BRAIN-WORK.
What Tode _didn't_ do during those three days' tarry in New York could
be told almost better than what he did. No country novice visiting the
great city for the first time could have begun to crowd in the sights
and scenes that revealed themselves to Tode's eager, wide-open eyes, in
the same space of time.
The boy had the advantage of most such, in that he had not much to eat,
and nowhere to eat it; also that he was in the habit of sleeping nowhere
in particular, consequently these matters took up very little of his
time. However he fared well, better than usual. He carried a package for
an over-loaded man for a short distance, thereby earning ten cents,
which he immediately expended in peanuts, and became peanut merchant for
the time being. So by dint of changing his business ten or a dozen
times, and being always on the alert, and understanding pretty
thoroughly the art of economy, he managed his lodging and three meals a
day, and was richer by twenty-five cents on the morning when he prepared
to take his departure than he was when he arrived in the city, a fact of
which few people who have been spending several days in New York can
boast.
Tode's fancy for attaching himself to Mr. Hastings still continued in
full force, and brought him bright and early on Friday morning around to
the hotel, where he had last seen him. Not one minute too early,
however, and but for Mr. Hastings' own tardiness too late. He had just
missed a car, and no other was in sight. Tode took in the situation at a
glance, and hopped across the street.
"Carry your baggage, sir?"
Mr. Hastings had a valise, a package, a cane, an umbrella, and the great
fur-lined cloak. He appreciated Tode's assistance.
"Yes," he said. "Take this, and this."
Away they went down town to head off another car, which was presently
signaled.
"Jump in, boy, and be ready to help me at the other end, if you're a
mind to," said Mr. Hastings, graciously, noticing the wistful look on
the boy's face, and thinking he wanted a ride.
Tode obeyed in great glee; he considered this a streak of luck. He sat
beside Mr. Hastings and watched with great satisfaction while that
gentleman counted out double fare. For the first time, Tode thought they
had assumed proper positions toward each other. Of course Mr. Hastings
ought to pay his fare since he belonged to him.
Arrived at the depot, and Mr. Hastings' baggage properly disposed of,
himself paid, and supposed to be dismissed, Tode was in a quandary. Here
was the train, and on it he meant to travel; but how to manage it was
another question. It was broad daylight; sleep and Wolfie couldn't serve
him now. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, and studied ways and
means; eyes bent on the ground, and the ground helped him, rather a bit
of pasteboard did. He picked it up, and read, first in bewilderment then
in delight: "New York to Castleton." A ticket! all properly stamped, and
paid for, undoubtedly. Did Tode hesitate, have great qualms of
conscience, consider what he ought to do, how to set about to find the
owner? He never once thought of any thing. Poor Tode hardly knew so much
as that there were such articles as consciences, much less that he had
anything to do with them. Somebody had lost his ticket, and _he_ had
found it, and it was precisely what he wanted. Once at Castleton, it
would be an easy matter to get to Albany. He thrust the precious card
into his pocket, swung himself on the train, and selected his seat at
leisure. Tode had never been to Sabbath-school, had never in his life
knelt at the family altar and been prayed for. There are boys, I fear
me, who having been shielded by both these things, placed in like
position would have followed his example.
The seat he selected was as far as possible removed from the one which
Mr. Hastings occupied. It was no part of Tode's plan to be discovered by
that gentleman just at present. On the whole, this part of his journey
was voted "tame." He had to sit up in his seat, and show his ticket like
any one else; and it required no skill at all to forget to jump off at
Castleton, and so of necessity be carried on. He sauntered over in Mr.
Hastings' vicinity once, and heard an important conversation.
"Can you tell me, sir," inquired that gentleman of his next neighbor,
"whether by taking the midnight train at Albany I shall reach Buffalo in
time to connect with a train on the Lake Shore Road?"
"You will, sir; but it is a slow train. By keeping right on now you can
connect with the Lake Shore Express."
"I know; but I have business that will detain me in Albany."
"So have I," muttered Tode, well pleased with the arrangement, and went
back to his seat.
* * * * *
"Halloo, Tode! where you been?" called out a sixteen-year old comrade
from a cellar grocery window, as Tode turned out of Broadway that same
evening.
