Transcriber's notes:

Captions have been added to the illustration markersfor the convenience of some readers. These have beenindicated by an asterisk. 

A list of some of the author's other books has been moved from the frontpapers to the end of the book. 

 [Illustration: Front cover]*

 [Illustration: Title page: RAGGED DICK SERIES BY HORATIO ALGER JR. BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY]

 BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;

 OR, AMONG THE WHARVES. 

 BY

 HORATIO ALGER, JR. , AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK, " "FAME AND FORTUNE, " "MARK, THE MATCH BOY, " "ROUGH AND READY, " "CAMPAIGN SERIES, " "LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES, " ETC. 

 THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. , PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, TORONTO. 

 TO

 ANNIE, THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED

 In Tender Remembrance, BY HER

 _AFFECTIONATE BROTHER_

PREFACE. 

In presenting "Ben, the Luggage Boy, " to the public, as the fifth of theRagged Dick Series, the author desires to say that it is in allessential points a true history; the particulars of the story havingbeen communicated to him, by Ben himself, nearly two years since. Inparticular, the circumstances attending the boy's running away fromhome, and adopting the life of a street boy, are in strict accordancewith Ben's own statement. While some of the street incidents areborrowed from the writer's own observation, those who are reallyfamiliar with the different phases which street life assumes in NewYork, will readily recognize their fidelity. The chapter entitled "TheRoom under the Wharf" will recall to many readers of the daily journalsa paragraph which made its appearance within two years. The writercannot close without expressing anew his thanks for the large share offavor which has been accorded to the volumes of the present series, andtakes this opportunity of saying that, in their preparation, inventionhas played but a subordinate part. For his delineations of character andchoice of incidents, he has been mainly indebted to his own observation, aided by valuable communications and suggestions from those who havebeen brought into familiar acquaintance with the class whose mode oflife he has sought to describe. 

NEW YORK, April 5, 1876. 

BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;

OR, AMONG THE WHARVES. 

CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCES BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY. 

"How much yer made this mornin', Ben?"

"Nary red, " answered Ben, composedly. 

"Had yer breakfast?"

"Only an apple. That's all I've eaten since yesterday. It's most timefor the train to be in from Philadelphy. I'm layin' round for a job. "

The first speaker was a short, freckled-faced boy, whose box strapped tohis back identified him at once as a street boot-black. His hair wasred, his fingers defaced by stains of blacking, and his clothingconstructed on the most approved system of ventilation. He appeared tobe about twelve years old. 

The boy whom he addressed as Ben was taller, and looked older. He wasprobably not far from sixteen. His face and hands, though browned byexposure to wind and weather, were several shades cleaner than those ofhis companion. His face, too, was of a less common type. It was easy tosee that, if he had been well dressed, he might readily have been takenfor a gentleman's son. But in his present attire there was little chanceof this mistake being made. His pants, marked by a green stripe, smallaround the waist and very broad at the hips, had evidently once belongedto a Bowery swell; for the Bowery has its swells as well as Broadway, its more aristocratic neighbor. The vest had been discarded as aneedless luxury, its place being partially supplied by a shirt of thickred flannel. This was covered by a frock-coat, which might once havebelonged to a member of the Fat Men's Association, being aldermanic inits proportions. Now it was fallen from its high estate, its nap andoriginal gloss had long departed, and it was frayed and torn in manyplaces. But among the street-boys dress is not much regarded, and Bennever thought of apologizing for the defects of his wardrobe. We shalllearn in time what were his faults and what his virtues, for I canassure my readers that street boys do have virtues sometimes, and whenthey are thoroughly convinced that a questioner feels an interest inthem will drop the "chaff" in which they commonly indulge, and talkseriously and feelingly of their faults and hardships. Some do this fora purpose, no doubt, and the verdant stranger is liable to be taken inby assumed virtue, and waste sympathy on those who do not deserve it. But there are also many boys who have good tendencies and aspirations, and only need to be encouraged and placed under right influences todevelop into worthy and respectable men. 

The conversation recorded above took place at the foot of CortlandtStreet, opposite the ferry wharf. It was nearly time for the train, andthere was the usual scene of confusion. Express wagons, hacks, boys, laborers, were gathering, presenting a confusing medley to the eye ofone unaccustomed to the spectacle. 

Ben was a luggage boy, his occupation being to wait at the piers for thearrival of steamboats, or at the railway stations, on the chance ofgetting a carpet-bag or valise to carry. His business was a precariousone. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes unlucky. When he was flush, hetreated himself to a "square meal, " and finished up the day at TonyPastor's, or the Old Bowery, where from his seat in the pit he indulgedin independent criticism of the acting, as he leaned back in his seatand munched peanuts, throwing the shells about carelessly. 

It is not surprising that the street-boys like the Old Bowery, and arewilling to stint their stomachs, or run the risk of a night in thestreets, for the sake of the warm room and the glittering illusions ofthe stage, introducing them for the time being to the society of noblesand ladies of high birth, and enabling them to forget for a time thehardships of their own lot, while they follow with rapt interest thefortunes of Lord Frederic Montressor or the Lady Imogene Delacour. Strange as it may seem, the street Arab has a decided fancy for thesepictures of aristocracy, and never suspects their want of fidelity. Whenthe play ends, and Lord Frederic comes to his own, having foiled all theschemes of his crafty and unprincipled enemies, no one rejoices morethan the ragged boy who has sat through the evening an interestedspectator of the play, and in his pleasure at the successful denouement, he almost forgets that he will probably find the Newsboys' Lodging Houseclosed for the night, and be compelled to take up with such sleepingaccommodations as the street may provide. 

Ben crossed the street, taking a straight course, without payingespecial attention to the mud, which caused other pedestrians to picktheir way. To the condition of his shoes he was supremely indifferent. Stockings he did not wear. They are luxuries in which few street boysindulge. 

He had not long to wait. The boat bumped against the wharf, and directlya crowd of passengers poured through the open gates in a continuousstream. 

Ben looked sharply around him to judge who would be likely to employhim. His attention was drawn to an elderly lady, with a large carpet-bagswelled almost to bursting. She was looking about her in a bewilderedmanner. 

"Carry your bag, ma'am?" he said, at the same time motioning towards it. 

"Who be you?" asked the old lady, suspiciously. 

"I'm a baggage-smasher, " said Ben. 

"Then I don't want you, " answered the old lady, clinging to her bag asif she feared it would be wrested from her. "I'm surprised that the lawallows sich things. You might be in a better business, young man, thansmashing baggage. "

"That's where you're right, old lady, " said Ben. 

"Bankin' would pay better, if I only had the money to start on. "

"Are you much acquainted in New York?" asked the old lady. 

"Yes, " said Ben; "I know the mayor 'n' aldermen, 'n' all the principalmen. A. T. Stooart's my intimate friend, and I dine with Vanderbiltevery Sunday when I aint engaged at Astor's. "

"Do you wear them clo'es when you visit your fine friends?" asked theold lady, shrewdly. 

"No, " said Ben. "Them are my every-day clo'es. I've got some velvetclo'es to home, embroidered with gold. "

"I believe you are telling fibs, " said the old lady. "What I want toknow is, if you know my darter, Mrs. John Jones; her first name isSeraphiny. She lives on Bleecker Street, and her husband, who is a niceman, though his head is bald on top, keeps a grocery store. "

"Of course I do, " said Ben. "It was only yesterday that she told me hermother was comin' to see her. I might have knowed you was she. "

"How would you have knowed?"

"Cause she told me just how you looked. "

"Did she? How did she say I looked?"

"She said you was most ninety, and--"

"It isn't true, " said the old lady, indignantly. "I'm onlyseventy-three, and everybody says I'm wonderful young-lookin' for myyears. I don't believe Seraphiny told you so. "

"She might have said you looked as if you was most ninety. "

"You're a sassy boy!" said the owner of the carpet-bag, indignantly. "Idon't see how I'm going to get up to Seraphiny's, " she continued, complainingly. "They'd ought to have come down to meet me. How much willyou charge to carry my carpet-bag, and show me the way to my darter's?"

"Fifty cents, " said Ben. 

"Fifty cents!" repeated the old lady, aghast. "I didn't think you'dcharge more'n ten. "

"I have to, " said Ben. "Board's high in New York. "

"How much would they charge me in a carriage? Here you, sir, " addressinga hackman, "what'll you charge to carry me to my darter's house, Mrs. John Jones, in Bleecker Street?"

"What's the number?"

"I think it's a hundred and sixty-three. "

"A dollar and a half. "

"A dollar 'n' a half? Couldn't you do it for less?"

"Carry your bag, sir?" asked Ben, of a gentleman passing. 

The gentleman shook his head. 

He made one or two other proposals, which being in like mannerunsuccessful, he returned to the old lady, who, having by this time gotthrough her negotiations with the hackman, whom she had vainly strivento beat down to seventy-five cents, was in a more favorable mood toaccept Ben's services. 

"Can't you take less than fifty cents?" she asked. 

"No, " said Ben, decidedly. 

"I'll give you forty. "

"Couldn't do it, " said Ben, who felt sure of gaining his point now. 

"Well, I suppose I shall be obleeged to hire you, " said the old ladywith a sigh. "Seraphiny ought to have sent down to meet me. I didn'ttell her I was comin' to-day; but she might have thought I'd come, bein'so pleasant. Here, you boy, you may take the bag, and mind you don't runaway with it. There aint nothin' in it but some of my clo'es. "

"I don't want none of your clo'es, " said Ben. "My wife's bigger'n you, and they wouldn't fit her. "

"Massy sakes! you aint married, be you?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't believe it. You're not old enough. But I'm glad you don't wantthe clo'es. They wouldn't be of no use to you. Just you take the bag, and I'll foller on behind. "

"I want my pay first. "

"I aint got the change. My darter Seraphiny will pay you when we get toher house. "

"That don't go down, " said Ben, decidedly. "Payment in advance; that'sthe way I do business. "

"You'll get your pay; don't you be afraid. "

"I know I shall; but I want it now. "

"You won't run away after I've paid you, will you?"

"In course not. That aint my style. "

The old lady took out her purse, and drew therefrom forty-seven cents. She protested that she had not a cent more. Ben pardoned the deficiency, feeling that he would, notwithstanding, be well paid for his time. 

"All right, " said he, magnanimously. "I don't mind the three cents. Itaint any object to a man of my income. Take my hand, old lady, and we'llgo across the street. "

"I'm afraid of bein' run over, " said she, hesitatingly. 

"What's the odds if you be?" said Ben. "The city'll have to pay youdamages. "

"But if I got killed, that wouldn't do me any good, " remarked the oldlady, sensibly. 

"Then the money'd go to your friends, " said Ben, consolingly. 

"Do you think I will be run over?" asked the old lady, anxiously. 

"In course you won't. I'll take care of you. They wouldn't dare to runover me, " said Ben, confidently. 

Somewhat reassured by this remark, the old lady submitted to Ben'sguidance, and was piloted across the street in safety. 

"I wouldn't live in New York for a heap of money. It would be as much asmy life is worth, " she remarked. "How far is Bleecker Street?"

"About two miles. "

"I almost wish I'd rid. But a dollar and a half is a sight to pay. "

"You'd have to pay more than that. "

"That's all the man asked. "

"I know, " said Ben; "but when he'd got you there, he'd have charged youfive dollars. "

"I wouldn't have paid it. "

"Yes, you would, " said Ben. 

"He couldn't make me. "

"If you didn't pay, he'd have locked you in, and driven you off to theriver, and dumped you in. "

"Do they ever do such things?" asked the old lady, startled. 

"In course they do. Only last week a beautiful young lady was servedthat way, 'cause she wouldn't pay what the hackman wanted. "

"And what was done to him?"

"Nothin', " said Ben. "The police is in league with 'em, and get theirshare of the money. "

"Why, you don't say so! What a wicked place New York is, to be sure!"

"Of course it is. It's so wicked I'm goin' to the country myself as soonas I get money enough to buy a farm. "

"Have you got much money saved up?" asked the old lady, interested. 

"Four thousand six hundred and seventy-seven dollars and fifty-fivecents. I don't count this money you give me, 'cause I'm goin' to spendit. "

"You didn't make it all carryin' carpet-bags, " said the old lady, incredulously. 

"No, I made most of it spekilatin' in real estate, " said Ben. 

"You don't say!"

"Yes, I do. "

"You've got most enough to buy a farm a'ready. "

"I aint goin' to buy till I can buy a good one. "

"What's the name of this street?"

"West Broadway. "

They were really upon West Broadway by this time, that being as direct aline as any to Bleecker Street. 

"You see that store, " said Ben. 

