BEN BECOMES A BAGGAGE-SMASHER.
The restaurant was a small one, and not fashionable in appearance,
having a shabby look. The floor was sanded, and the tables were covered
with soiled cloths. However, Ben had learned already not to be
fastidious, and he sat down and gave his order. A plate of roast beef
and a cup of coffee were brought, according to his directions. Seated
opposite him at the table was a man who had nearly completed his dinner
as Ben commenced. He held in his hand a Philadelphia paper, which he
left behind when he rose to go.
"You have left your paper," said Ben.
"I have read it through," was the reply. "I don't care to take it."
Ben took it up, and found it to be a daily paper which his father had
been accustomed to take for years. It gave him a start, as he saw the
familiar page, and he felt a qualm of homesickness. The neat house in
which he had lived since he was born, his mother's gentle face, rose up
before him, compared with his present friendless condition, and the
tears rose to his eyes. But he was in a public restaurant, and his pride
came to the rescue. He pressed back the tears, and resumed his knife and
fork.
When he had finished his dinner, he took up the paper once more, reading
here and there. At last his eye rested on the following advertisement:--
"My son, Benjamin Brandon, having run away from home without any good
reason, I hereby caution the public against trusting him on my
account; but will pay the sum of one dollar and necessary expenses to
any person who will return him to me. He is ten years old, well grown
for his age, has dark eyes and a dark complexion. He was dressed in a
gray-mixed suit, and had on a blue cap when he left home.
"JAMES BRANDON."
Ben's face flushed when he read this advertisement. It was written by
his father, he knew well enough, and he judged from the language that it
was written in anger. _One dollar_ was offered for his restoration.
Ben felt somehow humiliated at the smallness of the sum, and at the
thought that this advertisement would be read by his friends and
school-companions. The softer thoughts, which but just now came to him,
were banished, and he determined, whatever hardships awaited him, to
remain in New York, and support himself as he had begun to do. But,
embittered as he felt against his father, he felt a pang when he thought
of his mother. He knew how anxious she would feel about him, and he
wished he might be able to write her privately that he was well, and
doing well. But he was afraid the letter would get into his father's
hands, and reveal his whereabouts; then the police might be set on his
track, and he might be forced home to endure the humiliation of a severe
punishment, and the jeers of his companions, who would never let him
hear the last of his abortive attempt.
At last a way occurred to him. He would write a letter, and place it in
the hands of some one going to Philadelphia, to be posted in the latter
city. This would give no clue to his present home, and would answer the
purpose of relieving his mother's anxiety.
Late in the afternoon, Ben went into a stationery store on Nassau
Street.
"Will you give me a sheet of paper, and an envelope?" he asked,
depositing two cents on the counter.
The articles called for were handed him.
"Can I write a letter here?" inquired Ben.
"You can go round to that desk," said the clerk; "you will find pen and
ink there."
Ben, with some difficulty, composed and wrote the following letter, for
it was the first he had ever had occasion to write:--
"DEAR MOTHER,--I hope you will not feel very bad because I have left
home. Father punished me for what I did not do, and after that I was
not willing to stay; but I wish I could see you. Don't feel anxious
about me, for I am getting along very well, and earning my own living.
I cannot tell you where I am, for father might find out, and I do not
want to come back, especially after that advertisement. I don't think
my going will make much difference to father, as he has only offered
one dollar reward for me. You need not show this letter to him. I
send you my love, and I also send my love to Mary, though she used to
tease me sometimes. And now I must bid you good-by.
"From your affectionate son,
"BEN."
After completing this letter Ben put it in the envelope, and directed it
to
"MRS. RUTH BRANDON,
"_Cedarville,_
"_Pennsylvania._"
It may be explained that the Mary referred to was an elder sister, ten
years older than Ben, against whom he felt somewhat aggrieved, on
account of his sister's having interfered with him more than he thought
she had any right to do. She and Ben were the only children.
If I were to express my opinion of this letter of Ben's, I should say
that it was wanting in proper feeling for the mother who had always been
kind and gentle to him, and whose heart, he must have known, would be
deeply grieved by his running away from home. But Ben's besetting sin
was pride, mingled with obstinacy, and pride prevailed over his love
for his mother. If he could have known of the bitter tears which his
mother was even now shedding over her lost boy, I think he would have
found it difficult to maintain his resolution.
