A STRANGE ADVENTURE.
Under different circumstances Ben might have been interested in his
first view of a police station. But, standing before the bar in the
custody of a policeman, he felt too much troubled in mind to notice
his surroundings. As another prisoner was under examination, fifteen
minutes elapsed before Ben's turn came.
"What is the charge against this boy?" asked the sergeant.
"I caught him fightin' in the streets," said the officer. "He was
hittin' that b'ye yonder," indicating Mike Rafferty.
Mike, who looked emphatically like a hard case, tried to appear like
a respectable, well-behaved boy, who had been set upon by a young
ruffian.
"What's your name?" asked the sergeant, addressing Mike.
"Mike Rafferty, yer honor," answered Mike, thinking it best to be as
respectable as possible.
"Did this boy strike you?"
"Yes, and he did, your honor, and if you don't believe me just ax
any of them b'yes," indicating his companions. "Tommy Burke, didn't
you see him hit me?"
"That will do. What did he hit you for?"
"Faith, and I don't know," said Mike, shrugging his shoulders.
"Did you hit him first?"
"No, I didn't do nothing to him," answered Mike, virtuously.
"I think you have been here before," said the sergeant, whose memory
was good.
"I don't remember it," said Mike, cautiously, not thinking it
politic to contradict the sergeant.
"Officer, do you know anything of the boy you have brought in?"
"Oh, yes, I've known him a long time. He's wan of the gang,"
answered the policeman, glibly.
Just then a gentleman came forward, whom, much to Ben's delight, he
remembered as the keeper of a dry-goods store in Sunderland. Bowing
to the sergeant, he said, respectfully:
"I know this boy, and I know that the policeman is under a great
mistake. Will you allow me to say what I know about him?"
"Go on, sir."
"So far from his being a member of any city gang, he lives in the
country, and it is extremely doubtful if the policeman ever saw him
before. He only came to the city yesterday."
"He's wan of the gang," persisted the officer, sullenly. "I've seen
him ivery day for the last three months."
"Mr. Sergeant," said the former speaker, "this officer is guilty of
willful falsehood. I know the boy as well as I know my own son, and
I know that he has passed the last three months in the country."
"The boy is discharged," said the officer. He added, sharply:
"Officer Flynn, I expect the truth from you in future. The boy
you have arrested is much more respectable in appearance than his
accuser, and, under the circumstances, I cannot attach any credit to
your charge against him. Be more careful in future."
With sullen reluctance, the officer, who is a type of a considerable
number on the force, but not of all, released Ben.
Our hero walked up to the gentleman whose testimony had been of so
much value to him, and warmly thanked him.
"I was in a bad scrape," he said, "and I don't know how I would have
come out of it if you had not spoken for me."
"I chanced to see you in charge, and followed as soon as I could,"
said Mr. Woodbury. "What luck are you meeting with in New York, Ben?"
"Not much, yet; but don't say anything to mother about your meeting
me here, or she may be worried. I shall make every effort to get
something to do here. If I can't, I may be obliged to go home."
"Well, Ben, I wish you good luck. I must now leave you, as I have
several business calls to make."
Ben emerged from the station-house feeling that he had made a lucky
escape. The boys who had followed him (Mike and his friends) had
vanished, on finding that things did not turn out as they expected,
fearing that they might get into trouble themselves.
"I see," said Ben to himself, "that I must keep my eyes wide open in
New York. I used to think that an innocent person need not fear the
police, but I don't find it exactly so."
He strolled back to Broadway, and mingled once more with the busy
crowds. The same thought came to him, as to so many in his position,
"Everybody seems to have something to do except me. Why am I alone
idle?"
When Ben reached the Metropolitan Hotel he paused for a moment at
the entrance. As he stood there a gentleman passed out hurriedly.
As his eyes fell upon Ben his face lighted up, and a sudden plan
presented itself to his mind.
"Boy," he said, "do you live in New York?"
"I expect to, if I can find anything to do."
"Where do you come from?"
"Sunderland."
"Where is that?"
"In Connecticut."
"How far away is it?"
"About forty miles."
"What relatives have you living?"
"A mother and sister in the country."
As the gentleman did not inquire whether he had relatives in New
York, Ben did not see fit to volunteer information, particularly as
he did not care to claim relationship with an uncle and cousin who
were evidently ashamed of him.
"You are in search of a position, are you?" asked the gentleman.
"Yes, sir."
"And you are not particular what you do?"
"No, sir, as long as it is honest."
"Yes, I think he will do," soliloquized the gentleman, regarding
Ben intently. "He is the same size and shape, and has a similar
expression. It will be easy to mistake him for Philip."
Ben only caught part of this soliloquy, and of course he did not
understand it.
"Of course, of course," said the gentleman, hastily, answering Ben's
words after a while. "Well, I think I can give you something to do.
Do you write a fair hand?"
"Yes, sir, pretty fair."
"Come up stairs with me," said the gentleman, abruptly. "I am
staying at this hotel."