"Been traveling for my health. Say, Jerry, seen anything of father
lately?"
"He's gone off on a frolic. Went night before last--bag and baggage."
"Where did he go?"
Jerry shook his head.
"More than I know. Doubt if he knew himself about the time he started;
but he'll bring up all right after a spell, likely."
Landed in Albany, the only home he knew, Tode had his first touch of
loneliness and depression. The cellar was closed, his father gone, no
one knew where nor for how long an absence, nor even if he meant to
return at all. Tode was cold and dreary. Up to this time he had followed
out his whim of belonging to the owner of the fur cloak, merely _as_ a
whim, with no definite purpose at all; but now, queerly enough, parted
with the man with whom he had journeyed, and over whom he kept so close
a watch during these four days, he had a feeling of loneliness as if he
had lost something--he begun to wish he did belong to him in very truth.
Suppose he did, worked for him say, and earned a warm place to sleep in
of nights--this was the hight of his present ambition. The warm place to
sleep suggested to him the good night's rest under the cloak, and also
the fact that there was another bitter night shutting down rapidly over
the earth, and that he had no spot for shelter.
"I'll push on," he said at last, in a decisive tone. "I'd as lief go to
Buffalo as anywhere else--the thing is to get there; but then I can get
_on_ the cars, and get _off_ at Buffalo if I can, and before if I _have_
to."
This matter settled, his spirits began to rise at once; and by the time
Mr. Hastings and he crowded their way through the midnight train, the
cars contained no such gleeful spirit as Tode Mall's.
More skill was needed than on the preceding journey, for the fur-lined
cloak was thrown over the back of the seat fronting him this time, and
Mr. Hastings sat erect and wide awake, and looked extremely cross.
"I have the most extraordinary luck," he was telling a man, as Tode
entered. "Nothing but delay and confusion since I left home. Never had
such an experience before."
But the car was warm and the air was heavy, and Mr. Hastings' erect head
began to nod in a suspicious manner. Tode watched and waited, and was
finally rewarded. The gentleman made deliberate preparations for a nap,
and was soon taking it.
Now for the young scamp's trial of skill! He slipped into the vacant
seat--he curled himself into a ball--he pulled and twitched softly and
dextrously at the fur cloak, to make it come down and lie over him in
such a manner that it would look like pure accident; and at last he was
settled for the night. He felt the soft, delicious, furry warmth once
more, and he hugged his friend and fairly shook with delight and
triumph.
"Oh, ho! Ha! Hum!" he chuckled. "How _are_ you, Wolfie? How've you been?
You and me is friends, we is. We're travelers, we are. Now, we'll have a
tall sleep. Ain't this just the jolliest thing, though?"
Then Tode went to sleep. By and by he felt a jerking. He roused up, the
car lamps were burning dim. Mr. Hastings was pulling at his cloak and
eyed _him_ severely, but Tode innocently and earnestly helped him to
right it, and treated its tumble over on to _him_ as a very natural
accident. The train was at a stand-still. Tode thought best to find out
his whereabouts. He went out to the platform.
"What station is this?" he inquired of a boy who, like himself, was
peering into the darkness.
"Oh, this is a way-station. We'll be in Syracuse in about half an hour.
We've got to change cars there."
"We don't if we're going to Buffalo," answered Tode, in a business-like
tone. He knew nothing whatever about the matter.
"Yes we do, too. Got to wait an hour. I just asked the conductor."
Tode walked in and took his seat; he saw his way clear. Presently came
the conductor, and halted before him. Tode's hand sought his pocket.
"How much to Syracuse?" he questioned; and being naturally told the rate
of fare from their last stopping place to Syracuse, he counted it out
and sat back at his leisure.
At Syracuse Mr. Hastings went into the hotel to get his breakfast. Tode
walked the piazza and whistled for his; besides he had something to do.
He didn't see his way clear, but the more difficult the way grew the
more delightful it looked to Tode, and the more determined was he to
tread it. The hour sped on. Mr. Hastings' breakfast was concluded. He
was in the depot now talking with an acquaintance. Tode was just behind
him thinking still.
"All aboard!" shouted the official. "Passengers for Buffalo this way!"
