the cars were off the track.
Sam liberally patronized the apple and peanut merchant, who about once
an hour walked through the cars. The crackers which he had purchased
at the grocery store had not spoiled his appetite, but rather appeared
to sharpen it. The old lady apparently became hungry also, for she
called the apple vender to her.
"What do you ask for them apples?" she inquired.
"The largest are three cents apiece, the smallest, two cents."
"That's an awful price. They aint worth half that."
"We can't sell 'em for less, and make any profit."
"I'll give you a cent for that one," she continued, pointing to the
largest in the basket.
"That! Why, that's a three-center. Can't take it nohow."
"I'll give you three cents for them two."
"No, ma'am, you may have 'em for five cents."
"Then I won't buy 'em. My darter will give me plenty for nothin'."
"She may, but I can't."
So the old lady heroically put away the temptation, and refused to
purchase.
All things must have an end, and Sam's journey was at length over. The
cars entered the great depot. Sam hurried out of the cars, never
giving a thought to the old lady, who expected his help in carrying
out her bandboxes. He was eager to make his first acquaintance with
the streets of New York. There was a crowd of hackmen in waiting, all
of whom appeared to Sam to be seeing which could talk fastest.
"Have a carriage, sir? Take you to any hotel."
One of them got hold of Sam by the arms, and attempted to lead him to
his carriage.
"Hold on a minute, mister," said Sam, drawing back. "Where are you
goin' to take me?"
"Anywhere you say. Astor House, St. Nicholas, or any other."
"Is it far?"
"About five miles," said the hackman, glibly.
"How much are you goin to charge?"
"Only three dollars."
"Three dollars!" repeated Sam, in amazement.
He had less than seven dollars now, and, though he was not
particularly provident, he knew that it would never do to spend almost
half his slender stock of money for cab-hire.
"Never mind," said he. "I'll walk."
"You can't; it's too far," said the hackman, eager for a fare.
"I'll try."
So Sam walked out of the depot, and walked away. He didn't know
exactly where to go, and thought he would follow a man with a
carpet-bag who appeared to know his way. This man unconsciously guided
him to Broadway. Sam realized, from the stately character of the
buildings, that he was in an important street, and, cutting loose from
his guide, walked down towards the City Hall Park. It seemed to him
like a dream; these beautiful warehouses, showy stores, and the moving
throng, which never seemed to grow less, surprised him also. Though he
knew in advance that New York must be very different from the little
country town which, until now, had been his home, he was not prepared
for so great a difference, and wandered on, his mouth and eyes wide
open.
At last he reached the City Hall Park, and, catching sight of a bench
on which one or two persons were already sitting, Sam, feeling tired
with his walk, entered the Park, and sat down too.
"Black yer boots?" inquired a dirty-faced boy, with a box slung over
his shoulders.
Sam looked at his shoes, begrimed with a long country walk, and
hesitated.
"What do you ask?" he said.
"It's worth a quarter to black them shoes," said the boy, swinging
them critically.
"Then I can't afford it,"
"Twenty cents."
"No," said Sam. "I've got to earn my own living, and I can't afford
it. Is blackin' boots a good business?"
"Some days it is, but if it comes rainy, it isn't. I'll give you a
bully shine for ten cents."
"Will you show me afterwards where I can get some dinner cheap?" asked
Sam, who was still hungry.
"Yes," said the boot-black. "I know a tip-top place."
"Is it far off?"
"Right round in Chatham street--only a minute's walk."
"All right. Go ahead. I'll give you ten cents."
Sam felt that he was paying his money not only for the actual service
done, but for valuable information besides. On the whole, though he
knew he must be economical, it seemed to him a paying investment.
"Did you come from the country?" asked the young knight of the
blacking-brush, while he was vigorously brushing the first shoe.
"Yes," said Sam. "I only got here just now."
"That's what I thought."
"Why?"
"Because you look like a greenhorn."
"Do you mean to insult me?" asked Sam, nettled.
"No," said the other; "only if you've never been here before of course
you're green."
"I won't be long," said Sam, hastily.
"Course you won't, 'specially if you have me to show you round."
"Have you lived long in New York?" inquired Sam.
"I was born here," said the boy.
"Have you been long blackin' boots?"
"Ever since I was knee-high to a door-step."
"Then you make a living at it?"
"I don't starve. What made you leave the country?"
"I got tired of working on a farm."
"Did you have enough to eat?"
"Yes."
"And a good bed to sleep in?"
"Yes."
"Then you'd ought to have stayed there," said the boot-black.
"I think I shall like the city better," said Sam. "There's a good deal
more goin' on."
"I'd like to try the country. You don't live at the West, do you?"
"No."
"Lots of boys goes West. Maybe I'll go there, some time."
"Is it a good place?"
"That's what they say. The boys gets good homes out there on farms."
"Then I don't want to go," said Sam. "I'm tired of farmin'."
By this time the shoes were polished.
"Aint that a bully shine?" asked the boot-black, surveying his work
with satisfaction.
"Yes," said Sam. "You know how to do it."
"Course I do. Now where's the stamps?"
Sam drew out ten cents, and handed to the boy.
"Now show me where I can get some dinner."
"All right. Come along!" and the boy, slinging his box over his
shoulder, led the way to a small place on Chatham street. It was in a
basement, and did not look over-neat; but Sam was too hungry to be
particular, and the odor of the cooking was very grateful to him.
"I guess I'll get a plate o' meat, too," said the boot-black. "I aint
had anything since breakfast."
They sat down side by side at a table, and Sam looked over the bill of
fare. He finally ordered a plate of roast beef, for ten cents, and his
companion followed his example. The plates were brought, accompanied
by a triangular wedge of bread, and a small amount of mashed potato.
It was not a feast for an epicure, but both Sam and his companion
appeared to enjoy it.
Sam was still hungry.
"They didn't bring much," he said. "I guess I'll have another plate."
"I aint got stamps enough," said his companion.
"If you want another plate, I'll pay for it," said Sam, with a sudden
impulse of generosity.
"Will you? You're a brick!" said the boot-black heartily. "Then I
don't mind. I'll have another."
"Do they have any pie?" asked Sam.
"Course they do."
"Then I'll have a piece afterwards."
He did not offer to treat his companion to pie, for he realized that
his stock of money was not inexhaustible. This did not appear to be
expected, however, and the two parted on very good terms, when the
dinner was over.