"Is it safe?" thought Ben; but the thought that he was a poor boy,
and was little likely to attract the attention of adventurers,
reassured him, and without hesitation he followed his new, and, as
it appeared, rather eccentric acquaintance.
They took the elevator and got out at the fourth landing.
His new friend nodded, and Ben followed him along the hall.
The gentleman drew a key from his pocket and opened the door of a
room near at hand.
"Come in," he said.
The room was a double one, consisting of a parlor and bedchamber.
There were two trunks in the bedroom.
"Sit down," said the gentleman.
Ben seated himself.
"What is your name?"
"Benjamin Baker."
"I engage you as my private secretary."
"Do you think I will suit?" asked Ben, considerably amazed.
"You won't have much to do," was the answer. "You are also to pass
for my nephew."
"I wonder whether I am awake or dreaming," he asked himself.
"I shall call you Philip Grafton," continued the stranger.
"Why can't I keep my own name?" asked Ben, uneasily.
"It is unnecessary to state. My secretary must be Philip Grafton,"
said the gentleman, firmly. "Don't you like the name?"
"Yes, sir; it is a good name. Many would prefer it to mine, but I
don't like to sail under false colors."
"It is a whim of mine," said the gentleman, "but I don't think you
will be sorry for acceding to it. Now, as to compensation, I propose
to pay you fifty dollars a month and board--that is, of course, you
will live with me."
"Fifty dollars a month!" repeated Ben, opening his eyes in amazement.
"Yes; isn't it satisfactory?"
"I don't see how I can possibly earn fifty dollars a month."
"That is my lookout. As long as I am satisfied, you needn't worry
about that."
"I am afraid you will be disappointed in me, sir."
"I hope not. Do as I tell you, and I shall be satisfied."
"When am I to go to work?" asked Ben.
"You will enter upon your duties at once. I suppose you have no
objection?"
"Am I to live at the hotel with you, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then I will go and get my clothes."
"Ah, yes; I didn't think of that. You won't need to get them."
"Won't need to get my clothes?" repeated Ben in amazement.
He began to think his employer was out of his head.
"I have clothes for you here--in that trunk. This key fits it. Open
it."
Wondering much, Ben took the key, and, fitting it in the lock of
the smaller trunk, lifted the lid. He found it full of shirts,
under-garments, handkerchiefs, etc., of fine texture.
"You will find underneath two suits of clothes," said his employer.
"Take them out."
Ben followed directions.
"Now take off your own clothes--all of them--and dress yourself from
the contents of the trunk."
Ben hesitated. He could not at all understand what was happening to
him.
"Of course," said the gentleman, "your present clothing won't do for
my private secretary. The contents of this trunk are yours, if the
clothes fit you."
Ben proceeded to remove his clothing, and in a few minutes he was
newly rigged from top to toe. Every article fitted admirably.
"Now look at yourself in the mirror," said the gentleman, evidently
pleased with the transformation.
Ben looked in the mirror, and was delighted with the change in
his appearance. His outer suit was of fine French cloth, all
his under-garments were of costly fabric, and he found himself
transformed from a country boy in badly-cut garments of coarse cloth
to a finely-dressed young gentleman.
"How do you like it?" asked the gentleman, smiling.
"Very much," said Ben, sincerely.
"So do I," answered the gentleman.
"Where shall I put my old clothes?" asked Ben.
"Make a bundle of them and give them to some poor boy. You won't
need them."
Ben resolved, instead, to send them home by express. They might come
in use some time.
"Now," said the gentleman, "there is one thing more. Have you a
pocket-book?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here is a little money in advance. You will need to carry some
about with you."
He took from his own pocket-book fifteen dollars in bills and handed
them to Ben.
"I wonder if I am dreaming," thought our hero. "This may be like
the fairy gold I have read of."
As a matter of fact, however, they were bank-notes on the Park Bank
of New York, and Ben soon had occasion to test their genuineness.
"We will go down to lunch now," said Richard Grafton, for that was
the name of the gentleman, as Ben discovered.
Ben entered the large dining-room and took a seat next his employer.
Though new to hotel life he copied what he saw other guests do, and
no one suspected that the handsomely-dressed boy had not all his
life been used to luxury.
When the meal was over, Mr. Grafton said:
"You can go where you please this afternoon, but be on hand at six
o'clock. We shall go to some theatre this evening."
Mr. Grafton left the hotel. Ben took an opportunity to examine
the hotel register soon after. He discovered that Mr. Grafton had
arrived the day before.
This was the entry:
"RICHARD GRAFTON, London, England."
Underneath, to his amazement, he read another name:
"MASTER PHILIP GRAFTON, London, England."
"I suppose that means me," he said to himself. "What does it all
mean? How did Mr. Grafton know that I would be here? He had never
seen me. And how did he find clothes to fit me so exactly?"
There was certainly a mystery, but it was fraught with so much to
the advantage of our hero that he resolved to cease asking questions
and accept the gifts of fortune.