"Yes; what's the matter of it?"

"I don't own it _now_, " said Ben. "I sold it, cos the tenants didn't paytheir rent reg'lar. "

"I should think you'd dress better if you've got so much money, " saidthe old lady, not unnaturally. 

"What's the use of wearin' nice clo'es round among the wharves?" saidBen. 

"There's suthin in that. I tell my darter Jane--she lives in thecountry--that it's no use dressin' up the children to go toschool, --they're sure to get their clo'es tore and dirty afore they gethome. "

So Ben beguiled the way with wonderful stories, with which he playedupon the old lady's credulity. Of course it was wrong; but a streeteducation is not very likely to inspire its pupils with a reverence fortruth; and Ben had been knocking about the streets of New York, most ofthe time among the wharves, for six years. His street education hadcommenced at the age of ten. He had adopted it of his own free will. Even now there was a comfortable home waiting for him; there wereparents who supposed him dead, and who would have found a difficulty inrecognizing him under his present circumstances. In the next chapter alight will be thrown upon his past history, and the reader will learnhow his street life began. 

CHAPTER II. 

HOW BEN COMMENCED HIS STREET LIFE. 

One pleasant morning, six years before the date at which this storycommences, a small coasting-vessel drew up at a North River pier in thelower part of the city. It was loaded with freight, but there was atleast one passenger on board. A boy of ten, dressed in a neat jacket andpants of gray-mixed cloth, stood on deck, watching with interest thebusy city which they had just reached. 

"Well, bub, here we are, " said the captain as he passed. "I suppose youknow your way home. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Are you going on shore now?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, good luck to you, my lad. If you are ever down this way, when I'min port, I shall be glad to see you. "

"Thank you, sir; good-by. "

"Good-by. "

Ben clambered over the side, and stepped upon the wharf. In the greatcity he knew no one, and he was an utter stranger to the streets, neverbefore having visited it. He was about to begin life for himself at theage of ten. He had voluntarily undertaken to support himself, leavingbehind him a comfortable home, where he had been well cared for. I mustexplain how this came about. 

Ben had a pleasant face, and would be considered good-looking. But therewas a flash in his eye, when aroused, which showed that he had a quicktemper, and there was an expression of firmness, unusual to one soyoung, which might have been read by an experienced physiognomist. Hewas quick-tempered, proud, and probably obstinate. Yet with thesequalities he was pleasant in his manners, and had a sense of humor, which made him a favorite among his companions. 

His father was a coal-dealer in a town a few miles distant fromPhiladelphia, of a hasty temper like Ben himself. A week before he hadpunished Ben severely for a fault which he had not committed. The boy'spride revolted at the injustice, and, young as he was, he resolved torun away. I suppose there are few boys who do not form this resolutionat some time or other in their lives; but as a general thing it amountsto nothing. With Ben it was different. His was a strong nature, whetherfor good or for evil, and when he decided to do anything he was noteasily moved from his resolve. He forgot, in the present case, that, though he had been unjustly punished, the injustice was not intentionalon the part of his father, who had been under a wrong impressionrespecting him. But right or wrong, Ben made up his mind to run away;and he did so. It was two or three days before a good opportunitypresented itself. Then, with a couple of shirts and collars rolled up ina small bundle, he made his escape to Philadelphia, and after roamingabout the streets for several hours he made his way to the wharves, where he found a vessel bound for New York. Representing to the captainthat he lived in New York, and had no money to pay his passage home, that officer, who was a good-natured man, agreed to carry him fornothing. 

The voyage was now over, and Ben landed, as we have said, an utterstranger, with very indefinite ideas as to how he was to make hisliving. He had told the captain that he knew his way home, for havingfalsely represented that he lived in New York, he was in a mannercompelled to this additional falsehood. Still, in spite of hisfriendless condition, his spirits were very good. The sun shonebrightly; all looked animated and cheerful. Ben saw numbers of men atwork about him, and he thought, "It will be a pity if I cannot make aliving. "

He did not care to linger about the wharf, for the captain might be ledto doubt his story. Accordingly he crossed the street, and at a ventureturned up a street facing the wharf. 

Ben did not know much about New York, even by report. But he had heardof Broadway, --as who has not?--and this was about all he did know. When, therefore, he had gone a short distance, he ventured to ask aboot-black, whom he encountered at the corner of the next block, "Canyou tell me the shortest way to Broadway?"

"Follow your nose, Johnny, " was the reply. 

"My name isn't Johnny, " replied Ben, rather indignant at thefamiliarity. He had not learned that, in New York, Johnny is the genericname for boy, where the specific name is unknown. 

"Aint it though?" returned the boot-black "What's the price of turnipsout where you live?"

"I'll make your nose turn up if you aint careful, " retorted Ben, wrathfully. 

"You'll do, " said the boot-black, favorably impressed by Ben's pluck. "Just go straight ahead, and you'll come to Broadway. I'm going thatway, and you can come along with me if you want to. "

"Thank you, " said Ben, appeased by the boy's changed manner. 

"Are you going to stay here?" inquired his new acquaintance. 

"Yes, " said Ben; "I'm going to live here. "

"Where do your friends live?"

"I haven't got any friends in New York, " said Ben, with a littlehesitation. 

"Over in Brooklyn, or Jersey, maybe?"

"No, I don't know anybody this way. "

"Whew!" whistled the other. "How you goin' to live?"

"I expect to earn my living, " said Ben, in a tone of importance. 

"Father and mother dead?"

"No, they're alive. "

"I s'pose they're poor?"

"No, they're not; they're well off. "

The boot-black looked puzzled. 

"Why didn't you stay at home then? Wouldn't they let you?"

"Of course they would. The fact is, I've run away. "

"Maybe they'd adopt me instead of you. "

"I don't think they would, " said Ben, laughing. 

"I wish somebody with lots of cash would adopt me, and make a gentlemanof me. It would be a good sight better'n blackin' boots. "

"Do you make much money that way?" inquired Ben. 

"Pleasant days like this, sometimes I make a dollar, but when it rainsthere aint much doin'. "

"How much have you made this morning?" asked Ben, with interest. 

"Sixty cents. "

"Sixty cents, and it isn't more than ten o'clock. That's doing prettywell. "

"'Taint so good in the afternoon. Most every body gets their bootsblacked in the mornin'. What are you goin' to do?"

"I don't know, " said Ben. 

"Goin' to black boots? I'll show you how, " said the other, generouslyoverlooking all considerations of possible rivalry. 

"I don't think I should like that very well, " said Ben, slowly. 

Having been brought up in a comfortable home, he had a prejudice infavor of clean hands and unsoiled clothes, --a prejudice of which hisstreet life speedily cured him. 

"I think I should rather sell papers, or go into a store, " said Ben. 

"You can't make so much money sellin' papers, " said his newacquaintance. "Then you might get 'stuck'". 

"What's that?" inquired Ben, innocently. 

"Don't you know?" asked the boot-black, wonderingly. "Why, it's whenyou've got more papers than you can sell. That's what takes off theprofits. I was a newsboy once; but it's too hard work for the money. There aint no chance of gettin' stuck on my business. "

"It's rather a dirty business, " said Ben, venturing to state his mainobjection, at the risk of offending. But Jerry Collins, for that was hisname, was not very sensitive on this score. 

"What's the odds?" he said, indifferently. "A feller gets used to it. "

Ben looked at Jerry's begrimed hands, and clothes liberally marked withspots of blacking, and he felt that he was not quite ready to get usedto appearing in public in this way. He was yet young in his street life. The time came when he ceased to be so particular. 

"Where do you board?" asked Ben, after a little pause. 

Jerry Collins stared at the questioner as if he suspected that a jokewas intended. But Ben's serious face assured him that he was in earnest. 

"You're jolly green, " he remarked, sententiously. 

"Look here, " said Ben, with spirit, "I'll give you a licking if you saythat again. "

It may be considered rather singular that Jerry, Instead of resentingthis threat, was led by it to regard Ben with favor. 

"I didn't mean anything, " he said, by way of apology. "You're a trump, and you'll get over it when you've been in the city a week. "

"What made you call me green?" asked Ben. 

"Did you think I boarded up to the Fifth Avenue?" asked Jerry. 

"What's that, --a hotel?"

"Yes, it's one of the big hotels, where they eat off gold plates. "

"No, I don't suppose you board there, " said Ben, laughing; "but Isuppose there are cheaper boarding-places. Where do you sleep?"

"Sometimes in wagons, or in door-ways, on the docks, or anywhere where Iget a chance. "

"Don't you get cold sleeping out-doors?" asked Ben. 

"Oh, I'm used to it, " said Jerry. "When it's cold I go to the LodgingHouse. "

"What's that?"

Jerry explained that there was a Newsboys' Lodging House, where a bedcould be obtained for six cents a night. 

"That's cheap, " said Ben. 

"'Taint so cheap as sleepin' out-doors, " returned the boot-black. 

This was true; but Ben thought he would rather pay the six cents thansleep out, if it were only for the damage likely to come to his clothes, which were yet clean and neat. Looking at Jerry's suit, however, he sawthat this consideration would be likely to have less weight with him. Hebegan to understand that he had entered upon a very different life fromthe one he had hitherto led. He was not easily daunted, however. 

"If he can stand it, I can, " he said to himself. 

CHAPTER III. 

STREET SCENES. 

"Here's Broadway, " said Jerry, suddenly. 

They emerged from the side street on which they had been walking, and, turning the corner, found themselves in the great thoroughfare, a blockor two above Trinity Church. 

Ben surveyed the busy scenes that opened before him, with the eagerinterest of a country boy who saw them for the first time. 

"What church is that?" he asked, pointing to the tall spire of theimposing church that faces Wall Street. 

"That's Trinity Church. "

"Do you go to church there?"

"I don't go anywhere else, " said Jerry, equivocally. "What's the use ofgoing to church?"

"I thought everybody went to church, " said Ben, speaking from hisexperience in a country village "that is, most everybody, " he correctedhimself, as several persons occurred to his mind who were more punctualin their attendance at the liquor saloon than the church. 

"If I'd got good clothes like you have I'd go once just to see what it'slike; but I'd a good sight rather go to the old Bowery Theatre. "

"But you ought not to say that, " said Ben, a little startled. 

"Why not?"

"Because it's better to go to church than to the theatre. "

"Is it?" said Jerry. "Well, you can go if you want to. I'd give more fora stunnin' old play at the Bowery than fifty churches. "

Ben began to suspect that Jerry was rather loose in his ideas on thesubject of religion, but did not think it best to say so, for fear ofgiving offence, though in all probability Jerry's sensitiveness wouldnot have been at all disturbed by such a charge. 

During the last portion of the conversation they had been standing stillat the street corner. 

"I'm goin' to Nassau Street, " said Jerry. "If you want to go upBroadway, that's the way. "

Without waiting for an answer he darted across the street, threading hisway among the numerous vehicles with a coolness and a success whichamazed Ben, who momentarily expected to see him run over. He drew a longbreath when he saw him safe on the other side, and bethought himselfthat he would not like to take a similar risk. He felt sorry to haveJerry leave him so abruptly. The boot-black had already imparted to himconsiderable information about New York, which he saw was likely to beof benefit to him. Besides, he felt that any society was better thansolitude, and a sudden feeling of loneliness overpowered him, as he feltthat among the crowd of persons that jostled him as he stood at thecorner, there was not one who felt an interest in him, or even knew hisname. It was very different in his native village, where he kneweverybody, and everybody had a friendly word for him. The thought didoccur to him for a moment whether he had been wise in running away fromhome; but the thought of the unjust punishment came with it, and hisexpression became firmer and more resolute. 

"I won't go home if I starve, " he said proudly to himself; and armedwith this new resolution he proceeded up Broadway. 

His attention was soon drawn to the street merchants doing business onthe sidewalk. Here was a vender of neckties, displaying a variedassortment of different colors, for "only twenty-five cents each. " Nextcame a candy merchant with his stock in trade, divided up into irregularlumps, and labelled a penny apiece. They looked rather tempting, and Benwould have purchased, but he knew very well that his cash capitalamounted to only twenty-five cents, which, considering that he was asyet without an income, was likely to be wanted for other purposes. 

Next came a man with an assortment of knives, all of them open, andsticking into a large board, which was the only shop required by theirproprietor. Ben stopped a moment to look at them. He had always had afancy for knives, but was now without one. In fact he had sold ahandsome knife, which he had received as a birthday present, forseventy-five cents, to raise money for his present expedition. Of thissum but twenty-five cents remained. 

"Will you buy a knife to-day, young gentleman?" asked the vender, whowas on the alert for customers. 

"No, I guess not, " said Ben. 

