JACK'S FAMINE.
At Crofield, the morning mail brought a letter from Mary, telling of
her election.
There was not so very much comment, but Mrs. Ogden cried a little, and
said:
"I feel as if we were beginning to lose the children."
"I must go to work," said the tall blacksmith after a time; "but I
don't feel like it. So Mary's to teach, is she? She seems very young.
I wish I knew about Jack."
Meanwhile, poor Jack was half hopelessly inquiring, of man after man,
whether or not another boy was wanted in his store. It was only one
long, flat, monotony of "No, sir," and at last he once more turned his
weary footsteps up-town, and hardly had he done so before he waked up a
little and stood still, and looked around him.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "I never was here before. This must be Chatham
Square and the Bowery. I've read about them in the guide-book. I can
go home this way. It's not much like Broadway."
So he thought, as he went along. And it did not at all resemble
Broadway. It seemed to swarm with people; they appeared to be
attending to their own business, and they were all behaving very well,
so far as Jack could see.
"Never saw such a jam," said Jack, as he pushed into a small throng on
a street corner, trying to get through; but at the word "jam" something
came down upon the top of his hat and forced it forward over his eyes.
Up went both of his hands, instinctively, and at that moment each arm
was at once caught and held up for a second or two. It was all done in
a flash. Jack knew that some boisterous fellow had jammed his hat over
his eyes, and that others had hustled him a little; but he had not been
hurt, and he did not feel like quarreling, just then. He pushed along
through the throng, and was getting out to where the crowd was thinner,
when he suddenly felt a chill and a weak feeling at his heart. He had
thrust his hand into his pocket.
"My pocket-book!" he said, faintly. "It's gone! Where could I have
lost it? I haven't taken it out anywhere. And there was more than
three dollars in it I'd saved to pay for my room!"
He leaned heavily against a lamp-post for a moment, and all the bright
ideas he had ever had about the city became very dim and far away. He
put up one hand before his eyes, and at that moment his arm was firmly
grasped.
"Here, boy! What's the matter?"
He looked up, and saw a blue uniform and a hand with a club in it, but
he could not say a word in reply.
"You seem all right. Are you sick?"
"I've lost my pocket-book," said Jack. "Every cent I had except some
change."
[Illustration: _"I've lost my pocket-book."_]
"That's bad," and the keen-eyed officer understood the matter at a
glance, for he added:
"You were caught in a crowd, and had your pocket picked? I can't do
anything for you, my boy. It's gone, and that's all there is of it.
Never push into crowds if you've any money about you. You'd better go
home now."
"Only sixty-five cents left," Jack said, as he walked away, "for this
evening, and Saturday, and Sunday, and for all next week, till I get
something to do and am paid for doing it!"
He had eaten ten cents' worth of bread and milk at noon; but he was a
strong and healthy boy and he was again hungry. Counting his change
made him hungrier, and he thought longingly of the brilliant
supper-room at the Hotel Dantzic.
"That won't do," he thought. "I must keep away from Keifelheimer and
his restaurant. There, now, that's something like."
It was a small stand, close by a dark-looking cellar way. Half was
covered with apples, candy, peanuts, bananas, oranges, and cocoa-nuts.
The other half was a pay-counter, a newspaper stand, and an
eating-house. Jack's interest centered on a basket, marked, "Ham
Sanwiges Five Cents."
"I can afford a sandwich," he said, "and I've got to eat something!"
At the moment when he leaned over and picked up a sandwich, a small old
woman, behind the counter, reached out her hand toward him; and another
small old woman stretched her hand out to a boy who was testing the
oranges; and a third small old woman sang out very shrilly:
"Here's your sanwiges! Ham sanwiges! Only five cents! Benannies!
Oranges! Sanwiges!"
Jack put five cents into the woman's hand, and he was surprised to find
how much good bread and boiled ham he had bought.
"It's all the supper I'll have," he said, as he walked away. "I could
eat a loaf of bread and a whole ham, it seems to me!"
