FRIENDS AND ENEMIES.
When Jack Ogden left the Staten Island ferry-boat, he felt somewhat as
if he had made an unexpected voyage to China, and perhaps might never
return to his own country. It was late in the afternoon, and he had
been told by the little man that the ferry-boat would wait an hour and
a half before the return voyage.
"I won't lose sight of her," said Jack, thoughtfully. "No running
around for me this time!"
He did not move about at all. He sat upon an old box, in front of a
closed grocery store, near the ferry-house, deciding to watch and wait
until the boat started.
"Dullest time I ever had!" he thought; "and it will cost me six cents
to get back. You have to pay something everywhere you go. I wish that
boat was ready to go now."
It was not ready, and it seemed as if it never would be; meanwhile the
Crofield boy sat there on the box and studied the ferry-boat business.
He had learned something of it from his guide-book, but he understood
it all before the gates opened.
He had not learned much concerning any part of Staten Island, beyond
what he already knew from the map; but shortly after he had paid his
fare, he began to learn something about the bay and the lower end of
New York.
"I'm glad to be on board again," he said, as he walked through the long
cabin to the open deck forward. In a few minutes more he drew a long
breath and exclaimed:
"She's starting! I know I'm on the right boat, too. But I'm hungry
and I wish I had something to eat."
There was nothing to be had on board the boat, but, although hungry,
Jack could see enough to keep him from thinking about it.
"It's all city; and all wharves and houses and steeples,--every way you
look," he said. "I'm glad to have seen it from the outside, after all."
Jack stared, but did not say a word to anybody until the ferry-boat ran
into its dock.
"If I only had a piece of pie and a cup of coffee!" Jack was thinking,
as he walked along by the wharves, ashore. Then he caught sight of the
smallest restaurant he had ever seen. It was a hand-cart with an
awning over it, standing on a corner. A placard hanging from the
awning read:
"Clams, one cent apiece; coffee, five cents a cup."
"That's plain enough!" exclaimed Jack. "She can't put on a cent more
for anything."
A stout, black-eyed woman stood behind a kind of table, at the end of
the cart; and on the table there were bottles of vinegar and
pepper-sauce, some crackers, and a big tin coffee-heater.
[Illustration: _Coffee and clams._]
"Clams?" she repeated. "Half-dozen, on the shell? Coffee? All right."
"That's all I want, thank you," said Jack, and she at once filled a cup
from the coffee-urn and began to open shellfish for him.
"These are the smallest clams I ever saw," thought Jack; "but they're
good."
They seemed better and better as he went on eating; and the woman
willingly supplied them. He drank his coffee and ate crackers freely,
and he was just thinking that it was time for him to stop when the
black-eyed woman remarked, with an air of pride,
"Nice and fresh, ain't they? You seem to like them,--thirteen's a
dozen; seventeen cents."
"Have I swallowed a dozen already?" said Jack, looking at the pile of
shells. "Yes, ma'am, they're tiptop!"
After paying for his supper, there were only some coppers left, besides
four one-dollar bills, in his pocket-book.
"Which way's the Battery, ma'am?" Jack asked, as she began to open
clams for another customer.
"Back there a way. Keep straight on till you see it," she answered;
adding kindly, "It's like a little park; I didn't know you were from
the country."
"Pretty good supper, after all," he said. "Cheap, too; but my money's
leaking away! Well, it isn't dark yet. I must see all I can before I
go to the hotel."
He followed the woman's directions, and he was glad he had done so. He
had studied his guide-book faithfully as to all that end of New York,
and in spite of his recent blunder did not now need to ask anybody
which was the starting place of the elevated railways and which was
Castle Garden, where the immigrants were landed. There were little
groups of these foreigners scattered over the great open space before
him.
"They've come from all over the world," he said, looking at group after
group. "Some of those men will have a harder time than I have had
trying to get started in New York."
It occurred to him, nevertheless, that he was a long way from Crofield,
and that he was not yet at all at home in the city.
"I know some things that they don't know, anyway--if I _am_ green!" he
was thinking. "I'll cut across and take a nearer look at Castle
Garden--"
"Stop there! Stop, you fellow in the light hat! Hold on!" Jack heard
some one cry out, as he started to cross the turfed inclosures.
"What do you want of me?" Jack asked, as he turned around.
"Don't you see the sign there, 'Keep off the grass'? Look! You're on
the grass now! Come off! Anyway, I'll fine you fifty cents!"
Jack looked as the man pointed, and saw a little board on a short post;
and there was the sign, in plain letters; and here before him was a
tall, thin, sharp-eyed, lantern-jawed young man, looking him fiercely
in the face and holding out his hand.
"Fifty cents! Quick, now,--or go with me to the police station."
