AN EVENING WITH BOB HUNTER.
Chilly from approaching night and strengthening wind, and depressed by a
disheartening sense of loneliness and a keen realization of failure on
the first day of his new career, Herbert felt homesick and almost
discouraged.
At length he joined the passers by, and walked quickly until opposite
City Hall Park. He crossed Broadway and soon found himself at young Bob
Hunter's "place of business." The latter was "in," and very glad he
seemed to see his new friend again. His kindly grasp of the hand
and hearty welcome acted like magic upon Herbert Randolph; but his
wretchedly disheartened look did not change in time to escape the keen
young newsboy's notice.
"Didn't strike it rich today, did you?" said he, with a smile.
"No," replied Herbert sadly.
"Didn't find no benevolent old gentleman--them as is always looking for
poor boys to help along and give 'em money and a bang up time?"
"I did not see any such philanthropist looking for me," answered
Herbert, slightly puzzled, for the newsboy's face was seriousness
itself.
"Well, that is all fired strange. I don't see how he missed you, for
they takes right to country boys."
"I did not start out very early," remarked Herbert doubtfully, and with
heightened color.
"Then that's how it happened, I guess," said Bob, with a very thoughtful
air. "But you must have found somebody's pocket book----"
"What do you mean?" interrupted Herbert suspiciously.
"Mean--why what could I mean? Wasn't it plain what I said? Wasn't I
speaking good English, I'd like to know?" said Bob, apparently injured.
"Your language was plain, to be sure, and your English was good enough,"
apologized Herbert; "but I can't see why I should find anybody's pocket
book."
[Illustration: THE BENEVOLENT OLD GENTLEMAN PRESSES MONEY ON THE COUNTRY
BOY.]
"Jest what I thought, but you see you don't know the ways of New York.
You will learn, though, and you will be surprised to see how easy it is
to pick up a pocket book full of greenbacks and bonds--perhaps a hundred
thousand dollars in any one of 'em--and then you will take it to the man
what lost it, and he will give you a lots of money, maby a thousand
dollars or so--'twouldn't be much of a man as would do less than a
thousand. What do you think?"
"I don't know what to think. I cannot understand you, Bob Hunter."
"That's 'cause you don't know me, and ain't posted on what I'm saying.
Maby I am springin' it on you kinder fresh for the first day, though I
guess you will stand it. But tell me, Vermont, about the runaway horse
that you stopped."
"The runaway horse that I stopped!" exclaimed Herbert. "You must be mad
to talk in this way."
"Mad! Well, that's good; that's the best thing I've heard of yet! Do I
look like a fellow that's mad?" and he laughed convulsively, much to the
country lad's annoyance.
"No, you do not look as if you were mad, but you certainly act as if you
were," replied the latter sharply.
"Now look a here, Vermont, this won't do," said Bob, very serious again.
"You are jest tryin' to fool me, but you can't do it, Vermont, I'll tell
you that straight. Of course I don't blame you for wantin' to be kinder
modest about it, for I s'pose it seems to you like puttin' on airs to
admit you saved their lives. But then 'tain't puttin' on no airs at all.
Ef I was you I'd be proud to own it; other boys always owns it, and they
don't show no modesty about it the same as what you do, either. And I
don't know why they should, for it's something to be proud of; and you
know, Vermont, the funniest thing about it is that them runaways is
always stopped by boys from the country jest like you. Don't ask me why
it happens so, for I don't know myself; but all the books will tell you
that it is so. And jest think, Vermont, how many lives they save! You
know the coachman gets paralyzed, and the horses runs away and he
tumbles off his box, and a rich lady and her daughter--they are always
rich, and the daughter is always in the carriage, too--funny, ain't it,
but it's as true as I'm alive; and the boy rushes at the horses when
they are going like a cyclone, and stops 'em jest as the carriage is
going to be dashed to pieces. And then the lady cries and throws her
arms round the boy, and kisses him, and puts a hundred dollars in his
hands, and he refuses it. Then the lady and her daughter ask him to come
up to their house, and the next day her husband gets a bang up position
for him, where he can make any amount of money.
"Now I call that somethin' to be proud of, as I said before, and I don't
see no sense in your tryin' to seem ignorant about it. Why, I wouldn't
be surprised a bit ef you would try to make out that you wasn't anear
any fire today. But that wouldn't do, Vermont--I'll give you a pointer
on that now, so you won't attempt no such tomfoolery with me, for no boy
like you ever comes into a town like New York is and don't save somebody
from burning up--rescue 'em from a tall building when nobody else can
get to 'em. And of course for doing this they get pushed right ahead
into something fine, while us city fellows have to shin around lively
for a livin'.
[Illustration: THE COUNTRY BOY FINDS A WELL FILLED POCKET BOOK.]