All the way to the Hotel Dantzic he studied over the loss of his
pocket-book.
"The policeman was right," he said to himself, at last. "I didn't know
when they took it, but it must have been when my hat was jammed down."
When Jack met Mr. Keifelheimer in the hotel office, he asked him what
he thought about it. An expression of strong indignation, if not of
horror, crossed the face of the hotel proprietor.
"Dey get you pocket-book?" he exclaimed. "You vas rob choost de same
vay I vas; but mine vas a votch und shain. It vas two year ago, und I
nefer get him back. Your friend, Mr. Guilderaufenberg, he vas rob dot
vay, vonce, but den he vas ashleep in a railvay car und not know ven it
vas done!"
Jack was glad of so much sympathy, but just then business called Mr.
Keifelheimer away.
"I won't go upstairs," thought Jack. "I'll sit in the reading-room."
No letters were awaiting him, but there were plenty of newspapers, and
nearly a score of men were reading or talking. Jack did not really
care to read, nor to talk, nor even to listen; but two gentlemen near
him were discussing a subject that reminded him of the farms around
Crofield.
"Yes," he heard one of them say, "we must buy every potato we can
secure. At the rate they're spoiling now, the price will be doubled
before December."
"Curious, how little the market knows about it yet," said the other,
and they continued discussing letters and reports about potatoes, from
place after place, and State after State, and all the while Jack
listened, glad to be reminded of Crofield.
"It was just so with our potatoes at home," he said to himself. "Some
farmers didn't get back what they planted."
This talk helped him to forget his pocket-book for a while; then, after
trying to read the newspapers, he went to bed.
A very tired boy can always sleep. Jack Ogden awoke, on Saturday
morning, with a clear idea that sleep was all he had had for
supper,--excepting one ham sandwich.
"It's not enough," he said, as he dressed himself. "I must make some
money. Oh, my pocket-book! And I shall have to pay for my room,
Monday."
He slipped out of the Hotel Dantzic very quietly, and he had a fine
sunshiny walk of two and a half miles to the down-town restaurant where
he ate his ten cents' worth of bread and milk.
"It's enough for a while," he said, "but it doesn't last. If I was at
home, now, I'd have more bread and another bowl of milk. I'll come
here again, at noon, if I don't find a place somewhere."
Blue, blue, blue, was that Saturday for poor Jack Ogden! All the
forenoon he stood up manfully to hear the "No, we don't want a boy,"
and he met that same answer, expressed in almost identical words,
everywhere.
When he came out from his luncheon of bread and milk, he began to find
that many places closed at twelve or one o'clock; that even more were
to close at three, and that on Saturday all men were either tired and
cross or in a hurry. Jack's courage failed him until he could hardly
look a man in the face and ask him a question. One whole week had gone
since Jack reached the city, and it seemed about a year. Here he was,
without any way of making money, and almost without a hope of finding
any way.
"I'll go to the hotel," he said, at about four o'clock. "I'll go up
the Bowery way. It won't pay anybody to pick my pocket this time!"
He had a reason for going up the Bowery. It was no shorter than the
other way. The real explanation was in his pocket.
"Forty cents left!" he said. "I'll eat one sandwich for supper, and
I'll buy three more to eat in my room to-morrow."
He reached the stand kept by the three small old women, and found each
in turn calling out, "Here you are! Sanwiges!--" and all the rest of
their list of commodities.
"Four," said Jack. "Put up three of 'em in a paper, please. I'll eat
one."
It was good. In fact, it was too good, and Jack wished it was ten
times as large; but the last morsel of it vanished speedily and after
looking with longing eyes at the others, he shut his teeth firmly.
"I won't eat another!" he said to himself. "I'll starve it out till
Monday, anyway!"
It took all the courage Jack had to carry those three sandwiches to the
Hotel Dantzic and to put them away, untouched, in his traveling-bag.
After a while he went down to the reading-room and read; but he went to
bed thinking of the excellent meals he had eaten at the Albany hotel on
his way to New York.