And Mr. Hastings caught up valise, bundle, umbrella, cane, and
vanished--all those, but the fur-lined cloak lay innocently cuddled in a
warm heap on the seat. Tode seized upon it in an instant and hugged it
close.
"Oh, Wolfie, Wolfie!" he chuckled, "You're the best friend I got in the
world. You went and got left on my account, didn't you?"
It was but the work of a moment to hustle himself and his prize into the
train--_not_ into the car that Mr. Hastings had taken--and once more
they were off.
When they were fairly under way he presented himself before the
astonished eyes of Mr. Hastings with this brief sentence:
"Here he is, sir, safe and sound."
"Here who is?"
"Wolfie, sir. You left him lying on a seat in Syracuse, and I got him
and jumped on."
"Why, is it possible I left my cloak? Why, bless me! I never did such a
careless thing before in my life; and so you jumped on, and have got
carried off by the means. Well, sir, you're an honest boy; and now what
shall I give you to make it all right?"
"I want to get to Buffalo like sixty," answered Tode, meekly. "And I
haven't a cent to my name."
"You do, eh? And you would like to have me pay your fare? Well, that's
not an unreasonable demand, seeing this is a very valuable cloak."
And Mr. Hastings counted out the fare to Buffalo and a few pennies over;
and Tode thankfully received it, and went out and sat down in a corner
and whistled.
Imagine Mr. Hastings' astonishment when, soon after he had made his last
change of cars and was speeding homeward on the Lake Shore Road, Tode
appeared to him.
"Well!" was his exclamation, "what are you doing here? This isn't
Buffalo."
"No, sir; but a fellow sometimes has to get to Buffalo before he can get
to Cleveland, you know."
"Oh, you're bound for Cleveland, are you? And who pays your way this
time?"
"Well, sir," said Tode, gravely, "I'm traveling with you."
"What?"
"I _am_. I've been from Albany to New York with you, and I left you at
the hotel, and I came after you on Friday, and carried your valise and
things to the cars, and came up to Albany with you, and waited for you
until the midnight train, and came on to Syracuse with you, and waited
while you got your breakfast--and here I am."
Unbounded amazement kept Mr. Hastings silent. Presently he asked,
incredulously:
"Who paid your fare all this time?"
"Wolfie, principally."
"Who?"
"Wolfie," pointing to the cloak. "I hid under him, and cuddled up, and
he made it all right with the conductor."
Mr. Hastings' face was a study--astonishment, indignation and fun each
struggling for the mastery. At last his face broadened, and his eyes
twinkled, and he leaned back in his seat and indulged in a long, loud,
hearty laugh. Tode's eyes twinkled, but he waited decorously for the
laugh to subside.
"This is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of in my life," began
the gentleman when he could speak.
"So you're traveling with _me_, are you? And what do you propose to do
when you get to Cleveland?"
"Mean to work for you, sir."
"Upon my word! How do you know I shall need your help?"
"You've needed it several times on this journey," said Tode,
significantly.
Whereupon Mr. Hastings laughed again.
"You'll do," he said at length. "I don't see that you need any help from
me. I should say that you are thoroughly capable of taking care of
yourself."
Tode shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm a stranger on this road," he answered, gravely. "Just as you was on
the Central and them roads, I suppose."
"And you think inasmuch as you took care of me during the time I spent
on _your_ roads, I ought to return the favor now we are on _mine_." This
with a strong emphasis on that word "_mine_."
"Well, sir, I don't know that I ever did so foolish a thing in my life,
but then you must be considered as a remarkable specimen. Conductor,
could you do me the favor to pass this youngster through to Cleveland?"
Mr. Hastings spoke with easy assurance. Tode didn't know how nearly he
had touched the truth when he hinted at the great man's power on _that_
road.
"Certainly, sir," answered the obliging conductor, "if it will be a
favor to you."
"All right, sir. Now, young man, help yourself to a seat, and I shall
expect to be most thoroughly cared for during the rest of this journey."
Tode obeyed with great alacrity, and gave himself a great many little
commendatory nods and pats for the successful way in which he had
managed the whole of this delicate and difficult business.