Jack was a little bewildered for a moment. He felt like a cat in a
very strange garret. His first thought of the police made him remember
part of what Mr. Guilderaufenberg had told him about keeping away from
them; but he remembered only the wrong part, and his hand went
unwillingly into his pocket.
"Right off, now! No skulking!" exclaimed the sharp eyed man.
"I haven't fifty cents in change," said Jack, dolefully, taking a
dollar bill from his pocket-book.
"Hand me that, then. I'll go and get it changed;" and the man reached
out a claw-like hand and took the bill from Jack's fingers, without
waiting for his consent. "I'll be right back. You stand right there
where you are till I come--"
"Hold on!" shouted Jack. "I didn't say you could. Give me back that
bill!"
"You wait. I'll bring your change as soon as I can get it," called the
sharp-eyed man, as he darted away; but Jack's hesitation was over in
about ten seconds.
"I'll follow him, anyhow!" he exclaimed; and he did so at a run.
"Halt!"--it was a man in a neat gray uniform and gilt buttons who spoke
this time; and Jack halted just as the fleeing man vanished into a
crowd on one of the broad walks.
"He's got my dollar!"
"Tell me what it is, quick!" said the policeman, with a sudden
expression of interest.
Jack almost spluttered as he related how the fellow had collected the
fine; but the man in gray only shook his head.
"I thought I saw him putting up something," he said. "It's well he
didn't get your pocket-book, too! He won't show himself here again
to-night. He's safe by this time."
"Do you know him?" asked Jack, greatly excited; but more than a little
in dread of the helmet-hat, buttons, and club.
"Know him? 'Jimmy the Sneak?' Of course I do. He's only about two
weeks out of Sing Sing. It won't be long before he's back there again.
When did you come to town? What's your name? Where'd you come from?
Where are you staying? Do you know anybody in town?"
He had a pencil and a little blank-book, and he rapidly wrote out
Jack's answers.
"You'll get your eyes open pretty fast, at this rate," he said.
"That's all I want of you, now. If I lay a hand on Jimmy, I'll know
where to find you. You'd better go home. If any other thief asks you
for fifty cents, you call for the nearest policeman. That's what we're
here for."
"A whole dollar gone, and nothing to show for it!" groaned Jack, as he
walked away. "Only three dollars and a few cents left! I'll walk all
the way up to the Hotel Dantzic, instead of paying five cents for a car
ride. I'll have to save money now."
He felt more kindly toward all the policemen he met, and he was glad
there were so many of them.
"The police at Central Park," he remarked to himself, "and that fellow
at the Battery, were all in gray, and the street police wear blue; but
they're a good-looking set of men. I hope they will nab Jimmy the
Sneak and get back my dollar for me."
The farther he went, however, the clearer became his conviction that
dollars paid to thieves seldom come back; and that an evening walk of
more than three miles over the stone sidewalks of New York is a long
stroll for a very tired and somewhat homesick country boy. He cared
less and less, all the way, how strangely and how splendidly the
gas-lights and the electric lights lit up the tall buildings.
"One light's white," he said, "and the other's yellowish, and that's
about all there is of it. Well, I'm not quite so green, for I know
more than I did this morning!"
It was late for him when he reached the hotel, but it seemed to be
early enough for everybody else. Many people were coming and going,
and among them all he did not see a face that he knew or cared for.
The tired-out, homesick feeling grew upon him, and he walked very
dolefully to the elevator. Up it went in a minute, and when he reached
his room he threw his hat upon the table, and sat down to think over
the long and eventful day.
[Illustration: _Jack is homesick._]
"This is the toughest day's work I ever did! I'd like to see the folks
in Crofield and tell 'em about it, though," he said.
He went to bed, intending to consider his plans for Monday, but he made
one mistake. He happened to close his eyes.
The next thing he knew, there was a ray of warm sunshine striking his
face from the open window, for he had slept soundly, and it was nearly
seven o'clock on Monday morning.
Jack looked around his room, and then sprang out of bed.
"Hurrah for New York!" he said, cheerfully. "I know what to do now.
I'm glad I'm here! I'll write a letter home, first thing, and then
I'll pitch in and go to work!"
He felt better. All the hopes he had cherished so long began to stir
within him. He brushed his clothes thoroughly, and put on his best
necktie; and then he walked out of that room with hardly a doubt that
all the business in the great city was ready and waiting for him to
come and take part in it. He went down the elevator, after a glance at
the stairway and a shake of his head.
"Stairs are too slow," he thought. "I'll try them some time when I am
not so busy."
As he stepped out upon the lower floor he met Mr. Keifelheimer, the
proprietor.
"You come in to preakfast mit me," he said. "I promise Mr.
Guilderaufenberg and de ladies, too, I keep an eye on you. Some
letters in de box for you. You get dem ven you come out. Come mit me."