"Here's a very nice one for only one dollar, " said the street merchant, taking up a showy-looking knife with three blades. "Its the best ofsteel, warranted. You won't get another such knife for the price in thecity. "

It did look cheap certainly. Ben could not but allow that. He would liketo have owned it, but circumstances forbade. 

"No, I won't buy to-day, " he said. 

"Here, you shall have it for ninety-four cents, " and the vender began toroll it up in a piece of paper. "You can't say it isn't cheap. "

"Yes, it's cheap enough, " said Ben, moving away, "but I haven't got themoney with me. "

This settled the matter, and the dealer reluctantly unrolled it, andreplaced it among his stock. 

"If you'll call round to-morrow, I'll save it for you till then, " hesaid. 

"All right, " said Ben. 

"I wonder, " he thought, "whether he would be so anxious to sell, if heknew that I had run away from home, and had but twenty-five cents in theworld?"

Ben's neat dress deceived the man, who naturally supposed him to belongto a city family well to do. 

Our young hero walked on till he came to the Astor House. He stood onthe steps a few minutes taking a view of what may be considered theliveliest and most animated part of New York. Nearly opposite wasBarnum's American Museum, the site being now occupied by the costly andelegant Herald Building and Park Bank. He looked across to the lower endof the City Hall Park, not yet diverted from its original purpose forthe new Post Office building. He saw a procession of horse-cars inconstant motion up and down Park Row. Everything seemed lively andanimated; and again the thought came to Ben, "If there is employment forall these people, there must be something for me to do. "

He crossed to the foot of the Park, and walked up on the Park Row side. Here again he saw a line of street merchants. Most conspicuous were thedealers in penny ballads, whose wares lined the railings, and werevarious enough to suit every taste. Here was an old woman, who mighthave gained a first prize for ugliness, presiding over an apple-stand. 

"Take one, honey; it's only two cints, " she said, observing that Ben'sattention was drawn to a rosy-cheeked apple. 

Ben was rather hungry, and reflecting that probably apples were as cheapas any other article of diet, he responded to the appeal by purchasing. It proved to be palatable, and he ate it with a good relish. 

"Ice-cream, only a penny a glass, " was the next announcement. Theglasses, to be sure, were of very small size. Still ice-cream in anyquantity for a penny seemed so ridiculously cheap that Ben, poor as hewas, could not resist the temptation. 

"I'll take a glass, " he said. 

A dab of ice-cream was deposited in a glass, and with a pewter spoonhanded to Ben. He raised the spoon to his mouth, but alas! the mixturewas not quite so tempting to the taste as to the eye and the pocket. Itmight be ice-cream, but there was an indescribable flavor about it, onlyto be explained on the supposition that the ice had been frozendish-water. Ben's taste had not been educated up to that point whichwould enable him to relish it. He laid it down with an involuntarycontortion of the face. 

"Give it to me, Johnny, " he heard at his elbow. 

Turning, he saw a small, dirty-faced boy of six, with bare feet andtattered attire, who was gazing with a look of greedy desire at thedelicious mixture. 

Ben handed him the glass and spoon, and stood by, looking at him withsome curiosity as he disposed of the contents with a look of evidentenjoyment. 

"Do you like it?" he asked. 

"It's bully, " said the young epicure. 

If Ben had not been restricted by his narrow means, he would havepurchased another glass for the urchin. It would have been a very cheap"treat. " But our young adventurer reflected that he had but twenty-twocents left, and prudence forbade. 

"I don't see how he can like the nasty stuff, " he thought. 

But the time was to come when Ben himself, grown less fastidious, wouldbe able to relish food quite as uninviting. 

Ben made his way across the Park to Broadway again. He felt that it washigh time for him to be seeking employment. His ideas on this subjectwere not very well defined, but when he left home he made up his mindthat he would try to get a place in a store on Broadway. He supposedthat, among the great number of stores, there would be a chance for himto get into some one. He expected to make enough to live in acomfortable boarding-house, and buy his clothes, though he supposed thatwould be about all. He expected to have to economize on spending moneythe first year, but the second year his wages would be raised, and thenit would come easier. All this shows how very verdant and unpracticalour young adventurer was, and what disappointment he was preparing forhimself. 

However, Ben's knowledge was to come by experience, and that beforelong. 

Reaching Broadway, he walked up slowly on the west side, looking in atthe shop-windows. In the lower part of this busy street are manywholesale houses, while the upper part is devoted principally to retailshops. Coming to a large warehouse for the sale of ready-made clothing, Ben thought he might as well begin there. In such a large place theremust be a good deal to do. 

He passed in and looked about him rather doubtfully. The counters, whichwere numerous, were filled high with ready-made garments. Ben saw no oneas small as himself, and that led him to doubt whether his size mightnot be an objection. 

"Well, sonny, what do you want?" asked a clerk. 

"Don't you want to hire a boy?" asked our young adventurer, plunginginto his business. 

"I suppose you have had considerable experience in the business?" saidthe clerk inclined to banter him a little. 

"No, I haven't, " said Ben, frankly. 

"Indeed, I judged from your looks that you were a man of experience. "

"If you don't want to hire me, I'll go, " said Ben, independently. 

"Well, young man, I'm afraid you'll have to go. The fact is, we shouldhave to _higher_ you before we could _hire_ you;" and the clerk laughedat his witticism. 

Ben naturally saw nothing to laugh at, but felt rather indignant. Hestepped into the street, a little depressed at the result of his firstapplication. But then, as he reflected, there were a great many otherstores besides this, and he might have better luck next time. He walkedon some distance, however, before trying again. Indeed, he had got aboveBleecker Street, when his attention was arrested by a paper pastedinside of a shop-window, bearing the inscription:--

 "CASH-BOYS WANTED. "

Ben did not clearly understand what were the duties of a cash-boy, though he supposed they must have something to do with receiving money. Looking in through the glass door he saw boys as small as himselfflitting about, and this gave him courage to enter and make anapplication for a place. 

He entered, therefore, and walked up boldly to the first clerk he saw. 

"Do you want a cash-boy?" he asked. 

"Go up to that desk, Johnny, " said the clerk, pointing to a desk aboutmidway of the store. A stout gentleman stood behind it, writingsomething in a large book. 

Ben went up, and repeated his inquiry. "Do you want a cash-boy?"

"How old are you?" asked the gentleman looking down at him. 

"Ten years old. "

"Have you ever been in a store?"

"No, sir. "

"Do you live in the city?"

"Yes, sir. "

"With your parents?"

"No, sir, " said Ben, with hesitation. 

"Who do you live with, then?"

"With nobody. I take care of myself. "

"Humph!" The gentleman looked a little surprised, not at the idea of aboy of ten looking out for himself, for such cases are common enough inNew York, but at the idea of such a well-dressed lad as Ben being inthat situation. 

"How long have you been your own man?" he inquired. 

"I've only just begun, " Ben admitted. 

"Are your parents dead?"

"No, sir; they're alive. "

"Then I advise you to go back to them. We don't receive any boys intoour employment, who do not live with their parents. "

The gentleman returned to his writing, and Ben saw that his case washopeless. His disappointment was greater than before, for he liked thelooks of the proprietor, if, as he judged, this was he. Besides, boyswere wanted, and his size would be no objection, judging from theappearance of the other boys in the store. So he had been sanguine ofsuccess. Now he saw that there was an objection which he could notremove, and which would be very likely to stand in his way in otherplaces. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A RESTAURANT ON FULTON STREET. 

Ben kept on his way, looking in at the shop windows as before. He hadnot yet given up the idea of getting a place in a store, though he beganto see that his chances of success were rather small. 

The next pause he came to was before a bookstore. Here, too, there wasposted on the window:--

 "BOY WANTED. "

Ben entered. There were two or three persons behind the counter. Theoldest, a man of forty, Ben decided to be the proprietor. He walked upto him, and said, "Do you want a boy?"

"Yes, " said the gentleman. "We want a boy to run of errands, and deliverpapers to customers. How old are you?"

"Ten years old. "

"That is rather young. "

"I'm pretty strong of my age, " said Ben, speaking the truth here, forhe was rather larger and stouter than most boys of ten. 

"That is not important, as you will not have very heavy parcels tocarry. Are you well acquainted with the streets in this part of thecity?"

This question was a poser, Ben thought. He was at first tempted to sayyes, but decided to answer truthfully. 

"No, sir, " he answered. 

"Do you live in the lower part of the city?"

"Yes, sir; that is, I'm going to live there. "

"How long have you lived in the city?"

"I only arrived this morning, " Ben confessed, reluctantly. 

"Then I'm afraid you will not answer my purpose. We need a boy who iswell acquainted with the city streets. "

He was another disqualification. Ben left the store a littlediscouraged. He began to think that it would be harder work making aliving than he had supposed. He would apply in two or three more stores, and, if unsuccessful, he must sell papers or black boots. Of the two hepreferred selling papers. Blacking boots would soil his hands and hisclothes, and, as it was possible that he might some day encounter someone from his native village, he did not like to have the report carriedhome that he had become a New York boot-black. He felt that hiseducation and bringing up fitted him for something better than that. However, it was not necessary to decide this question until he had gotthrough applying for a situation in a store. 

He tried his luck again, and once was on the point of being engaged atthree dollars per week, when a question as to his parents revealed thefact that he was without a guardian, and this decided the questionagainst him. 

"It's of no use, " said Ben, despondently. "I might as well go back. "

So he turned, and retraced his steps down Broadway. By the time he gotto the City Hall Park he was quite tired. Seeing some vacant seatsinside, he went in and sat down, resting his bundle on the seat besidehim. He saw quite a number of street boys within the inclosure, most ofthem boot-blacks. As a rule, they bore the marks of their occupationnot only on their clothes, but on their faces and hands as well. Some, who were a little more careful than the rest, were provided with a smallsquare strip of carpeting, on which they kneeled when engaged in"shining up" a customer's boots. This formed a very good protection forthe knees of their pantaloons. Two were even more luxurious, havingchairs in which they seated their customers. Where this extraaccommodation was supplied, however, a fee of ten cents was demanded, while the boot-blacks in general asked but five. 

"Black your boots?" asked one boy of Ben, observing that our youngadventurer's shoes were soiled. 

"Yes, " said Ben, "if you'll do it for nothing. "

"I'll black your eye for nothing, " said the other. 

"Thank you, " said Ben, "I won't trouble you. "

Ben was rather interested in a scene which he witnessed shortlyafterwards. A young man, whose appearance indicated that he was from thecountry, was waylaid by the boys, and finally submitted his boots to anoperator. 

"How much do you want?"

"Twenty-five cents, " was the reply. 

"Twenty-five cents!" exclaimed the customer, aghast. "You're jokin', aint you?"

"Reg'lar price, mister, " was the reply. 

"Why, I saw a boy blackin' boots down by the museum for ten cents. "

"Maybe you did; but this is the City Hall Park. We're employed by thecity, and we have to charge the reg'lar price. "

"I wish I'd got my boots blacked down to the museum, " said the victim, in a tone of disappointment, producing twenty-five cents, which waseagerly appropriated by the young extortioner. 

"I say, Tommy, give us a treat, or we'll peach, " said one of the boys. 

Tom led the way to the ice-cream vender's establishment, where withreckless extravagance he ordered a penny ice-cream all round for thehalf-dozen boys in his company, even then making a handsome thing out ofthe extra pay he had obtained from his rustic patron. 

By this time it was half-past two o'clock. So Ben learned from the CityHall clock. He was getting decidedly hungry. There were apple and cakestands just outside the railings, on which he could have regaledhimself cheaply, but his appetite craved something more solid. There wasa faint feeling, which nothing but meat could satisfy. 

Ben had no idea how much a plate of meat would cost at a restaurant. Hehad but twenty-two cents, and whatever he got must come within thatlimit. Still he hoped that something could be obtained for this sum. 

Where to go, --that was the question. 

"Can you tell me a good place to get some dinner?" he asked of a boy, standing near him. 

"Down on Nassau Street or Fulton Street, " was the reply. 

"Where is Fulton Street?" asked Ben, catching the last name. 

"I'm goin' that way. You can go with me if you want to. "

Ben readily accepted the companionship proffered, and was led past themuseum, the site of which, as I have said, is now occupied by the HeraldBuilding. 

Turning down Fulton Street, Ben soon saw a restaurant, with bills offare displayed outside. 

"That's a good place, " said his guide. 

"Thank you, " said Ben. 

He scanned the bill in advance, ascertaining to his satisfaction that hecould obtain a plate of roast beef for fifteen cents, and a cup ofcoffee for five. This would make but twenty cents, leaving him a balanceof two cents. 

