JED'S BAD LUCK.
"Yes," answered Jed coolly, "it is the kid. I have called upon Mr.
Claflin, and also at the office of the _Tribune_. Probably you can guess
what I was told at both places."
Mr. Barry felt that he was in a tight place, but reflecting that Jed was
only a boy, he determined to bluff him off.
"I don't know what you are talking about, boy," he said. "I know nothing
of Mr. Claflin, and have nothing to do with the _Tribune_ office."
"I am aware of that, but you gave me a letter of introduction to H. B.
Claflin, and borrowed two dollars of me, promising to pay me when you
settled with the _Tribune_ for editorial contributions."
"There is not a word of truth in this," said Barry, fidgeting in his
chair.
"I have been listening to your conversation for fifteen minutes,"
continued Jed, "and I heard you give an account of the matter to your
friend here."
Barry hesitated a moment. Even his brazen hardihood was scarcely
adequate to the emergency. He was the more uneasy because a policeman
was sitting at the next table but one.
"It was only a practical joke, boy," he said hurriedly. "I'll pay you
back the two dollars."
"That will be satisfactory," returned Jed.
"But I can't do it to-day. I'll meet you on Monday afternoon, as I said.
I am in rather a hurry now and must be going."
He rose from the table precipitately, and went up to the desk followed
by his friend.
"Shall I stop him?" thought Jed.
He decided not to do so, as he felt sure Barry could not pay him. The
loss was not a serious one, but it would not do to make a second
mistake. He paid his check and left the restaurant.
Jed knew very little of New York, even for a country boy. Some Scranton
people doubtless had visited the great city, but, as an inmate of a
poorhouse, he had not been thrown in their way. Accordingly he was like
a mariner without a compass. He could only follow where impulse led.
He turned into Broadway, and with his gripsack in his hand walked up the
great thoroughfare, looking in at shop windows as he strolled along.
Travelling in this leisurely manner, it was perhaps four o'clock when he
reached Union Square.
He was by this time fatigued and ready to rest on one of the benches
which he found in the park. One person was sitting there already. It was
a slender young man with a diamond ring on one of the fingers of his
right hand. At least it looked to be a diamond.
He was dressed in rather a showy manner. He was perhaps twenty-two, but
so slender that he must have weighed a dozen or fifteen pounds less than
Jed, who was only sixteen. He looked casually at the country boy as the
latter sat down, and presently turned and addressed him.
"It is a warm day," he said.
"Yes," answered Jed, who felt lonely and was glad to be social with some
one.
"I judge from your bag," he glanced at the gripsack, "that you are a
visitor to New York."
"Yes," answered Jed frankly. "I have never been in New York before."
"That was my case two years ago. Now I feel quite like an old resident.
Are you staying at a hotel?"
"No; that is what I should like to ask about. I must spend the night
somewhere. Can you recommend a _cheap_ hotel?"
"Why do you go to a hotel? No hotel is cheap in the long run. It is much
better to hire a room in a lodging-house and take your meals at
restaurants."
"Yes, I suppose it would be. But I don't know where to find such a
lodging-house."
"Come, I'll make you an offer. I have a room on Twenty-Seventh Street.
You shall pay for my supper, and I will let you stay in my room without
charge till to-morrow. Then if you like it well enough to room with me,
I shall be glad to have you."
"Thank you; how much do you pay for your room?"
"Four dollars a week. That will be two dollars a piece. That is cheap
for the city. You can't get a room at a hotel for less than a dollar a
night."
"Is that so?" asked Jed. "That would be seven dollars a week."
"Precisely."
"I couldn't afford to pay that."
"There is no reason why you should. I couldn't afford it myself. Well,
do you accept my offer? Do just as you please. Of course I have no
motive except to give a helping hand to a stranger in the city."
"You are very kind," said Jed gratefully. "I know so little of New York
that I feel quite helpless."
"Quite natural. I've been through it all."
"Are you--in business?" rather wondering how his companion should be
free at that hour.
"Yes, I am in a broker's office down town. We have easy hours. I am off
for the day at three o'clock."