Jack was very glad to hear of his friends, what had become of them, and
what they had said about him, and of course he was quite ready for
breakfast. Mr. Keifelheimer talked, while they were eating, in the
most friendly and protecting way. Jack felt that he could speak
freely; and so he told the whole story of his adventures on
Sunday,--Staten Island, Jimmy the Sneak, and all. Mr. Keifelheimer
listened with deep interest, making appreciative remarks every now and
then; but he seemed to be most deeply touched by the account of the
eighty-cent dinner.
"Dot vas too much!" he said, at last. "It vas a schvindle! Dose
Broadvay restaurants rob a man efery time. Now, I only charge you
feefty-five cents for all dis beautiful breakfast; and you haf had de
finest beefsteak and two cups of splendid coffee. So, you make money
ven you eat mit me!"
Jack could but admit that the Hotel Dantzic price was lower than the
other; but he paid it with an uneasy feeling that while he must have
misunderstood Mr. Keifelheimer's invitation it was impossible to say so.
"Get dose letter," said the kindly and thoughtful proprietor. "Den you
write in de office. It is better dan go avay up to your room."
Jack thanked him and went for his mail, full of wonder as to how any
letters could have come to him.
"A whole handful!" he said, in yet greater wonder, when the clerk
handed them out. "Who could have known I was here?
Nine,--ten,--eleven,--twelve. A dozen!"
One after another Jack found the envelops full of nicely printed cards
and circulars, telling him how and where to find different kinds of
goods.
"That makes eight," he said; "and every one a sell. But,--jingo!"
It was a blue envelope, and when he opened it his fingers came upon a
dollar bill.
"Mr. Guilderaufenberg's a trump!" he exclaimed; and he added,
gratefully, "I'd only about two dollars and a half left. He's only
written three lines."
They were kindly words, however, ending with:
I have not tell the ladies; but you should be pay for the stateroom.
I hope you have a good time.
F. VON GUILDERAUFENBERG.
The next envelope was white and square; and when it came open Jack
found another dollar bill.
"She's a real good woman!" he said, when he read his name and these
words:
I say nothing to anybody; but you should have pay for your stateroom.
You was so kind. In haste,
GERTRUDE VON GUILDERAUFENBERG.
"I'll go and see them some day," said Jack.
He had opened the eleventh envelope, which was square and pink, and out
came another dollar bill. Jack read his own name again, followed by:
We go this minute. I have not told them. You should have pay for your
stateroom. Thanks. You was so kind.
MARIE HILDEBRAND.
"Now, if she isn't one of the most thoughtful women in the world!" said
Jack; "and what's this?"
Square, gray, with an ornamental seal, was the twelfth envelope, and
out of it came a fourth dollar bill, and this note:
For the stateroom. I have told not the others. With thanks of
DOLISKA POD----SKI.
It was a fine, small, pointed, and wandering handwriting, and Jack in
vain strove to make out the letters in the middle of the Polish lady's
name.
"I don't care!" he said. "She's kind, too. So are all the rest of
them; and Mr. Guilderaufenberg's one of the best fellows I ever met.
Now I've got over six dollars, and I can make some more right away."
He pocketed his money, and felt more confident than ever; and he walked
out of the Hotel Dantzic just as his father, at home in Crofield, was
reading to Mrs. Ogden and Aunt Melinda and the children the letter he
had written in Albany, on Saturday.
They all had their comments to make, but at the end of it the tall
blacksmith said to his wife:
"There's one thing certain, Mary. I won't let go of any of that land
till after they've run the railway through it."
"Land?" said Aunt Melinda. "Why, it's nothing but gravel. They can't
do anything with it."
"It joins mine," said Mr. Ogden; "and I own more than an acre behind
the shop. We'll see whether the railroad will make any difference.
Well, the boy's reached the city long before this!"
There was silence for a moment after that, and then Mr. Ogden went over
to the shop. He was not very cheerful, for he began to feel that Jack
was really gone from home.
In Mertonville, Mary Ogden was helping Mrs. Murdoch in her housework,
and seemed to be disposed to look out of the window, rather than to
talk.
"Now, Mary," said the editor's wife, "you needn't look so peaked, and
feel so blue about the way you got along with that class of girls--"
"Girls?" said Mary. "Why, Mrs. Murdoch! Only half of them were
younger than I; they said there would be only sixteen, and there were
twenty-one. Some of the scholars were twice as old as I am, and one
had gray hair and wore spectacles!"
"I don't care," said Mrs. Murdoch, "the Elder said you did well. Now,
dear, dress yourself, and be ready for Mrs. Edwards; she's coming after
you, and I hope you'll enjoy your visit. Come in and see me as often
as you can and tell me the news."
Mary finished the dishes and went upstairs, saying, "And they want me
to take that class again next Sunday!"