He opened the door and entered. 

There was a long table running through the centre of the apartment, fromthe door to the rear. On each side, against the sides of the room, weresmall tables intended for four persons each. There were but few eating, as the busy time at down-town restaurants usually extends from twelve tohalf-past one, or two o'clock, and it was now nearly three. 

Ben entered and took a seat at one of the side tables, laying his bundleon a chair beside him. 

A colored waiter came up, and stood awaiting his orders. 

"Give me a plate of roast beef, " said Ben. 

"Yes, sir. Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee. "

The waiter went to the lower end of the dining-room, and called out, "Roast beef. "

After a brief delay, he returned with the article ordered, and a cup ofcoffee. 

There were two potatoes with the meat, and a small piece of bread on theside of the plate. The coffee looked muddy, and not particularlyinviting. 

Ben was not accustomed to the ways of restaurants, and supposed that, asin shops, immediate payment was expected. 

"Here's the money--twenty cents, " he said, producing the sum named. 

"Pay at the desk as you go out, " said the waiter. 

Ben looked up, and then for the first time noticed a man behind acounter in the front part of the room. 

At the same time the waiter produced a green ticket, bearing "20 cents"printed upon it. 

Ben now addressed himself with a hearty appetite to the dinner. Theplate was dingy, and the meat neither very abundant nor very tender. Still it can hardly be expected that for fifteen cents a large plate ofsirloin can be furnished. Ben was not in a mood to be critical. At homehe would have turned up his nose at such a repast, but hunger is verywell adapted to cure one of fastidiousness. He ate rapidly, and feltthat he had seldom eaten anything so good. He was sorry there was nomore bread, the supply being exceedingly limited. As for the coffee hewas able to drink it, though he did not enjoy it so well. It tasted asif there was not more than a teaspoonful of milk in the infusion, whilethe flavor of the beverage differed strangely from the coffee he hadbeen accustomed to get at home. 

"It isn't very good, " thought Ben; and he could not help wishing he hada cup of the good coffee his mother used to make at home. 

"Have anything more?" asked the waiter, coming up to the table. 

Ben looked over the bill of fare, not that he expected to get anythingfor the two cents that still remained to him, but because he wanted tonotice the prices of different articles. His eye rested rather longinglyon "Apple Dumplings. " He was very fond of this dish, and his appetitewas so far from being satisfied that he felt that he could have easilydisposed of a plate. But the price was ten cents, and of course it wasentirely beyond his means. 

"Nothing more, " said he, and rose from his seat. 

He went up to the counter and settled his bill, and went out again intothe street. He felt more comfortable than he had done, as one is veryapt to feel after a good dinner, and Ben's dinner had been a good one, his appetite making up for any deficiency in the quality. 

Where should he go now?

He was still tired, and did not care to wander about the streets. Besides, he had no particular place to go to. He therefore decided towalk back to the City Hall Park, and sit down on one of the benches. There would be something to see, and he was interested in watching thestreet boys, whose ranks he felt that he should very soon be compelledto join. His prospects did not look particularly bright, as he was notprovided with means sufficient to pay for another meal. But the time hadnot yet come to trouble himself about that. When he got hungry again, hewould probably realize his position a little more keenly. 

CHAPTER V. 

A BEER-GARDEN IN THE BOWERY. 

Ben sat down again in his old seat, and occupied himself once more inlooking about him. After a while he became sleepy. Besides having takena considerable walk, he had not slept much the night before. As no oneoccupied the bench but himself, he thought he might as well make himselfcomfortable. Accordingly he laid his bundle crosswise at one end, andlaid back, using it for a pillow. The visor of his cap he brought downover his eyes, so as to shield them from the afternoon sun. The seat washard, to be sure, but his recumbent position rested him. He did not meanto go to sleep, but gradually the sounds around him became an indistincthum; even the noise and bustle of busy Broadway, but a few feet distant, failed to ward off sleep, and in a short time he was sleeping soundly. 

Of course he could not sleep in so public a place without attractingattention. Two ragged boys espied him, and held a low conferencetogether. 

"What's he got in that bundle, Jim, do you think?" asked one. 

"We'd better look and see. "

They went up to the bench, and touched him, to make sure that he wasfast asleep. The touch did not rouse him to consciousness. 

"Just lift up his head, Mike, and I'll take the bundle, " said the largerof the two boys. 

This was done. 

"Now, let him down softly. "

So the bundle was removed, and poor Ben, wandering somewhere in the landof dreams, was none the wiser. His head, deprived of its former support, now rested on the hard bench. It was not so comfortable, but he was tootired to awake. So he slept on. 

Meanwhile Jim and Mike opened the bundle. 

"It's a couple of shirts, " said Jim. 

"Is that all?" asked Mike, disappointed. 

"Well, that's better than nothin'. "

"Give me one of 'em. "

"It's just about your size. 'Taint big enough for me. "

"Then give me the two of 'em. "

"What'll you give?"

"I aint got no stamps. I'll pay you a quarter when I get it. "

"That don't go down, " said Jim, whose confidence in his confederate'shonesty was not very great. Considering the transaction in which theywere now engaged, it is not surprising that there should have been amutual distrust. Being unable to make any bargain, Jim decided to takehis share of the booty round to a second-hand clothes-dealer in ChathamStreet. Here, after considerable higgling, he succeeded in selling theshirt for sixteen cents, which was less than his companion had offered. However, it was cash down, and so was immediately available, --animportant consideration in the present state of Jim's finances. "A birdin the hand, " as he considered, "was worth two in the bush. "

Jim immediately purchased a cigar with a portion of his dishonest gains, and, procuring a light, walked about in a state of high enjoyment, puffing away as coolly as a man of twice his years. 

Meanwhile Ben continued to sleep, happily unconscious of the loss of hisentire personal possessions. In his dreams he was at home once more, playing with his school companions. Let him sleep! He will waken soonenough to the hard realities of a street life, voluntarily undertaken, it is true, but none the less likely to bear heavily upon him. 

He slept a long time. When he awoke it was six o'clock. 

He sat upon his seat, and rubbed his eyes in momentary bewilderment. Inhis dreams he had been back again to his native village, and he couldnot at once recall his change of circumstances. But it all came back tohim soon enough. He realized with a slight pang that he had a home nolonger; that he was a penniless vagrant, for whom the hospitality of thestreets alone was open. He did wish that he could sit down at theplentiful home table, and eat the well-cooked supper which was alwaysprovided; that is, if he could blot out one remembrance: when he thoughtof the unjust punishment that had driven him forth, his pride rose, andhis determination became as stubborn as ever. I do not defend Ben inthis. He was clearly wrong. The best of parents may be unintentionallyunjust at times, and this is far from affording an adequate excuse for aboy to leave home. But Ben had a great deal of pride, and I am onlytelling you how he felt. 

Our young adventurer did not at first realize the loss which he hadsustained. It was at least five minutes before he thought of his bundleat all. At length, chancing to look at the seat beside him, he missedit. 

"Where can it be, I wonder?" he thought, perplexed. 

He looked under the bench, thinking that perhaps it had rolled off. Butit need not be said that it was not to be seen. 

Ben was rather disturbed. It was all he had brought from home, andconstituted his entire earthly possessions. 

"It must have rolled off, and been picked up by somebody, " he thought;but the explanation was not calculated to bring any satisfaction. "Idid not think I should fall asleep. "

It occurred to him that some of the boys near by might have seen it. Sohe went up to a group of boot-blacks near by, one of whom was Jim, whohad actually been concerned in the robbery. The other boys knew nothingof the affair. 

"I say, boys, " said Ben, "have you seen anything of my bundle?"

"What bundle, Johnny?" said Jim, who was now smoking his second cigar. 

"I had a small bundle tied up in a newspaper, " said Ben. "I put it undermy head, and then fell asleep. Now I can't find it. "

"Do you think we stole it?" said Jim, defiantly. 

"Of course I don't, " said Ben; "but I thought it might have slipped out, and you might have seen somebody pick it up. "

"Haven't seen it, Johnny, " said one of the other boys; "most likely it'sstole. "

"Do you think so?" asked Ben, anxiously. 

"In course, you might expect it would be. "

"I didn't mean to go to sleep. "

"What was there in it?"

"There was two shirts. "

"You've got a shirt on, aint you?"

"Yes, " said Ben. 

"That's all right, then. What does a feller want of a thousand shirts?"

"There's some difference between two shirts and a thousand, " said Ben. 

"What's the odds? I haven't got but one shirt. That's all I want. Whenit is wore out I'll buy a new one. "

"What do you do when it gets dirty?" asked Ben, in some curiosity. 

"Oh, I wash it once in two or three weeks, " was the reply. 

This was not exactly in accordance with Ben's ideas of neatness; but hesaw that no satisfaction was likely to be obtained in this quarter, sohe walked away rather depressed. It certainly hadn't been a luckyday, --this first day in the city. He had been rejected in half-a-dozenstores in his applications for employment, had spent nearly all hismoney, and been robbed of all his clothing except what he wore. 

Again Ben began to feel an appetite. He had eaten his dinner late, butit had consisted of a plate of meat only. His funds being now reduced totwo cents, he was obliged to content himself with an apple, which didsomething towards appeasing his appetite. 

Next Ben began to consider anxiously how he was to pass the night. Having no money to spend for lodging, there seemed nothing to do but tosleep out of doors. It was warm weather, and plenty of street boys didit. But to Ben it would be a new experience, and he regarded it withsome dread. He wished he could meet with Jerry Collins, his acquaintanceof the morning. From him he might obtain some information that would beof service in his present strait. 

Three or four hours must elapse before it would be time to go to bed. Ben hardly knew how or where to pass them. He had become tired of thepark; besides, he had got over a part of his fatigue, and felt able towalk about and explore the city. He turned at a venture up ChathamStreet, and was soon interested in the sights of this peculiarthoroughfare, --the shops open to the street, with half their stock intrade exposed on the sidewalk, the importunities of the traders, and theappearance of the people whom he met. It seemed very lively andpicturesque to Ben, and drew away his attention from his own awkwardposition. 

He was asked to buy by some of the traders, being promised wonderfulbargains; but his penniless condition put him out of the reach oftemptation. 

So he wandered on until he came to the Bowery, a broad avenue, widerthan Broadway, and lined by shops of a great variety, but of a gradeinferior to those of its more aristocratic neighbor. 

Here, also, the goods are liberally displayed on the sidewalk, and aregenerally labelled with low prices, which tempts many purchasers. Thepurchaser, however, must look carefully to the quality of the goodswhich he buys, or he will in many cases find the low price merely asnare and a delusion, and regret that he had not paid more liberally andbought a better article. 

Later in the evening, on his return walk, Ben came to an establishmentbrilliant with light, from which proceeded strains of music. Lookingin, he saw that it was filled with small tables, around which wereseated men, women, and children. They had glasses before them from whichthey drank. This was a Lager Beer Hall or Garden, --an institutiontransplanted from Germany, and chiefly patronized by those of Germanbirth or extraction. It seemed bright and cheerful, and our youngadventurer thought it would be pleasant to go in, and spend an hour ortwo, listening to the music; but he was prevented by the consciousnessthat he had no money to spend, and might be considered an intruder. 

While he was looking in wistfully, he was struck on the back; andturning, saw, to his surprise, the face of his only acquaintance in NewYork, Jerry Collins, the boot-black. 

"I am glad to see you, " he said, eagerly offering his hand, withoutconsidering that Jerry's hand, unwashed during the day, was stained withblacking. He felt so glad to meet an acquaintance, however, that hewould not have minded this, even if it had occurred to him. 

"The same to you, " said Jerry. "Are you going in?"

"I haven't got any money, " said Ben, a little ashamed of the confession. 

"Well, I have, and that'll do just as well. "

He took Ben by the arm, and they passed through a vestibule, and enteredthe main apartment, which was of large size. On one side, about half waydown, was a large instrument some like an organ, from which the musicproceeded. The tables were very well filled, Germans largelypredominating among the guests. 

"Sit down here, " said Jerry. 

They took seats at one of the tables. Opposite was a stout German andhis wife, the latter holding a baby. Both had glasses of lager beforethem, and the baby was also offered a share by its mother; but, from thecontortions of its face, did not appear to relish it. 

"_Zwei Glass Lager_, " said Jerry, to a passing attendant. 

"Can you speak German?" asked Ben, surprised. 

"Yaw, " said Jerry; "my father was an Irishman, and my mother was aDutchman. "

Jerry's German, however, seemed to be limited, as he made no furtherattempts to converse in that language. 

The glasses were brought. Jerry drank his down at a draught, but Ben, who had never before tasted lager, could not at once become reconciledto its bitter taste. 

