OFF FOR THE CITY.
“Joe, our season ends next Saturday.”
“I know it, Mr. Mallison.”
“We are going to close the house on Tuesday. It won't pay to keep open
after our summer boarders leave.”
“I know that, too.”
“Have you any idea what you intend to do?” went on the hotel proprietor.
He was standing down by the dock watching Joe clean out one of the
boats.
“I'm thinking of going to Philadelphia.”
“On a visit?”
“No, sir, to try my luck.”
“Oh, I see. It's a big city, my lad.”
“I know it, but, somehow, I feel I might do better there than in such a
town as this,--and I am getting tired of hanging around the lake.”
“There is more money in Philadelphia than there is here, that is
certain, Joe. But you can't always get hold of it. The big cities are
crowded with people trying to obtain situations.”
“I'm sure I can find something to do, Mr. Mallison. And, by the way,
when I leave, will you give me a written recommendation?”
“Certainly. You have done well since you came here. But you had better
think twice before going to Philadelphia.”
“I've thought it over more than twice. I don't expect the earth, but I
feel that I can get something to do before my money runs out.”
“How much money have you saved up?”
“I've got fifty-six dollars, and I'm going to sell my boat for four
dollars.”
“Well, sixty dollars isn't such a bad capital. I have known men to start
out with a good deal less. When I left home I had but twenty dollars and
an extra suit of clothes.”
“Did you come from a country place?”
“No, I came from New York. Times were hard and I couldn't get a single
thing to do. I went to Paterson, New Jersey, and got work in a silk
mill. From there I went to Camden, and then to Philadelphia. From
Philadelphia I came here and have been here ever since.”
“You have been prosperous.”
“Fairly so, although I don't make as much money as some of the hotel men
in the big cities. But then they take larger risks. A few years ago a
hotel friend of mine opened a big hotel in Atlantic City. He hoped to
make a small fortune, but he was not located in the right part of the
town and at the end of the season he found himself just fifteen thousand
dollars out of pocket. Now he has sold out and is running a country
hotel fifty miles west of here. He doesn't hope to make so much, but his
business is much safer.”
“I'm afraid it will be a long time before I get money enough to run a
hotel,” laughed our hero.
“Would you like to run one?”
“I don't know. I'd like to educate myself first.”
“Don't you study some now? I have seen you with some arithmetics and
histories.”
“Yes, sir, I study a little every day. You see, I never had much
schooling, and I don't want to grow up ignorant, if I can help it.”
“That is the proper spirit, lad,” answered Andrew Mallison, warmly.
“Learn all you possibly can. It will always be the means of doing you
good.”
The conversation took place on Thursday and two days later the season at
the summer hotel came to an end and the last of the boarders took their
departure. Monday was spent in putting things in order, and by Tuesday
afternoon work around the place came to an end, and all the help was
paid off.
In the meantime Joe had sold his boat. With all of his money in his
pocket he called at the Talmadge house to see if Ned had returned from
the trip to the west.
“Just got back yesterday,” said Ned, who came to greet him. “Had a
glorious trip. I wish you had been along. I like traveling better than
staying at home all the time.”
“I am going to do a bit of traveling myself, Ned.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Philadelphia--to try my luck in that city.”
“Going to leave Mr. Mallison?”
“Yes,--the season is at an end.”
“Oh, I see. So you are going to the Quaker City, as pa calls it. I wish
you luck. You'll have to write to me, Joe, and let me know how you are
getting along.”
“I will,--and you must write to me.”
“Of course.”
On the following day Joe rowed along the lake to where his old home dock
had been located and made a trip to what was left of the cabin. He spent
another hour in hunting for the blue box, but without success.
“I suppose I'll never find that box,” he sighed. “I may as well give up
thinking about it.”
From Andrew Mallison our hero had obtained his letter of recommendation
and also a good pocket map of Philadelphia. The hotel man had also
made him a present of a neat suit case, in which he packed his few
belongings.
Ned Talmadge came to see him off at the depot. The day was cool and
clear, and Joe felt in excellent spirits.
Soon the train came along and our hero got aboard, along with a dozen
or fifteen others. He waved a hand to Ned and his friend shouted out
a good-bye. Then the train moved on, and the town was soon left in the
distance.
The car that Joe had entered was not more than quarter filled and he
easily found a seat for himself by a window. He placed his suit case at
his feet and then gave himself up to looking at the scenery as it rushed
past.
Joe had never spent much of his time on the railroad, so the long ride
had much of novelty in it. The scenery was grand, as they wound in and
out among the hills and mountains, or crossed brooks and rivers and
well-kept farms. Numerous stops were made, and long before Philadelphia
was gained the train became crowded.
“Nice day for riding,” said a man who sat down beside our hero. He
looked to be what he was, a prosperous farmer.
“It is,” answered Joe.
“Goin' to Philadelphy, I reckon,” went on the farmer.
“Yes, sir.”
“That's where I'm going, too. Got a little business to attend to.”
“I am going there to try my luck,” said Joe, he felt he could talk to
the old man with confidence.
“Goin' to look fer a job, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wot kin ye do, if I might ask?”
“Oh, I'm willing to do most anything. I've been taking care of rowboats
and working around a summer hotel, at Lake Tandy.”
“Well, ye won't git many boats to look at down to Philadelphy!” and the
old farmer chuckled.
“I suppose not. Maybe I'll strike a job at one of the hotels.”
“Perhaps. They tell me some hotels down there is monsterous--ten an'
twelve stories high. Ye don't catch me goin' to no sech place. In case
o' fire, it's all up with ye, if you're on the twelfth story.”
“Are you going to Philadelphia to stay, Mr.----”
“Bean is my name--Josiah Bean. I'm from Haydown Center, I am. Got a farm
there o' a hundred acres.”
“Oh, is that so!”
“Wot's your handle, young man?”
“My name is Joe Bodley. I came from Riverside.”
“Proud to know you.” And Josiah Bean shook hands. “No, I ain't going
to stay in Philadelphy. I'm a-going on business fer my wife. A relative
left her some property an' I'm a-goin' to collect on it.”
“That's a pleasant trip to be on,” was our hero's comment.
“I'll feel better when I have the six hundred dollars in my fist. I'm
afraid it ain't goin' to be no easy matter to git it.”
“What's the trouble!”
“I ain't known in Philadelphy an' they tell me a feller has got to be
identified or somethin' like thet--somebody has got to speak for ye wot
knows ye.”
“I see. Perhaps you'll meet some friend.”
“Thet's wot I'm hopin' fer.”
The train rolled on and presently Joe got out his map and began to study
it, so that he might know something of the great city when he arrived
there.
“Guess I'll git a drink o' water,” said Josiah Bean, and walked to the
end of the car to do so. Immediately a slick looking man who had been
seated behind the farmer arose and followed him.