A STRANGER IN NEW YORK.
JOSHUA entered the shoe store pointed out by his guide without the least
suspicion that he had been imposed upon by that enterprising young
gentleman. Like most of the shoe stores on this avenue, it had a liberal
stock of boots exposed outside, at prices low enough to attract the
attention of those passing. Within it was narrow, but deep. There was a
counter on one side, with two or three sofas in the open space for the
accommodation of customers who wished to try on shoes. Behind the
counter were two shopmen, while one outside was fitting a boy with
boots. Joshua looked about him, but failed to recognize the friend of
whom he was in quest.
“Perhaps he has gone out a little while,” thought Joshua. “I will
inquire.”
He walked up to the counter, and asked, “Is Sam Crawford out?”
“He hasn’t been in very lately,” answered the clerk, taking in the
rustic appearance of his questioner at a glance.
Joshua did not infer from this answer the true state of the case.
“Is he coming in soon?” he asked.
“I really don’t know,” said the clerk, indifferently, winking to his
fellow-salesman, who was within hearing distance.
Something in his tone excited doubt in Joshua’s mind.
“I suppose he works here, don’t he?” he inquired.
“Not that I ever heard of.”
“Why,” said Joshua, puzzled, “the boy that showed me the way told me he
did.”
“Then the boy told a lie.”
Joshua felt disturbed at this information, It appeared that he had paid
away seventy-five cents without receiving value therefor. Besides, apart
from this, he wanted to find Sam. He felt helpless in a large city,
without a single acquaintance or friend to instruct him in what he ought
to do.
“Are there any other shoe stores in this street,” he asked.
“I should say there were--several,” answered the clerk; “but of course
we sell the best articles at the lowest price.”
“Do you?” said Joshua, with an air of one receiving information.
“Yes; can’t we sell you a pair?”
“I guess not to-day,” answered Joshua.
“I suppose you know that your boots are out of style,” said the other,
surveying Joshua’s boots contemptuously.
“I won’t buy any to-day,” said Joshua, to whom it occurred that when he
found Sam the latter would sell to him cheaper on the score of
acquaintance.
“Take a card,” said the salesman, “and give us a call when you need a
pair.”
Joshua took the card and put it in his pocket. As he left the store he
looked about for the boy who had deceived him. The latter would probably
have been invisible, but a gentleman had hailed him, and he was now
engaged in polishing his second boot. Joshua waited till he was through,
and then commenced the attack.
“Look here,” said he, “you said Sam Crawford worked in that store.”
The bootblack, who had not contemplated another meeting with the
customer he had deceived, decided to brazen it out, and deny all
knowledge of the affair.
“Who’s Sam Crawford?” he asked, vacantly. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“You told me Sam Crawford worked in that store.”
“Did I? I don’t know any Sam Crawford.”
“You told me you blacked his boots every morning,” persisted Joshua.
“Look here, mister, haven’t you got hold of the wrong boy?”
Joshua was rather taken aback by this question, but, looking closely at
the boy before him, he was convinced that he was right.
“No, I have not,” he said; “I paid you seventy-five cents for showing me
the way to the store where Sam Crawford worked.”
“How could I show you when I never heard of Sam Crawford?”
“You said you knew him.”
“I guess you’re crazy, mister.”
“You’ve cheated me,” said Joshua, getting provoked. “Just give me back
that seventy-five cents I paid you.”
“Do you see any green in my eye, mister?” inquired the bootblack.
“What makes you ask that?”
“I see what you are,” said the bootblack, boldly carrying the war into
the enemy’s camp; “you’re one of them swindlin’ fellers that go round
cheatin’ the poor out of their hard earnings. I’ll call a cop.”
“What’s a cop?” asked Joshua, uneasily.
“A peeler.”
“What’s a peeler?”
“A purlice officer. Where was you brought up?” demanded the boy,
contemptuously. “If I knowed where Sam Crawford lived, wouldn’t I tell
you?”
“Are you sure you ain’t the boy that showed me the way?”
“In course I am.”
“You just look like him,” said Joshua, doubtfully.