"Don't you like it?" asked Jerry. 

"Not very much, " said Ben. 

"Then I'll finish it for you;" and he suited the action to the word. 

Besides the lager a few plain cakes were sold, but nothing moresubstantial. Evidently the beer was the great attraction. Ben could nothelp observing, with some surprise, that, though everybody was drinking, there was not the slightest disturbance, or want of decorum, ordrunkenness. The music, which was furnished at intervals, was of verygood quality, and was listened to with attention. 

"I was goin' to Tony Pastor's to-night, " said Jerry, "if I hadn't metyou. "

"What sort of a place is that?" asked Ben. 

"Oh, it's a bully place--lots of fun. You must go there some time. "

"I think I will, " answered Ben, mentally adding, "if I ever have moneyenough. "

Here the music struck up, and they stopped to listen to it. When thiswas over, Jerry proposed to go out. Ben would have been willing to staylonger; but he saw that his companion did not care so much for the musicas himself, and he did not wish to lose sight of him. To be alone in agreat city, particularly under Ben's circumstances, is not verypleasant, and our young adventurer determined to stick to his newacquaintance, who, though rough in his manners, had yet seemed inclinedto be friendly, and Ben felt sadly in need of a friend. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BURNING BALES. 

"Where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked Ben, introducing asubject which had given him some anxiety. 

"I don't know, " said Jerry, carelessly. "I'll find a place somewhere. "

"I'll go with you, if you'll let me, " said Ben. 

"In course I will. "

"I haven't got any money. "

"What's the odds? They don't charge nothin' at the hotel where I stop. "

"What time do you go to bed?"

"Most any time. Do you feel sleepy?"

"Rather. I didn't sleep much last night. "

"Well, we'll go and find a place now. How'd you like sleepin' oncotton-bales?"

"I think that would be comfortable. "

"There's a pile of bales down on the pier, where the New Orleanssteamers come in. Maybe we could get a chance there. "

"All right. Where is it?"

"Pier 8, North River. It'll take us twenty minutes, or maybe half anhour, to go there. "

"Let us go, " said Ben. 

He felt relieved at the idea of so comfortable a bed as a cotton-bale, and was anxious to get stowed away for the night. 

The two boys struck across to Broadway, and followed that street downpast Trinity Church, turning down the first street beyond. RectorStreet, notwithstanding its clerical name, is far from an attractivestreet. Just in the rear of the great church, and extending down to thewharves, is a collection of miserable dwellings, occupied by tenantsupon whom the near presence of the sanctuary appears to produce littleimpression of a salutary character. Ben looked about him inill-concealed disgust. He neither fancied the neighborhood, nor thepeople whom he met. But the Island is very narrow just here, and he hadnot far to walk to West Street, which runs along the edge of ManhattanIsland, and is lined with wharves. Jerry, of course, did not mind thesurroundings. He was too well used to them to care. 

They brought out opposite the pier. 

"There it is, " said Jerry. 

Ben saw a pile of cotton-bales heaped up on the wharf in front. Justbehind them was a gate, and over it the sign of the New Orleans Company. 

"I should think somebody would steal the bales, " said Ben. "Are theyleft out here all night?"

"There's a watchman round here somewhere, " said Jerry. "He stays hereall night to guard the bales. "

"Will he let us sleep here?"

"I don't know, " said Jerry. "We'll creep in, when he isn't looking. "

The watchman was sitting down, leaning his back against one of thebales. A short pipe was in his mouth, and he seemed to be enjoying hissmoke. This was contrary to orders, for the cotton being combustiblemight easily catch fire; but this man, supposing that he would not bedetected, indulged himself in the forbidden luxury. 

"Now creep along softly, " said Jerry. 

The latter, being barefooted, had an advantage over Ben, but our youngadventurer crept after him as softly as he could. Jerry found a balescreened from observation by the higher piles on each side, where hethought they could sleep unobserved. Following his lead, Ben stretchedhimself out upon it. 

The watchman was too busily occupied with his pipe to detect any noise. 

"Aint it comfortable?" whispered Jerry. 

"Yes, " said Ben, in the same low tone. 

"I wouldn't ask for nothin' better, " said Jerry. 

Ben was not so sure about that; but then he had not slept out hundredsof nights, like Jerry, in old wagons, or on door-steps, or wherever elsehe could; so he had a different standard of comparison. 

He could not immediately go to sleep. He was tired, it was true, but hismind was busy. It was only twelve hours since he had landed in the city, but it had been an eventful twelve hours. He understood his position alittle better now, and how much he had undertaken, in boldly leavinghome at ten years of age, and taking upon himself the task of earninghis living. 

If he had known what was before him, would he have left home at all?

Ben was not sure about this. He did own to himself, however, that he wasdisappointed. The city had not proved the paradise he had expected. Instead of finding shopkeepers eager to secure his services, he hadfound himself uniformly rejected. He began to suspect that it was ratherearly to begin the world at ten years of age. Then again, though he wasangry with his father, he had no cause of complaint against his mother. She had been uniformly kind and gentle, and he found it hard to keepback the tears when he thought how she would be distressed at hisrunning away. He had not thought of that in the heat of his first anger, but he thought of it now. How would she feel if she knew where he was atthis moment, resting on a cotton-bale, on a city wharf, penniless andwithout a friend in the great city, except the ragged boy who wasalready asleep at his side? She would feel badly, Ben knew that, and hehalf regretted having been so precipitate in his action. He could remedyit all, and relieve his mother's heart by going back. But here Ben'spride came in. To go back would be to acknowledge himself wrong; itwould be a virtual confession of failure, and, moreover, knowing hisfather's sternness, he knew that he would be severely punished. Unfortunately for Ben, his father had a stern, unforgiving disposition, that never made allowances for the impulses of boyhood. He had nevercondescended to study his own son, and the method of training he hadadopted with him was in some respects very pernicious. His systemhardened, instead of softening, and prejudiced Ben against what wasright, maddening him with a sense of injustice, and so preventing hisbeing influenced towards good. Of course, all this did not justify Benin running away from home. The thought of his mother ought to have beensufficient to have kept him from any such step. But it was necessary tobe stated, in order that my readers might better understand what sort ofa boy Ben was. 

So, in spite of his half relenting, Ben determined that he would not gohome at all events. Whatever hardships lay before him in the new lifewhich he had adopted, he resolved to stand them as well as he could. Indeed, however much he might desire to retrace his steps, he had nomoney to carry him back, nor could he obtain any unless he should writehome for it, and this again would be humiliating. Ben's last thought, then, as he sank to sleep, was, that he would stick to New York, and gethis living somehow, even if he had to black boots for a living. 

At the end of an hour, both boys were fast asleep. The watchman, aftersmoking his pipe, got up, and paced up and down the wharf drowsily. Hedid not happen to observe the young sleepers. If he had done so, hewould undoubtedly have shaken them roughly, and ordered them off. It wasrather fortunate that neither Ben nor his companion were in the habit ofsnoring, as this would at once have betrayed their presence, even to thenegligent watchman. 

After a while the watchman bethought himself again of his pipe, and, filling the bowl with tobacco, lighted it. Then, with the most culpablecarelessness, he half reclined on one of the bales and "took comfort. "Not having prepared himself for the vigils of the night by repose duringthe day, he began to feel uncommonly drowsy. The whiffs came less andless frequently, until at last the pipe fell from his lips, and he fellback fast asleep. The burning contents of the pipe fell on the bale, andgradually worked their way down into the interior. Here the mischiefsoon spread. What followed may easily be imagined. 

Ben was aroused from his sleep by a confused outcry. He rubbed his eyesto see what was the matter. There was something stifling and suffocatingin the atmosphere, which caused him to choke as he breathed. As hebecame more awake, he realized that the cotton-bales, among which he hadtaken refuge, were on fire. He became alarmed, and shook Jerryenergetically. 

"What's up?" said Jerry, drowsily. "I aint done nothin'. You can't takeme up. "

"Jerry, wake up; the bales are on fire, " said Ben. 

"I thought 'twas a copp, " said Jerry, rousing, and at a glanceunderstanding the position of affairs. "Let's get out of this. "

That was not quite so easy. There was fire on all sides, and they mustrush through it at some risk. However, it was every moment gettingworse, and there was no chance for delay. 

"Foller me, " said Jerry, and he dashed through, closely pursued by Ben. 

By this time quite a crowd of men and boys had gathered around theburning bales. 

When the two boys rushed out, there was a general exclamation ofsurprise. Then one burly man caught Jerry by the arm, and said, "Here'sthe young villain that set the bales on fire. "

"Let me alone, will you?" said Jerry. "Yer grandmother set it on fire, more likely. "

No sooner was Jerry seized, than another man caught hold of Ben, andforcibly detained him. 

"I've got the other, " he said. 

"Now, you young rascal, tell me how you did it, " said the first. "Wasyou smokin'?"

"No, I wasn't, " said Jerry, shortly. "I was sleepin' along of this otherboy. "

"What made you come here to sleep?"

"'Cause we hadn't no other bed. "

"Are you sure you wasn't smoking?"

"Look here, " said Jerry, contemptuously, "you must think I'm a fool, togo and set my own bed on fire. "

"That's true, " said a bystander. "It wouldn't be very likely. "

"Who did it, then?" asked the stout man, suspiciously. 

"It's the watchman. I seed him smokin' when I turned in. "

"Where is he now?"

Search was made for the watchman, but he had disappeared. Awaking to aconsciousness of what mischief he had caused through his carelessness, he had slipped away in the confusion, and was not likely to return. 

"The boy tells the truth, " said one of the crowd. "I saw the watchmansmoking myself. No doubt the fire caught from his pipe. The boys areinnocent. Better let them go. "

The two custodians of Jerry and Ben released their hold, and they gladlyavailed themselves of the opportunity to remove themselves to a saferdistance from their late bedchamber. 

Two fire-engines came thundering up, and streams of water were directedeffectively at the burning bales. The flames were extinguished, but nottill considerable damage had been done. 

As the two boys watched the contest between the flames and the engines, from a safe distance, they heard the sonorous clang of the bell in thechurch-tower, ringing out twelve o'clock. 

CHAPTER VII. 

BEN'S TEMPTATION. 

"Jest my luck!" complained Jerry. "Why couldn't the fire have waitedtill mornin'?"

"We might have burned up, " said Ben, who was considerably impressed byhis narrow escape. 

"Only we didn't, " said Jerry. "We'll have to try another hotel for therest of the night. "

"Where shall we go?"

"We may find a hay-barge down to the pier at the foot of FranklinStreet. "

"Is it far?"

"Not very. "

"Let us go then. "

So the boys walked along the street until they came to the pier referredto. There was a barge loaded with hay, lying alongside the wharf. Jerryspeedily provided himself with a resting-place upon it, and Ben followedhis example. It proved to be quite as comfortable, if not more so, thantheir former bed, and both boys were soon asleep. How long he slept Bendid not know, but he was roused to consciousness by a rude shake. 

"Wake up there!" said a voice. 

Ben opened his eyes, and saw a laboring man bending over him. 

"Is it time to get up?" he inquired, hardly conscious where he was. 

"I should think it was, particularly as you haven't paid for yourlodging. "

"Where's Jerry?" asked Ben, missing the boot-black. 

The fact was, that Jerry, whose business required him to be astir early, had been gone over an hour. He had not felt it necessary to wake up Ben, knowing that the latter had nothing in particular to call him up. 

"I don't know anything about Jerry. You'd better be going home, young'un. Take my advice, and don't stay out another night. "

He evidently thought that Ben was a truant from home, as his dresswould hardly class him among the homeless boys who slept out fromnecessity. 

Ben scrambled upon the pier, and took a cross street up towardsBroadway. He had slept off his fatigue, and the natural appetite of ahealthy boy began to assert itself. It was rather uncomfortable toreflect that he was penniless, and had no means of buying a breakfast. He had meant to ask Jerry's advice, as to some occupation by which hecould earn a little money, and felt disappointed that his companion hadgone away before he waked up. His appetite was the greater because hehad been limited to a single apple for supper. 

Where to go he did not know. One place was as good as another. It was astrange sensation to Ben to feel the cravings of appetite, with nothingto satisfy it. All his life he had been accustomed to a good home, wherehis wants were plentifully provided for. He had never had any anxietyabout the supply of his daily wants. In the city there were hundreds ofboys younger than he, who, rising in the morning, knew not where theirmeals were to come from, or whether they were to have any; but this hadnever been his case. 

"I am young and strong, " thought Ben. "Why can't I find something todo?"

