BEN'S TEMPTATION.
"Jest my luck!" complained Jerry. "Why couldn't the fire have waited
till mornin'?"
"We might have burned up," said Ben, who was considerably impressed by
his narrow escape.
"Only we didn't," said Jerry. "We'll have to try another hotel for the
rest of the night."
"Where shall we go?"
"We may find a hay-barge down to the pier at the foot of Franklin
Street."
"Is it far?"
"Not very."
"Let us go then."
So the boys walked along the street until they came to the pier referred
to. There was a barge loaded with hay, lying alongside the wharf. Jerry
speedily provided himself with a resting-place upon it, and Ben followed
his example. It proved to be quite as comfortable, if not more so, than
their former bed, and both boys were soon asleep. How long he slept Ben
did not know, but he was roused to consciousness by a rude shake.
"Wake up there!" said a voice.
Ben opened his eyes, and saw a laboring man bending over him.
"Is it time to get up?" he inquired, hardly conscious where he was.
"I should think it was, particularly as you haven't paid for your
lodging."
"Where's Jerry?" asked Ben, missing the boot-black.
The fact was, that Jerry, whose business required him to be astir early,
had been gone over an hour. He had not felt it necessary to wake up Ben,
knowing that the latter had nothing in particular to call him up.
"I don't know anything about Jerry. You'd better be going home, young
'un. Take my advice, and don't stay out another night."
He evidently thought that Ben was a truant from home, as his dress
would hardly class him among the homeless boys who slept out from
necessity.
Ben scrambled upon the pier, and took a cross street up towards
Broadway. He had slept off his fatigue, and the natural appetite of a
healthy boy began to assert itself. It was rather uncomfortable to
reflect that he was penniless, and had no means of buying a breakfast.
He had meant to ask Jerry's advice, as to some occupation by which he
could earn a little money, and felt disappointed that his companion had
gone away before he waked up. His appetite was the greater because he
had been limited to a single apple for supper.
Where to go he did not know. One place was as good as another. It was a
strange sensation to Ben to feel the cravings of appetite, with nothing
to satisfy it. All his life he had been accustomed to a good home, where
his wants were plentifully provided for. He had never had any anxiety
about the supply of his daily wants. In the city there were hundreds of
boys younger than he, who, rising in the morning, knew not where their
meals were to come from, or whether they were to have any; but this had
never been his case.
"I am young and strong," thought Ben. "Why can't I find something to
do?"
His greatest anxiety was to work, and earn his living somehow; but how
did not seem clear. Even if he were willing to turn boot-black, he had
no box nor brush, and had some doubts whether he should at first possess
the requisite skill. Selling papers struck him more favorably; but here
again the want of capital would be an objection.
So, in a very perplexed frame of mind, our young adventurer went on his
way, and after a while caught sight of the upper end of the City Hall
Park. Here he felt himself at home, and, entering, looked among the
dozens of boys who were plying their work to see if he could not find
his acquaintance Jerry. But here he was unsuccessful. Jerry's business
stand was near the Cortlandt Street pier.
Hour after hour passed, and Ben became more and more hungry and
dispirited. He felt thoroughly helpless. There seemed to be nothing that
he could do. He began to be faint, and his head ached. One o'clock
found him on Nassau Street, near the corner of Fulton. There was a stand
for the sale of cakes and pies located here, presided over by an old
woman, of somewhat ample dimensions. This stall had a fascination for
poor Ben. He had such a craving for food that he could not take his eyes
off the tempting pile of cakes which were heaped up before him. It
seemed to him that he should be perfectly happy if he could be permitted
to eat all he wanted of them.
Ben knew that it was wrong to steal. He had never in his life taken what
did not belong to him, which is more than many boys can say, who have
been brought up even more comfortably than he. But the temptation now
was very strong. He knew it was not right; but he was not without
excuse. Watching his opportunity, he put his hand out quickly, and,
seizing a couple of pies, stowed them away hastily in his pocket, and
was about moving off to eat them in some place where he would not be
observed. But though the owner of the stolen articles had not observed
the theft, there was a boy hanging about the stall, possibly with the
same object in view, who did see it.
"He's got some of your pies, old lady," said the young detective.
The old woman looked round, and though the pies were in Ben's pocket
there was a telltale in his face which betrayed him.
"Put back them pies, you young thafe!" said the angry pie-merchant.
"Aint you ashamed of yerself to rob a poor widdy, that has hard work to
support herself and her childers,--you that's dressed like a gentleman,
and ought to know better?"
"Give it to him, old lady," said the hard-hearted young vagabond, who
had exposed Ben's iniquity.
As for Ben, he had not a word to say. In spite of his hunger, he was
overwhelmed with confusion at having actually attempted to steal, and
been caught in the act. He was by no means a model boy; but apart from
anything which he had been taught in the Sunday school, he considered
stealing mean and discreditable, and yet he had been led into it. What
would his friends at home think of it, if they should ever hear of it?
So, as I said, he stood without a word to say in his defence,
mechanically replacing the pies on the stall.