"Are you well paid? But perhaps you don't care to tell."
"Oh, yes, I don't mind. I get twenty dollars a week."
"I wish I could get twelve," said Jed wistfully. "I shall have to get
work soon."
"You have some money to keep you while you are waiting for work?" said
the other quickly.
"Yes. I have about thirty-five dollars."
The young man's face brightened up.
"I am glad for you," he said. "You can make that last a good while, if
you are guided by me, and keep down your expenses."
"That is exactly what I want to do," responded Jed earnestly.
"Oh well, I will put my experience at your service. I hope you will
conclude to room with me. I feel rather lonesome at times. Of course I
could easily get a roommate, but I am rather particular."
"You might not like me," said Jed.
"I am sure I shall. I can tell in five minutes whether I am going to
like a person or not. How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Indeed! You look older. That's going to help you, you know, about a
situation. You can pass for a young man, and they won't think of
offering you boy's pay."
"Perhaps you will be able to advise me about the kind of place I had
better apply for."
"Of course I will. I already begin to take a great interest in you. What
kind of work have you done?"
"Well, I have acted a little."
"You don't say so!" ejaculated his new friend in genuine surprise, for
he had looked upon Jed as an unsophisticated country boy who probably
had never seen the inside of a theatre. "I suppose you mean," he
suggested as an afterthought, "in some village entertainment."
"No; I played in 'The Gold King' for some time."
"You don't say so! What part did you take?"
"The boy's part."
The young man regarded Jed with more respect.
"I shouldn't have thought it," he said. "How did you happen to get such
a fine chance as that?"
"I knew one of the actors--Harry Bertram--and the one who played the
boy's part regularly was taken sick. I only played about four or five
weeks all together."
"Still that makes you a regular actor. Do you think of trying to get a
place at Daly's or Palmer's?"
"Oh, no. I don't suppose I should stand any show. I could only take a
boy's part."
"Well, we can talk over our plans later. I don't mind confessing that I
am hungry. How about yourself?"
"I think I could eat some supper."
"Come along, then. I'll take you to a good restaurant. It's some way
off, but it is near my room."
"All right."
The two rose, and leaving the park, walked up Broadway, past the Fifth
Avenue Hotel, the Hoffman House, and the St. James, till they reached a
well-known eating-house known as Smith & Green's, situated on the east
side of Broadway, between Twenty-Seventh and Twenty-Eighth Streets.
"Come in here. I won't take you to Delmonico's, a little further down,
as you haven't a private bank to draw from. This is a nice restaurant
and moderate in its charges."
They entered, sat down at a round table and studied the bill of fare.
The prices seemed to be moderate. Jed's dinner cost thirty-five cents,
but his companion was more lavish in his orders, and ran up a bill of
sixty-five cents.
"That makes just a dollar," he remarked.
It seemed considerable to Jed, who decided that he would rather order
and pay for his own meals separately hereafter.
During the repast Jed learned that his new friend's name was Maurice
Graham.
"Now we'll go around to my room, and you can dispose of your gripsack."
"I shall be glad to do so. I am tired of carrying it about."
Graham led the way to a three-story brick house near Seventh Avenue, and
mounted to a small square room on the upper story. It was plainly
furnished with a three-quarters bed, a bureau, and the usual chamber
furniture.
"You can leave your bag anywhere, and then we will go out for a walk."
"I think I would rather stay here and lie down."
"All right! Make yourself at home. I will go out. Shall probably be back
by ten."
When Graham returned at a little past ten he found Jed in bed and fast
asleep. His eyes sparkled with pleasure.
He raised Jed's clothes from the chair on which he had thrown them and
went through the pockets expeditiously. Poor Jed's small stock of money
was quickly transferred to his own pockets.
"He hasn't any watch," soliloquized Graham. "That's a pity."
When his search was completed he put on his hat again.
"I shall sleep in Jersey City to-night," he said to himself. "That will
be safer."
He went out softly, leaving Jed alone, the victim of a cruel trick.