His greatest anxiety was to work, and earn his living somehow; but howdid not seem clear. Even if he were willing to turn boot-black, he hadno box nor brush, and had some doubts whether he should at first possessthe requisite skill. Selling papers struck him more favorably; but hereagain the want of capital would be an objection. 

So, in a very perplexed frame of mind, our young adventurer went on hisway, and after a while caught sight of the upper end of the City HallPark. Here he felt himself at home, and, entering, looked among thedozens of boys who were plying their work to see if he could not findhis acquaintance Jerry. But here he was unsuccessful. Jerry's businessstand was near the Cortlandt Street pier. 

Hour after hour passed, and Ben became more and more hungry anddispirited. He felt thoroughly helpless. There seemed to be nothing thathe could do. He began to be faint, and his head ached. One o'clockfound him on Nassau Street, near the corner of Fulton. There was a standfor the sale of cakes and pies located here, presided over by an oldwoman, of somewhat ample dimensions. This stall had a fascination forpoor Ben. He had such a craving for food that he could not take his eyesoff the tempting pile of cakes which were heaped up before him. Itseemed to him that he should be perfectly happy if he could be permittedto eat all he wanted of them. 

Ben knew that it was wrong to steal. He had never in his life taken whatdid not belong to him, which is more than many boys can say, who havebeen brought up even more comfortably than he. But the temptation nowwas very strong. He knew it was not right; but he was not withoutexcuse. Watching his opportunity, he put his hand out quickly, and, seizing a couple of pies, stowed them away hastily in his pocket, andwas about moving off to eat them in some place where he would not beobserved. But though the owner of the stolen articles had not observedthe theft, there was a boy hanging about the stall, possibly with thesame object in view, who did see it. 

"He's got some of your pies, old lady, " said the young detective. 

The old woman looked round, and though the pies were in Ben's pocketthere was a telltale in his face which betrayed him. 

"Put back them pies, you young thafe!" said the angry pie-merchant. "Aint you ashamed of yerself to rob a poor widdy, that has hard work tosupport herself and her childers, --you that's dressed like a gentleman, and ought to know better?"

"Give it to him, old lady, " said the hard-hearted young vagabond, whohad exposed Ben's iniquity. 

As for Ben, he had not a word to say. In spite of his hunger, he wasoverwhelmed with confusion at having actually attempted to steal, andbeen caught in the act. He was by no means a model boy; but apart fromanything which he had been taught in the Sunday school, he consideredstealing mean and discreditable, and yet he had been led into it. Whatwould his friends at home think of it, if they should ever hear of it?So, as I said, he stood without a word to say in his defence, mechanically replacing the pies on the stall. 

"I say, old lady, you'd orter give me a pie for tellin' you, " said theinformer. 

"You'd have done the same, you young imp, if you'd had the chance, "answered the pie-vender, with more truth than gratitude. "Clear out, thewhole on ye. I've had trouble enough with ye. "

Ben moved off, thankful to get off so well. He had feared that he mightbe handed over to the police, and this would have been the crowningdisgrace. 

But the old woman seemed satisfied with the restoration of her property, and the expression of her indignation. The attempt upon her stock sheregarded with very little surprise, having suffered more than oncebefore in a similar way. 

But there was another spectator of the scene, whose attention had beendrawn to the neat attire and respectable appearance of Ben. He saw thathe differed considerably from the ordinary run of street boys. Henoticed also the flush on the boy's cheek when he was detected, andjudged that this was his first offence. Something out of the common waymust have driven him to the act. He felt impelled to follow Ben, andlearn what that something was. I may as well state here that he was ayoung man of twenty-five or thereabouts, a reporter on one or more ofthe great morning papers. He, like Ben, had come to the city in searchof employment, and before he secured it had suffered more hardships andprivations than he liked to remember. He was now earning a modestincome, sufficient to provide for his wants, and leave a surplus over. He had seen much of suffering and much of crime in his daily walks aboutthe city, but his heart had not become hardened, nor his sympathiesblunted. He gave more in proportion to his means than many rich men whohave a reputation for benevolence. 

Ben had walked but a few steps, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. 

Looking round hastily, he met the gaze of the young man. He had thoughtat first it might be a policeman, and he felt relieved when he saw hismistake. 

"You are the boy who just now took a couple of pies from a stall?" saidthe reporter. 

"Yes, " said Ben, hesitatingly, his face crimsoning as he spoke. 

"Do you mind telling me why you did so?"

There was something in his tone which reassured Ben, and he determinedto tell the truth frankly. 

"I have eaten nothing to-day, " he said. 

"You never took anything before?"

"No, " said Ben, quickly. 

"I suppose you had no money to buy with?"

"No, I had not. "

"How does it happen that a boy as well dressed as you are, are in such aposition?"

"I would rather not tell, " said Ben. 

"Have you run away from home?"

"Yes; I had a good reason, " he added, quickly. 

"What do you propose to do? You must earn your living in some way, orstarve. "

"I thought I might get a place in a store; but I have tried half adozen, and they won't take me. "

"No, your chance will be small, unless you can bring good references. But you must be hungry. "

"I am, " Ben admitted. 

"That can be remedied, at all events. I am just going to get somedinner; will you go with me?"

"I have no money. "

"I have, and that will answer the purpose for this time. We will go backto Fulton Street. "

Ben turned back thankfully, and with his companion entered the veryrestaurant in which he had dined the day before. 

"If you are faint, soup will be the best thing for you to begin on, "said the young man; and he gave an order to the waiter. 

Nothing had ever seemed more delicious to Ben than that soup. When hehad done justice to it, a plate of beefsteak awaited him, which alsoreceived his attention. Then he was asked to select some dessert. 

"I am afraid you are spending too much for me, " he said. 

"Don't be afraid of that; I am glad that you have a good appetite. "

At length the dinner was over. Ben felt decidedly better. Hisdespondency had vanished, and the world again seemed bright to him. Itis hard to be cheerful, or take bright views of life on an emptystomach, as many have learned beside our young adventurer. 

"Now, " said his new-found friend, "I have a few minutes to spare. Suppose we talk over your plans and prospects, and see if we can findanything for you to do. "

"Thank you, " said Ben; "I wish you would give me your advice. "

"My advice is that you return to your home, if you have one, " said thereporter. 

Ben shook his head. 

"I don't want to do that, " he answered. 

"I don't, of course, know what is your objection to this, which seems tome the best course. Putting it aside, however, we will consider what youcan do here to earn your living. "

"That is what I want to do. "

"How would you like selling papers?"

"I think I should like it, " said Ben; "but I have no money to buy any. "

"It doesn't require a very large capital. I will lend you, or give you, the small amount which will be necessary. However, you mustn't expectto make a very large income. "

"If I can make enough to live on, I won't care, " said Ben. 

He had at first aimed higher; but his short residence in the city taughthim that he would be fortunate to meet his expenses. There are a goodmany besides Ben who have found their early expectations of successconsiderably modified by experience. 

"Let me see. It is half-past one o'clock, " said the reporter, drawingout his watch. "You had better lay in a supply of 'Expresses' and'Evening Posts, ' and take a good stand somewhere, and do your best withthem. As you are inexperienced in the business it will be well to take asmall supply at first, or you might get 'stuck. '"

"That's so. "

"You must not lay in more than you can sell. "

"Where can I get the papers?"

"I will go with you to the newspaper offices, and buy you half a dozenof each. If you succeed in selling them, you can buy more. To-morrow youcan lay in some of the morning papers, the 'Herald, ' 'World, ''Tribune, ' or 'Times. ' It will be well also to have a few 'Suns' forthose who do not care to pay for the higher-priced papers. "

"Thank you, " said Ben, who was eager to begin his business career. 

They rose from the table, and set out for the offices of the two eveningpapers whose names have been mentioned. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

BEN COMMENCES HIS BUSINESS CAREER. 

Ben soon took his stand in the street, with a roll of papers under hisarm, supplied by the generosity of his new acquaintance. It was rather atrying ordeal for a country boy, new to the city and its ways. But Benwas not bashful. He was not a timid boy, but was fully able to push hisway. So, glancing at the telegraphic headings, he began to call out thenews in a business-like way. He had already taken notice of how theother newsboys acted, and therefore was at no loss how to proceed. 

He met with very fair success, selling out the twelve papers which hadbeen bought for him, in a comparatively short time. It might have beenthat the fact that he was neater and better dressed operated in hisfavor. At any rate, though a new hand, he succeeded better than thosewho were older in the business. 

But his neat dress operated to his disadvantage in another quarter. Hisbusiness rivals, who were, with scarcely an exception, dressed with nogreat pretensions to style or neatness, looked upon the interloper witha jealous eye. They regarded him as "stuck up, " in virtue of hissuperior dress, and were indignant to find their sales affected by hiscompetition. 

"Who's he? Ever seen him afore?" asked Tim Banks of a newsboy at hisside. 

"No; he's a new chap. "

"What business has he got to come here and steal away our trade, I'dlike to know?" continued Tim, eying Ben with no friendly glance. 

At that moment a gentleman, passing Tim, bought an "Evening Post" ofBen. It was the third paper that Ben had sold since Tim had effected asale. This naturally increased his indignation. 

"He's puttin' on airs just because he's got good clo'es, " said the othernewsboy, who shared Tim's feelings on the subject. 

"Let's shove him out, " suggested Tim. 

"All right. "

Tim, who was a boy of twelve, with a shock head, which looked as if ithad never been combed, and a suit of clothes which bore the marks ofsevere usage, advanced to Ben, closely followed by his confederate, whohad agreed to back him. 

Ben had just sold his last paper when the two approached him. He did notunderstand their object until Tim, swaggering up to him, saidoffensively, "You'd better clear out; you aint wanted here. "

Ben turned and faced his ragged opponent with intrepidity. 

"Why aint I wanted here?" he inquired, without manifesting the leastsymptom of alarm. 

Tim rather anticipated that Ben would show the white feather, and was alittle surprised at his calmness. 

"Cause yer aint, that's why, " he answered. 

"If you don't like my company, you can go somewhere else, " said Ben. 

"This is _my_ place, " said Tim. "You aint got no right to push in. "

"If it's your place, how much did you pay for it?" asked Ben. "I thoughtthat the sidewalk was free to all. "

"You aint got no right to interfere with my business. "

"I didn't know that I had interfered with it. "

"Well, you have. I aint sold more'n half as many papers since you'vebeen here. "

"You've got the same chance as I have, " said Ben. "I didn't tell themnot to buy of you. "

"Well, you aint wanted here, and you'd better make tracks, " said Tim, who considered this the best argument of all. 

"Suppose I don't, " said Ben. 

"Then I'll give you a lickin'. "

Ben surveyed the boy who uttered this threat, in the same manner that ageneral would examine an opposing force, with a view to ascertain hisstrength and ability to cope with him. It was clear that Tim was tallerthan himself, and doubtless older. As to being stronger, Ben did notfeel so positive. He was himself well and compactly made, and strong ofhis age. He did not relish the idea of being imposed upon, and preparedto resist any encroachment upon his rights. He did not believe that Timhad any right to order him off. He felt that the sidewalk was just asfree to him as to any other boy, and he made up his mind to assert andmaintain his right. 

"If you want to give me a licking, just try it, " he said. "I've got justas much right to stand here and sell papers as you have, and I'm goingto do it. "

"You needn't be so stuck up jest because you've got good clo'es on. "

"If they are good, I can't help it, " said Ben. "They're all I have, andthey won't be good long. "

"Maybe I could get good clo'es if I'd steal em, " said Tim. 

"Do you mean to say I stole these?" retorted Ben, angrily. He had nosooner said it, however, than he thought of the pies which he shouldhave stolen if he had not been detected, and his face flushed. LuckilyTim did not know why his words produced an effect upon Ben, or he wouldhave followed up his attack. 

"Yes, I do, " said Tim. 

"Then you judge me by yourself, " said Ben, "that's all I've got to say. "

"Say that ag'in, " said Tim, menacingly. 

"So I will, if you want to hear it. You judge me by yourself. "

"I'll give you a lickin'. "

"You've said that before. "

Tim was not particularly brave. Still Ben was a smaller boy, and besideshe had a friend at hand to back him, so he concluded that it would besafe to venture. Doubling up a dirty fist, he struck out, intending tohit Ben in the face; but our young adventurer was on his guard, andfended off the blow with his arms. 

"Will yer go now?" demanded Tim, pausing after his attack. 

"Why should I?"