Mary Ogden's second Sunday in Mertonville was a peculiar trial to her,
for several young ladies who expected to be in the Academy next term,
came and added themselves to that remarkable Sunday-school class. So
did some friends of the younger Academy girls; and the class had to be
divided, to the disappointment of those excluded.
"Mary Ogden didn't need to improve," said Elder Holloway to the
Superintendent, "but she is doing better than ever!"
How Jack did long to see Mary, or some of the family in Crofield, and
Crofield itself! As soon as he was dressed he opened the bag and took
out one of his sandwiches and looked at it.
"Why, they're smaller than I thought they were!" he said ruefully; "but
I can't expect too much for five cents! I've just twenty cents left.
That sandwich tastes good if it is small!"
So soon was it all gone that Jack found his breakfast very
unsatisfactory.
"I don't feel like going to church," he said, "but I might as well. I
can't sit cooped up here all day. I'll go into the first church I come
to, as soon as it's time."
He did not care where he went when he left the hotel, and perhaps it
did not really make much difference, considering how he felt; but he
found a church and went in. A young man showed him to a seat under the
gallery. Not until the minister in the pulpit came forward to give out
a hymn, did Jack notice anything peculiar, but the first sonorous,
rolling cadences of that hymn startled the boy from Crofield.
"Whew!" he said to himself. "It's Dutch or something. I can't
understand a word of it! I'll stay, though, now I'm here."
German hymns, and German prayers, and a tolerably long sermon in
German, left Jack Ogden free to think of all sorts of things, and his
spirits went down, down, down, as he recalled all the famines of which
he had heard or read and all the delicacies invented to tempt the
appetite. He sat very still, however, until the last hymn was sung,
and then he walked slowly back to the Hotel Dantzic.
"I don't care to see Mr. Keifelheimer," he thought. "He'll ask me to
come and eat at a big Sunday dinner,--and to pay for it. I'll dodge
him."
He watched at the front door of the hotel for fully three minutes,
until he was sure that the hall was empty. Then he slipped into the
reading-room and through that into the rear passageway leading to the
elevator; but he did not feel safe until on his way to his room.
"One sandwich for dinner," he groaned, as he opened his bag. "I never
knew what real hunger was till I came to the city! Maybe it won't last
long, though. I'm not the first fellow who's had a hard time before he
made a start."
Jack thought that both the bread and the ham were cut too thin, and
that the sandwich did not last long enough.
"I'll keep my last twenty cents, though," thought Jack, and he tried to
be satisfied.
Before that afternoon was over, the guide-book had been again read
through, and a long home letter was written.
"I'll mail it," he said, "as soon as I get some money for stamps. I
haven't said a word to them about famine. It must be time to eat that
third sandwich; and then I'll go out and take a walk."
The sandwich was somewhat dry, but every crumb of it seemed to be
valuable. After eating it, Jack once more walked over and looked at
the fine houses on Fifth Avenue; but now it seemed to the hungry lad an
utter absurdity to think of ever owning one of them. He stared and
wondered and walked, however, and returned to the hotel tired out.
On Monday morning, the Ogden family were at breakfast, when a neat
looking farm-wagon stopped before the door. The driver sprang to the
ground, carefully helped out a young woman, and then lifted down a
trunk. Just as the trunk came down upon the ground there was a loud
cry in the open doorway.
"Mother! Molly's come home!" and out sprang little Bob.
"Mercy on us!" Mrs. Ogden exclaimed, and the whole family were on their
feet.
Mary met her father as she was coming in. Then, picking up little
Sally and kissing her, she said:
"There was a way for me to come over, this morning. I've brought my
books home, to study till term begins. Oh, mother, I'm so glad to get
back!"
The blacksmith went out to thank the farmer who had brought her; but
the rest went into the house to get Mary some breakfast and to look at
her and to hear her story.
Mrs. Ogden said several times:
"I do wish Jack was here, too!"
That very moment her son was leaving the Hotel Dantzic behind him, with
two and a half miles to walk before getting his breakfast--a bowl of
bread and milk.