"I don't know ef you saved anybody from drowning or not; I won't say
that you did, but ef you didn't you ain't in luck, that's all I've got
to say about it. So you see 'tain't much use for you to try to deceive
me, Vermont, for I know jest what's a fair day's work for a boy from the
country--jest what's expected of him on his first day here. Why, ef you
don't believe me (and I know you don't by the way you look), jest get
all the books that tells about country boys coming to New York, and read
what they say, that's all I ask of you, Vermont. Now come, own up and
tell it straight."
"Bob, you are altogether too funny," laughed Herbert, now that the drift
of his friend's seemingly crazy remarks was plain to him. "How can you
manage to joke so seriously, and why do you make fun of me? Because I am
from the country, I suppose."
"I hope I didn't hurt your feelings, Vermont," replied Bob, enjoying
greatly his own good natured satire.
"No, not at all, Bob Hunter, but until I saw your joke I thought surely
you were insane."
"Well, you see, I thought you needed something to kinder knock the blues
that you brought back with you tonight--'tain't much fun to have 'em, is
it? Sometimes I get 'em myself, so I know what they're like. But now to
be honest, and not fool no more, didn't you get no show today?"
"No, not the least bit of encouragement," replied Herbert.
"And you kept up the hunt all day?"
"Yes."
"I ought ter told you that that warn't no use."
"How is that?"
"Why, don't you see, it's the first fellers what gets the jobs--them as
gets round early."
"And are there so many applicants for every position?"
"Are there? Well, you jest bet there are. I've seen more'n two hundred
boys after a place, and 'twan't nothin' extra of a place, either."
"But then there are thousands of places to be filled. Why, the papers
were full of them."
"Yes, and there is a good many more thousands what wants them same jobs.
You never thought of that, I guess."
Herbert admitted with flushed cheeks that he had not given that fact
proper consideration.
"Well, you done well, any way, to hang on so long," said Bob, in his off
hand, comical manner. "I expected you'd get sick before this time, and
steer straight for Vermont."
"Why did you think that?"
[Illustration: THE COUNTRY BOY TO THE RESCUE.]
"Well, most of the country boys think they can pick up money on the
streets in New York; but when they get here, and begin to hunt for it,
they tumble rather spry--I mean they find they've been took in, and that
a fellow has got to work harder, yes, I'd say so, ten times harder,
here'n he does on a farm. There he can just sleep and laze round in the
sun, and go in swimmin', and all the time the stuff is just growin' and
whoopin' her right along, like as if I was boss of a dozen boys, and
they was all sellin' papers and I was makin' a profit on 'em all, and
wasn't doin' nothin' myself. So when these fellers find out they've got
to knuckle down and shine shoes, why they just light out kinder lively,
and make up their minds that New York ain't much of a town no how."
"And so you thought I would 'light out' too," laughed Herbert.
"Well, I didn't know. I told you I liked your looks, but I hain't much
faith in nobody till I know what kind of stuff a feller is made of. But
if he's got any sand in him, then I'll bet on his winning right here
in New York, and he won't have to go back home for his bread. Well,
speakin' of bread reminds me that it's about time to eat something and
I'm all fired hungry, and you look es ef 'twould do you good to get a
little somethin' warm in your stomach. Funny, ain't it, we can't do
nothin' without eatin'? But we can't, so let's eat. Business is about
over, and I don't mind leavin' a little early, any way."
Herbert assented gladly to this proposition, and presently Bob took
him up Chatham Street to an eating house known as the "Boss Tweed
Restaurant"--a restaurant the cheapness of which recommended it, five
cents being the established price for a meal.
"I s'pose you hain't made no plans for a place to sleep yet?" said the
newsboy, while eating their frugal fare.
"No," replied Herbert. "I thought I would wait and see you before making
any move in that direction. You are the only one I know in the city."
"And 'tain't much you know about me."
"Very true; but from your appearance I'm satisfied to trust myself with
you."
"You're takin' big chances ef you do," replied Bob, happily; "but ef you
want to take the resk, why we will jest look up a room and occupy it
together. I kinder think I'd like the scheme. I've been sleepin' at the
Newsboys' Lodging House, but I'm tired of it. What do you say?"
"I say yes," replied Herbert. He was only too glad of the chance, and
liked the idea of having Bob Hunter for a room mate. He thought there
would be something fascinating about living with a newsboy, and learning
this phase of life in a great city, especially when the newsboy was so
droll as Bob Hunter had already shown himself to be.
[Illustration: AT THE BOSS TWEED RESTAURANT.]
"All right, then, it's a go," replied Bob, greatly pleased.
When the meal had been finished they continued up Chatham Street into
the Bowery, and then turned into a side street where inexpensive rooms
were offered for rent. After a little hunting they found one at a cost
of one dollar a week which proved satisfactory. They immediately took
possession, and went to bed very early, as Herbert was practically worn
out.