"If you don't I'll give you another lick. "

"I can stand it, if it isn't any worse than that. "

Tim was spurred by this to renew the assault. He tried to throw his armsaround Ben, and lift him from the ground, which would enable him tothrow him with greater ease. But Ben was wary, and experienced in thismode of warfare, having often had scuffles in fun with hisschool-fellows. He evaded Tim's grasp, therefore, and dealt him a blowin the breast, which made Tim stagger back. He began to realize thatBen, though a smaller boy, was a formidable opponent, and regretted thathe had undertaken a contest with him. He was constrained to appeal tohis companion for assistance. 

"Just lend a hand, Jack, and we'll give it to him. "

"So you have to ask help, " said Ben, scornfully, "though you're biggerthan I am. "

"I could lick yer well enough alone, " said Tim, "but you've beeninterferin' with Jack's business, as well as mine. "

Jack responded to his friend's appeal, and the two advanced to theassault of Ben. Of course all this took place much more quickly than ithas taken to describe it. The contest commenced, and our youngadventurer would have got the worst of it, if help had not arrived. Though a match for either of the boys singly, he could not be expectedto cope with both at a time, especially as he was smaller than either. 

Tim found himself seized forcibly by the arm, just as he was about tolevel a blow at Ben. Looking up, he met the glance of another newsboy, aboy of fourteen, who was known among his comrades as "Rough and Ready. "This boy was stout and strong, and was generally liked by those of hisclass for his generous qualities, as well as respected for his physicalstrength, which he was always ready to exert in defence of a weaker boy. 

"What's all this, Tim?" he demanded. "Aint you ashamed, the two of you, to pitch into a smaller boy?"

"He aint got no business here, " said Tim, doggedly. 

"Why not?"

"He's takin' away all our trade. "

"Hasn't he just as much right to sell papers as you?"

"He can go somewhere else. "

"So can you. "

"He's a new boy. This is the first day he's sold papers. "

"Then you ought to be able to keep up with him. What's your name, youngun?"

This question was, of course, addressed to Ben. 

"Ben, " answered our young hero. He did not think it necessary to mentionhis other name, especially as, having run away from home, he had avague idea that it might lead to his discovery. 

"Well, Ben, go ahead and sell your papers. I'll see that you have fairplay. "

"Thank you, " said Ben. "I'm not afraid of either of them. "

"Both of them might be too much for you. "

"I don't want to interfere with their business. They've got just as gooda chance to sell as I have. "

"Of course they have. Is this your first day?"

"Yes. "

"How many papers have you sold?"

"Six 'Posts' and six 'Expresses. '"

"That's pretty good for a beginning. Are you going to get some more?"

"Yes, I was just going into the office when that boy, " pointing to Tim, "tried to drive me off. "

"He won't do it again. Come in with me. I'm going to buy some paperstoo. "

"What's your name?" asked Ben. "I like you; you're not mean, like thosefellows. "

"My name is Rufus, but the boys call me Rough and Ready. "

"Where do you live, --at the Newsboys' Lodging House?"

"No, I live in Leonard Street. I've got a mother and a little sister. Ilive with them. "

"Have you got a father?"

"No, that is, not a real father. I've got a step-father; but he's worsethan none, for he is loafing round most of the time, and spends all themoney he can get on drink. If it wasn't for me, he'd treat mother worsethan he does. How long have you been in New York?"

"Only a day or two, " said Ben. 

"Where are you living?"

"Anywhere I can. I haven't got any place. "

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"In a hay-barge, at one of the piers, along with a boot-black namedJerry. That was the first night I ever slept out. "

"How did you like it?"

"I think I'd prefer a bed, " said Ben. 

"You can get one at the Lodge for six cents. "

"I didn't have six cents last night. "

"They'll trust you there, and you can pay next time. "

"Where is the Lodging House?"

"It's on the corner of this street and Fulton, " said Rough and Ready. "I'll show it to you, if you want me to. "

"I'd like to have you. I'd rather pay six cents than sleep out again. "

By this time they reached the office of the "Express, " and, entering, purchased a supply of papers. He was about to invest his whole capital, but, by the advice of his companion, bought only eight copies, as by thetime these were disposed of a later edition would be out, which ofcourse would be more salable. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SCENES AT THE NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE. 

It will be unnecessary to give in detail the record of Ben's sales. Hesucceeded, because he was in earnest, and he was in earnest, because hisown experience in the early part of the day had revealed to him howuncomfortable it was to be without money or friends in a large city. Atseven o'clock, on counting over his money, he found that he had a dollarand twelve cents. Of this sum he had received half a dollar from thefriendly reporter, to start him in business. This left sixty-two centsas his net profits for the afternoon's work. Ben felt proud of it, forit was the first money he had ever earned. His confidence came back tohim, and he thought he saw his way clear to earning his own living. 

Although the reporter had not exacted repayment, Ben determined to layaside fifty cents for that purpose. Of the remaining sixty-two, a partmust be saved as a fund for the purchase of papers the next morning. Probably thirty cents would be sufficient for this, as, after sellingout those first purchased, he would have money for a new supply. Thiswould leave him thirty-two cents to pay for his supper, lodging, andbreakfast. Ben would not have seen his way to accomplish all this for sosmall a sum, if he had not been told that at the Newsboys' Lodge theregular charge was six cents for each meal, and the same for lodging. This would make but eighteen cents, leaving him a surplus of fourteen. On inquiry, however, he ascertained that it was already past the hourfor supper at the Lodge, and therefore went into the restaurant, onFulton Street, where he ordered a cup of coffee, and a plate oftea-biscuit. These cost ten cents. Finding his appetite stillunsatisfied, he ordered another plate of biscuit, which carried up theexpense of his supper to fifteen cents. This left seventeen cents forlodging and breakfast. 

After supper, he went out into the street once more, and walked aboutfor some time, until he began to feel tired, when he turned his stepstowards the Newsboys' Lodge. This institution occupied at that time thetwo upper stories of the building at the corner of Nassau and FultonStreets. On the first floor was the office of the "Daily Sun. " Theentrance to the Lodge was on Fulton Street. Ben went up a steep andnarrow staircase, and kept mounting up until he reached the sixth floor. Here to the left he saw a door partially opened, through which he couldsee a considerable number of boys, whose appearance indicated that theybelonged to the class known as street boys. He pushed the door open andentered. He found himself in a spacious, but low-studded apartment, abundantly lighted by rows of windows on two sides. At the end nearestthe door was a raised platform, on which stood a small melodeon, whichwas used at the Sunday-evening meetings. There were rows of benches inthe centre of the apartment for the boys. 

A stout, pleasant-looking man, who proved to be Mr. O'Connor, thesuperintendent, advanced to meet Ben, whom he at once recognized as anew-comer. 

"Is this the Newsboys' Lodge?" asked Ben. 

"Yes, " said the superintendent; "do you wish to stop with us?"

"I should like to sleep here to-night, " said Ben. 

"You are quite welcome. "

"How much do you charge?"

"Our charge is six cents. "

"Here is the money, " said Ben, drawing it from his vest-pocket. 

"What is your name?"

"Benjamin. "

"And your other name?"

"Brandon, " answered Ben, with some hesitation. 

"What do you do for a living?"

"I am selling papers. "

"Well, we will assign you a bed. "

"Where are the beds?" asked Ben, looking about him. 

"They are on the floor below. Any of the boys will go down and show youwhen you get ready to retire. "

"Can I get breakfast here in the morning?" inquired Ben. 

"Certainly. We charge the same as for lodging. "

Ben handed over six cents additional, and congratulated himself that hewas not as badly off as the night before, being sure of a comfortablebed, and a breakfast in the morning. 

"What are those for?" he asked, pointing to a row of drawers or lockerson the sides of the apartment near the floor. 

"Boys who have any extra clothing, or any articles which they value, areallowed to use them. Here they are safe, as they can be locked. We willassign you one if you wish. "

"I have nothing to put away, " said Ben. "I had a little bundle ofclothes; but they were stolen from me while I was lying asleep on abench in the City Hall Park. "

"I suppose you don't know who took them?"

"No, " said Ben; "but I think it was some of the boys that were blackingboots near me. --That boy's got one of them on, " he said, suddenly, in anexcited tone, pointing out Mike, the younger of the two boys who hadappropriated his bundle. Mike had locked up his own shirt, which wasconsiderably the worse for wear, and put on Ben's, which gave him adecidedly neater appearance than before. He had thought himselfperfectly safe in doing so, not dreaming that he would be brought faceto face with the true owner in the Lodge. 

"What makes you think it is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor. 

"It is cut like mine, " said Ben. "Besides I remember getting a largespot of ink on one of the sleeves, which would not wash out. There itis, on the left arm. "

As Ben had said, there was a faint bluish spot on the sleeve of theshirt. This made Ben's story a plausible one, though not conclusive. Thesuperintendent decided to inquire of Mike about the matter, and see whatexplanation he could give. 

"Mike Rafferty, " he said, in a tone of authority, "come here; I wantyou. "

Mike came forward, but when he saw Ben, whom he recognized, he felt alittle taken aback. But he had not been brought up in the streets fornothing. His embarrassment was only momentary. He determined to brazenit out, and swear, if anything was said about the shirt, that it was hisown lawful property. 

"I see you've got a new shirt on, Mike, " said Mr. O'Connor. 

"Yes, sir, " said Mike. 

"Where did you get it?"

"Where would I get it?" said Mike. "I bought it yesterday. "

"Where did you buy it?"

"Round in Baxter Street, " said Mike, confidently. 

"It is a pretty good shirt for Baxter Street, " remarked Mr. O'Connor. "How much did you pay for it?"

"Fifty cents, " answered Mike, glibly. 

"This may all be true, Mike, " said the superintendent; "but I am notcertain about it. This boy here says it is his shirt, and he thinks thatyou stole it from him while he was lying asleep in City Hall Parkyesterday. "

"It's a lie he's tellin', sir, " said Mike. "I never seed him afore. "

Here seemed to be a conflict of evidence. Of the two Ben seemed the morelikely to tell the truth. Still it was possible that he might bemistaken, and Mike might be right after all. 

"Have you any other proof that the shirt is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor, turning to Ben. 

"Yes, " said Ben, "my name is marked on the shirt, just below the waist. "

"We can settle the matter quickly then. Mike, pull out the shirt, sothat we can see it. "

Mike made some objection, which was quickly overruled. The shirt, beingexamined, bore the name of "Benj. Brandon, " just as Ben had said. 

"The shirt is yours, " said the superintendent to Ben. 

"Now, Mike, what did you mean by telling me that lie? It was bad enoughto steal, without adding a lie besides. "

"I bought the shirt in Baxter Street, " persisted Mike, unblushingly. 

"Then how do you account for his name on it?"

"Maybe he sold it to the man I bought it of. "

"I didn't sell it at all, " said Ben. 

"Was that all you had taken?"

"No, " said Ben. "There was another shirt besides. "

"Do you know anything about it, Mike?"

"No, I don't, " said Mike. 

"I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not, " said thesuperintendent; "but at any rate you must take this off, and give it tothe right owner. "

"And will he pay me the fifty cents?" asked Mike. 

"I don't think you bought it at all; but if you did, you can prove it bythe man you bought it of. If you can do that, I will see that the moneyis refunded to you. "

There was one strong reason for discrediting Mike's story. TheseBaxter-Street shops are often the receptacles of stolen goods. As theiridentification might bring the dealers into trouble, they are verycareful, as soon as an article comes into their possession, toobliterate all the marks of former ownership. It was hardly likely thatthey would suffer a shirt to go out of their hands so plainly marked aswas the case in the present instance. Mr. O'Connor, of course, knewthis, and accordingly had very little fear that he was doing injusticeto Mike in ordering him to make restitution to Ben. 

Mike was forced, considerably against his will, to take off the newshirt, and put on his old ragged one. But the former was no longer asclean as formerly. 

"Where can I get it washed?" asked Ben. 

"You can wash it yourself, in the wash-room, or you can carry it to alaundry, as some of the boys do, if you are willing to pay for it. "

"I think I would rather carry it to a laundry, " said Ben, who doubtedstrongly his ability to wash the shirt so as to improve its appearance. The superintendent accordingly gave him the direction to one of theseestablishments. 

Opposite the room which he had entered was a smaller room used by theboys as a gymnasium. Ben looked into it, and determined to use it onsome future occasion. He next went into the wash-room. Here he saw twoor three boys, stripped to the waist, engaged in washing out theirshirts. Being provided with but a single one each, they left them to dryover night while they were in bed, and could dispense with them. Benwondered how they managed about ironing them; but he soon found thatwith these amateur laundresses ironing was not considered necessary. They are put on rough-dry in the morning, and so worn until they areconsidered dirty enough for another purification. 

Ben looked about him with interest. The boys were chatting in ananimated manner, detailing their experiences during the day, or"chaffing" each other in a style peculiar to themselves. 