"I say, old lady, you'd orter give me a pie for tellin' you," said the
informer.
"You'd have done the same, you young imp, if you'd had the chance,"
answered the pie-vender, with more truth than gratitude. "Clear out, the
whole on ye. I've had trouble enough with ye."
Ben moved off, thankful to get off so well. He had feared that he might
be handed over to the police, and this would have been the crowning
disgrace.
But the old woman seemed satisfied with the restoration of her property,
and the expression of her indignation. The attempt upon her stock she
regarded with very little surprise, having suffered more than once
before in a similar way.
But there was another spectator of the scene, whose attention had been
drawn to the neat attire and respectable appearance of Ben. He saw that
he differed considerably from the ordinary run of street boys. He
noticed also the flush on the boy's cheek when he was detected, and
judged that this was his first offence. Something out of the common way
must have driven him to the act. He felt impelled to follow Ben, and
learn what that something was. I may as well state here that he was a
young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, a reporter on one or more of
the great morning papers. He, like Ben, had come to the city in search
of employment, and before he secured it had suffered more hardships and
privations than he liked to remember. He was now earning a modest
income, sufficient to provide for his wants, and leave a surplus over.
He had seen much of suffering and much of crime in his daily walks about
the city, but his heart had not become hardened, nor his sympathies
blunted. He gave more in proportion to his means than many rich men who
have a reputation for benevolence.
Ben had walked but a few steps, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.
Looking round hastily, he met the gaze of the young man. He had thought
at first it might be a policeman, and he felt relieved when he saw his
mistake.
"You are the boy who just now took a couple of pies from a stall?" said
the reporter.
"Yes," said Ben, hesitatingly, his face crimsoning as he spoke.
"Do you mind telling me why you did so?"
There was something in his tone which reassured Ben, and he determined
to tell the truth frankly.
"I have eaten nothing to-day," he said.
"You never took anything before?"
"No," said Ben, quickly.
"I suppose you had no money to buy with?"
"No, I had not."
"How does it happen that a boy as well dressed as you are, are in such a
position?"
"I would rather not tell," said Ben.
"Have you run away from home?"
"Yes; I had a good reason," he added, quickly.
"What do you propose to do? You must earn your living in some way, or
starve."
"I thought I might get a place in a store; but I have tried half a
dozen, and they won't take me."
"No, your chance will be small, unless you can bring good references.
But you must be hungry."
"I am," Ben admitted.
"That can be remedied, at all events. I am just going to get some
dinner; will you go with me?"
"I have no money."
"I have, and that will answer the purpose for this time. We will go back
to Fulton Street."
Ben turned back thankfully, and with his companion entered the very
restaurant in which he had dined the day before.
"If you are faint, soup will be the best thing for you to begin on,"
said the young man; and he gave an order to the waiter.
Nothing had ever seemed more delicious to Ben than that soup. When he
had done justice to it, a plate of beefsteak awaited him, which also
received his attention. Then he was asked to select some dessert.
"I am afraid you are spending too much for me," he said.
"Don't be afraid of that; I am glad that you have a good appetite."
At length the dinner was over. Ben felt decidedly better. His
despondency had vanished, and the world again seemed bright to him. It
is hard to be cheerful, or take bright views of life on an empty
stomach, as many have learned beside our young adventurer.
"Now," said his new-found friend, "I have a few minutes to spare.
Suppose we talk over your plans and prospects, and see if we can find
anything for you to do."
"Thank you," said Ben; "I wish you would give me your advice."
"My advice is that you return to your home, if you have one," said the
reporter.
Ben shook his head.
"I don't want to do that," he answered.
"I don't, of course, know what is your objection to this, which seems to
me the best course. Putting it aside, however, we will consider what you
can do here to earn your living."
"That is what I want to do."
"How would you like selling papers?"
"I think I should like it," said Ben; "but I have no money to buy any."
"It doesn't require a very large capital. I will lend you, or give you,
the small amount which will be necessary. However, you mustn't expect
to make a very large income."
"If I can make enough to live on, I won't care," said Ben.
He had at first aimed higher; but his short residence in the city taught
him that he would be fortunate to meet his expenses. There are a good
many besides Ben who have found their early expectations of success
considerably modified by experience.
"Let me see. It is half-past one o'clock," said the reporter, drawing
out his watch. "You had better lay in a supply of 'Expresses' and
'Evening Posts,' and take a good stand somewhere, and do your best with
them. As you are inexperienced in the business it will be well to take a
small supply at first, or you might get 'stuck.'"
"That's so."
"You must not lay in more than you can sell."
"Where can I get the papers?"
"I will go with you to the newspaper offices, and buy you half a dozen
of each. If you succeed in selling them, you can buy more. To-morrow you
can lay in some of the morning papers, the 'Herald,' 'World,'
'Tribune,' or 'Times.' It will be well also to have a few 'Suns' for
those who do not care to pay for the higher-priced papers."
"Thank you," said Ben, who was eager to begin his business career.
They rose from the table, and set out for the offices of the two evening
papers whose names have been mentioned.