“I know who it was,” said the bootblack, who had no scruples about
lying. “It was Pat Brady. He and me look like twin brothers. He’s a bad
boy, Pat is--he’ll lie as fast as he can talk.”
Joshua was at last convinced that he had made a mistake. He was
completely taken in by the young rascal, who proceeded to follow up his
deception.
“Did Pat black your boots?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Joshua.
“I thought so,” said the bootblack, contemptuously. “He can’t shine
boots. How much did you pay?”
“Twenty cents.”
“Then he cheated you.”
“He said it was the regular price.”
“How that boy will lie!” said the young Arab, virtuously. “The regular
price is ten cents. Don’t you want me to give you a shine?”
“No,” said Joshua, hastily drawing back his foot, upon which the
bootblack was about to commence operations. “They don’t need any more
blacking.”
“Don’t you ever get Pat Brady to shine your boots ag’in.”
“No, I won’t,” said Joshua, indignant at the swindle which the virtuous
young bootblack had exposed. “If I ever see him again I’ll give him a
licking.”
“That’s right, mister; I’ll help you do it any time,” said his new
friend.
“I wish I knew where to find Sam Crawford,” said Joshua, in perplexity.
“Is this Eighth avenue?”
“Yes.”
“Sam is in a shoe store somewhere in this street.”
“Why don’t you go into every store, and ax ’em if he works there. I’ll
go with you for fifty cents.”
But Joshua thought, very justly, that this was something in which he
required no help, and did not therefore feel disposed to throw away any
more money. He began to think that New York was a very extensive place,
where it was quite necessary to be on the look-out for swindlers. If he
could only find Sam Crawford, for whose knowledge of life he had high
respect, he would, undoubtedly, be all right; but there were
difficulties in the way. Still, he was not without hope. If he inquired
in every shoe store on the avenue, he must come across him after a
while.
We are often very near the truth without suspecting it. The store of
which Joshua was in search was in reality on the next block below the
one which he had entered; but, ignorant of this, he directed his steps
uptown, and very soon found another store.
“Does Sam Crawford work here?” he asked, entering.
“No, he don’t; but I’ll sell you a pair of shoes or boots as cheap as he
will.”
“I don’t want to buy anything. Sam Crawford is a friend of mine; I want
to find him.”
“I am sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know any such man. Hadn’t you
better let me show you a pair of boots?”
“No; I don’t need any,” said Joshua, and, disappointed a second time,
beat a retreat.
“It’s strange Sam Crawford isn’t any better known,” thought Joshua. “I
should think those that keep stores in the same street would know him.”
My readers may conclude that Joshua was very verdant, but the fact was
that he had lived all his lifetime in a country village, where everybody
knew everybody else, and this will help to account for his limited
knowledge of life.
“I wish I had Sam’s letter,” he said to himself; “it would save me a
good deal of trouble.”
In the next store the young man to whom he addressed his stereotyped
question prided himself on being a wag, and, perceiving that Joshua was
from the country, resolved to have a little fun with him.
“Sam Crawford!” he repeated. “He’s a young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Black eyes?”
“Yes.”
“A mustache?”
“Yes.”
“Acquainted with the shoe business?”
“Yes. Do you know him?” asked Joshua, eagerly.
“And a hump-back?”
“What?”
“With a hump between his shoulders?”
“No.”
“Then it can’t be the Crawford I know.”
Joshua was deeply disappointed. The young man had drawn him on till he
believed that Sam was practically found. Now, discovery seemed as remote
as ever. Again he emerged into the street. There was a shoe store on the
next block. His hope revived. He entered that also, but the faces were
all unfamiliar. He asked as before, but succeeded in eliciting no
information. He kept on his way for a mile, entering store after store,
marveling inwardly why there should be need of so many shoe stores, and,
as he failed to discover Sam, almost beginning to doubt whether he
hadn’t made a mistake about the street. He began to feel lonely, not for
the lack of human faces, for he had met hundreds of persons, but the
peculiar loneliness of a stranger in a great city, who, among the
multitudes that he meets, recognizes not one familiar face.
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