When the letter was written, Ben went across to the post-office, and
bought a three-cent stamp, which he placed on the envelope. Then,
learning that there was an evening train for Philadelphia, he went down
to the Cortlandt Street Ferry, and watched till he saw a gentleman, who
had the air of a traveller. Ben stepped up to him and inquired, "Are you
going to Philadelphia, sir?"
"Yes, my lad," was the answer; "are you going there also?"
"No, sir."
"I thought you might want somebody to take charge of you. Is there
anything I can do for you?"
"Yes, sir. If you would be so kind as to post this letter in
Philadelphia."
"I will do so; but why don't you post it in New York? It will go just as
well."
"The person who wrote it," said Ben, "doesn't want to have it known
where it came from."
"Very well, give it to me, and I will see that it is properly mailed."
The gentleman took the letter, and Ben felt glad that it was written. He
thought it would relieve his mother's anxiety.
As he was standing on the pier, a gentleman having a carpet-bag in one
hand, and a bundle of books in the other, accosted him.
"Can you direct me to the Astor House, boy?"
"Yes, sir," said Ben.
Then, with a sudden thought, he added, "Shall I carry your carpet-bag,
sir?"
"On the whole I think you may," said the gentleman. "Or stay, I think
you may take this parcel of books."
"I can carry both, sir."
"No matter about that. I will carry the bag, and you shall be my guide."
Ben had not yet had time to get very well acquainted with the city; but
the Astor House, which is situated nearly opposite the lower end of the
City Hall Park, he had passed a dozen times, and knew the way to it
very well. He was glad that the gentleman wished to go there, and not to
one of the up-town hotels, of which he knew nothing. He went straight up
Cortlandt Street to Broadway, and then turning north, soon arrived at
the massive structure, which, for over thirty years, has welcomed
travellers from all parts of the world.
"This is the Astor House, sir," said Ben.
"I remember it now," said the gentleman; "but it is ten years since I
have been in New York, and I did not feel quite certain of finding my
way. Do you live in New York?"
"Yes, sir."
"You may give me the package now. How much shall I pay you for your
services?"
"Whatever you please, sir," said Ben.
"Will that answer?" and the traveller placed twenty-five cents in the
hands of our young hero.
"Yes, sir," said Ben, in a tone of satisfaction. "Thank you."
The traveller entered the hotel, and Ben remained outside,
congratulating himself upon his good luck.
"That's an easy way to earn twenty five cents," he thought. "It didn't
take me more than fifteen minutes to come up from the ferry, and I
should have to sell twenty-five papers to make so much."
This sum, added to what he had made during the day by selling papers,
and including what he had on hand originally, made one dollar and thirty
cents. But out of this he had spent twenty-five cents for dinner, and
for his letter, including postage, five cents. Thus his expenses had
been thirty cents, which, being deducted, left him just one dollar. Out
of this, however, it would be necessary to buy some supper, and pay for
his lodging and breakfast at the Newsboys' Home. Fifteen cents, however,
would do for the first, while the regular charge for the second would be
but twelve cents. Ben estimated, therefore, that he would have
seventy-three cents to start on next day. He felt that this was a
satisfactory state of finances, and considered whether he could not
afford to spend a little more for supper. However, not feeling very
hungry, he concluded not to do so.
The next morning he bought papers as usual and sold them. But it seemed
considerably harder work, for the money, than carrying bundles.
However, Ben foresaw that in order to become a "baggage-smasher" (for
this is the technical term by which the boys and men are known, who wait
around the ferries and railway depots for a chance to carry baggage,
though I have preferred to use the term luggage boy), it would be
necessary to know more about localities in the city than he did at
present. Accordingly he devoted the intervals of time between the
selling of papers, to seeking out and ascertaining the locality of the
principal hotels and streets in the city.
In the course of a fortnight he had obtained a very fair knowledge of
the city. He now commenced waiting at the ferries and depots, though he
did not immediately give up entirely the newspaper trade. But at length
he gave it up altogether, and became a "baggage-smasher," by profession,
or, as he is styled in the title of this book, a luggage boy.
Thus commences a new page in his history.