"Say, Jim, " said one, "didn't I see you at the Grand Opera last night?"

"Yes, of course you did, " said Jim. "I was in a private box along withthe mayor. I had a di'mond pin in the bosom of my shirt. "

"Yes, I seed you through my opera-glass. What have you done with yourdi'mond pin?"

"Do you think I'd bring it here to be stole? No, I keep it in my safe, along of my other valooables. "

Ben listened in amusement, and thought that Jim would have cut rather asingular figure in the mayor's box. 

Several boys, who had gone barefoot, were washing their feet, that beingrequired previous to going to bed. This is necessary; otherwise theclean bed-clothes would be so soiled as to require daily washing. 

The boys seemed to be having a good time, and then, though he wasunacquainted with any of them, felt that it was much pleasanter to behere, in a social atmosphere, than wandering around by himself in thedark and lonely streets. He observed one thing with surprise, that theboys refrained from profane or vulgar speech, though they were by nomeans so particular in the street during the day. This is, however, arule strictly enforced by the superintendent, and, if not complied with, the offender is denied the privilege of the Lodging House. 

After a while Ben expressed a desire to go to bed, and in company withone of the boys descended to a room equally large, in the story below, where over a hundred single beds were arranged in tiers, in a mannervery similar to the berths of a steamboat. Ben was agreeably surprisedby the neat and comfortable appearance of these beds. He felt that heshould be nearly as well provided for as at home. Quickly undressinghimself, he jumped into the bed assigned him, and in a few minutes wasfast asleep. 

CHAPTER X. 

FURTHER EXPERIENCES. 

Ben had a comfortable night's rest, and when he awoke in the morning hefelt that a bed at the Newsboys' Lodge was considerably better than abale of cotton, or a hay-barge. At an early hour in the morning the boyswere called, and began to tumble out in all directions, interchanging, as they performed their hasty toilet, a running fire of "chaff" andgood-humored jesting, some of which consisted of personal allusions thereverse of complimentary. 

Many of the boys stopped to breakfast, but not all. Some wanted to getto work earlier, and took breakfast at a later hour at some cheaprestaurant, earning it before they ate it. Ben, however, had paid forhis breakfast in advance, knowing that he could not get it so cheapelsewhere, and so waited to partake of it. He took his place at a longtable with his companions, and found himself served with a bowl ofcoffee and a generous slice of bread. Sometimes, but not always, alittle cold meat is supplied in addition. But even when there is breadonly, the coffee warms the stomach, and so strengthens the boys fortheir labors outside. The breakfast was not as varied, of course, as Benhad been accustomed to at home, nor as tempting as my young readers havespread before them every morning; but it was good of its kind, and Benate it with unusual relish. 

When he had finished his meal, he prepared to go out to work; not, however, till the superintendent, whose recollection of individual boysis surprising, considering the large number who frequent the LodgingHouse in the course of a year, had invited him to come again. TheLodging House, though it cannot supply the place of a private home, steps between hundreds of boys and complete vagabondage, into which, butfor its existence, they would quickly lapse. Probably no money is morewisely expended than that which enables the Children's Aid Society ofNew York to maintain this and kindred institutions. 

Ben had, after breakfast, eighty-five cents to commence the day on. Butof this sum, it will be remembered, he had reserved fifty cents to paythe friendly reporter for his loan. This left him a working capital ofthirty-five cents. It was not a large sum to do business on, but it wasenough, and with it Ben felt quite independent. 

In front of the 'Times' office, Ben met Rough and Ready, --the newsboywho had taken his part the day before. He had got the start of Ben, andwas just disposing of his only remaining paper. 

"How are you?" asked Ben. 

"So's to be around, " answered the other. "What are you up to?"

"I'm going to buy some papers. "

"I have sold eight already. Where did you sleep last night?"

"At the Lodging House. "

"How do you like it?"

"It's a good place, and very cheap. "

"Yes, it's a bully place. I'd go there myself, if it wasn't for motherand Rose. It's enough sight better than our room on Leonard Street. ButI can't leave my mother and sister. "

"If you're going to buy some more papers, I'd like to go with you. "

"All right. Come ahead. "

Ben invested his money under the direction of his companion. By hisadvice, he purchased nearly to the amount of his entire capital, knowingthat it would come back to him again, so that his plan for paying thereporter could still be carried out. 

"You can stand near me, if you want to, Ben, " said Rough and Ready. 

"I am afraid I shall interfere with your trade, " answered Ben. 

"Don't be afraid of that. I don't ask no favors. I can get my share ofbusiness. "

Ben, while engaged in selling papers himself, had an opportunity towatch the ready tact with which Rough and Ready adapted himself to thedifferent persons whom he encountered. He succeeded in effecting a salein many cases where others would have failed. He had sold all his papersbefore Ben had disposed of two-thirds of his, though both began with anequal number. 

"Here, Ben, " he said, generously, "give me three of your papers, I'llsell 'em for you. "

By this friendly help, Ben found himself shortly empty-handed. 

"Shall I buy any more?" he inquired of his companion. 

"It's gettin' late for mornin' papers, " said Rough and Ready. "You'dbetter wait till the evenin' papers come out. How much money have youmade?"

Ben counted over his money, and answered, "I've made thirty-five cents. "

"Well, that'll be more'n enough to buy your dinner. "

"How much do you make in a day?" asked Ben. 

"Sometimes over a dollar. "

"You ought to lay up money, then. "

Rough and Ready shook his head. 

"I have to pay everything over to my mother, " he said. "It's littleenough to support a family. "

"Doesn't your father earn anything?"

"My _step_-father, " repeated the other, emphasizing the first syllable. "No, he doesn't earn much, and what he does earn, he spends for rum. Wecould do a great deal better without him, " he continued. 

Ben began to see that he had a much easier task before him in supportinghimself, than his new friend in supplying the wants of a family of four;for Mr. Martin, his step-father, did not scruple to live partially onthe earnings of his step-son, whose industry should have put him toshame. 

"I guess I'll go home a little while, " said Rough and Ready. "I'll seeyou again this afternoon. "

Left to himself, Ben began to walk around with an entirely differentfeeling from that which he experienced the day before. He had one dollarand twenty cents in his pocket; not all of it his own, but the greaterpart of it his own earnings. Only twenty-four hours before his prospectsseemed very dark. Now he had found friends, and he had also learned howto help himself. 

As he was walking down Nassau Street, he suddenly espied, a littledistance ahead, the reporter who had done him such an important servicethe day before. 

He quickened his pace, and speedily came up with him. 

"Good-morning, " said he, by way of calling the reporter's attention. 

"Good-morning, " responded the reporter, not at first recognizing him. 

"I'm ready to pay the money you lent me yesterday, " said Ben. 

"Oh, you're the boy I set up in business yesterday. Well, how have youmade out?"

"Pretty well, " said Ben, with satisfaction. "Here's the money you lentme;" and he drew out fifty cents, and offered it to the young man. 

"But have you got any money left?" inquired the reporter. 

Ben displayed the remainder of his money, mentioning the amount. 

"You've succeeded capitally. Where did you sleep last night?"

"At the Newsboys' Lodge. "

"That's better than sleeping out. I begin to think, my young friend, youmust have a decided business talent. It isn't often a new boy succeedsso well. "

Ben was pleased with this compliment, and made a new offer of the money, which the young man had not yet taken. 

"I don't know as I had better take this money, " said the reporter; "youmay need it. "

"No, " said Ben, "I've got enough to keep me along. "

"You've got to get dinner. "

"That won't cost me more than twenty-five cents; then I shall haveforty-five to buy papers this afternoon. "

"Well, " said the young man, "if you don't need it, I will take it; buton one condition. "

"What is that?" asked Ben. 

"That if you get hard up at any time, you will come to me, and I willhelp you out. "

"Thank you, " said Ben, gratefully. "You are very kind. "

"I know that you boys are apt to have hard times; but if you workfaithfully and don't form any bad habits, I think you will get along. Here is my card, and directions for finding me, if you need anyassistance at any time. "

Ben took the card, and went on his way, feeling more glad that he hadpaid his debt than if the money were still in his possession. He feltthat it was a partial atonement for the theft which he had nearlycommitted the day before. 

As he walked along, thinking of what he had just done, he suddenly foundhimself shoved violently off the sidewalk. Looking angrily to see whowas the aggressor, he recognized Mike Rafferty, who had been detectedthe night before in wearing his stolen shirt. 

"What's that for?" demanded Ben, angrily. 

"It's to tache you better manners, ye spalpeen!" said Mike. 

Ben returned the blow with spirit. 

"That's to teach you not to steal my shirt again, " he said. 

"It's a lie, " said Mike. "I bought it of the man you sold it to. "

"You know better, " retorted Ben. "You took it while I was asleep in thePark. "

Mike was about to retaliate with another blow, when the sight of anapproaching policeman warned him of peril, and he retreated in goodorder, sending back looks of defiance at our hero, whom he could notforgive for having proved him guilty of theft. 

Ben's exploration of the city had thus far been very limited. He hadheard of the Battery, and he determined to go down there. The distancewas not great, and in a few minutes he found himself at the lower end ofthe Manhattan Island, looking with interest at the shores across theriver. Here was Castle Garden, a large structure, now used for recentlyarrived emigrants, but once the scene of one of Jenny Lind's triumphs. Now it would seem very strange to have a grand concert given in such abuilding and in such a locality. However, Ben knew nothing of thepurposes of the building, and looked at it ignorantly. The Battery hethought might once have been pretty; but now the grass has been worn offby pedestrians, and the once fashionable houses in the neighborhood havelong ago been deserted by their original proprietors, and been turnedinto warehouses, or cheap boarding-houses. 

After looking about a little, Ben turned to go back. He began to feelhungry, and thought he might as well get some dinner. After that waseaten it would be time for the evening papers. He was intending to goback to Fulton Street; but his attention was drawn to a restaurant bythe bills of fare exposed outside. A brief examination satisfied himthat the prices were quite as moderate as in Fulton Street, and hedecided to enter, and take his dinner here. 

CHAPTER XI. 

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 coveredwith soiled cloths. However, Ben had learned already not to befastidious, and he sat down and gave his order. A plate of roast beefand a cup of coffee were brought, according to his directions. Seatedopposite him at the table was a man who had nearly completed his dinneras Ben commenced. He held in his hand a Philadelphia paper, which heleft 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 hadbeen accustomed to take for years. It gave him a start, as he saw thefamiliar page, and he felt a qualm of homesickness. The neat house inwhich he had lived since he was born, his mother's gentle face, rose upbefore him, compared with his present friendless condition, and thetears rose to his eyes. But he was in a public restaurant, and his pridecame to the rescue. He pressed back the tears, and resumed his knife andfork. 

When he had finished his dinner, he took up the paper once more, readinghere 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 byhis father, he knew well enough, and he judged from the language that itwas written in anger. _One dollar_ was offered for his restoration. 

Ben felt somehow humiliated at the smallness of the sum, and at thethought that this advertisement would be read by his friends andschool-companions. The softer thoughts, which but just now came to him, were banished, and he determined, whatever hardships awaited him, toremain 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 thoughtof his mother. He knew how anxious she would feel about him, and hewished he might be able to write her privately that he was well, anddoing well. But he was afraid the letter would get into his father'shands, and reveal his whereabouts; then the police might be set on histrack, and he might be forced home to endure the humiliation of a severepunishment, and the jeers of his companions, who would never let himhear the last of his abortive attempt. 

At last a way occurred to him. He would write a letter, and place it inthe hands of some one going to Philadelphia, to be posted in the lattercity. This would give no clue to his present home, and would answer thepurpose of relieving his mother's anxiety. 

Late in the afternoon, Ben went into a stationery store on NassauStreet. 

"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 andink there. "

Ben, with some difficulty, composed and wrote the following letter, forit 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 itto

 "MRS. RUTH BRANDON, "_Cedarville, _

 "_Pennsylvania. _"

It may be explained that the Mary referred to was an elder sister, tenyears older than Ben, against whom he felt somewhat aggrieved, onaccount of his sister's having interfered with him more than he thoughtshe 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 saythat it was wanting in proper feeling for the mother who had always beenkind and gentle to him, and whose heart, he must have known, would bedeeply grieved by his running away from home. But Ben's besetting sinwas pride, mingled with obstinacy, and pride prevailed over his lovefor his mother. If he could have known of the bitter tears which hismother was even now shedding over her lost boy, I think he would havefound it difficult to maintain his resolution. 

When the letter was written, Ben went across to the post-office, andbought a three-cent stamp, which he placed on the envelope. Then, learning that there was an evening train for Philadelphia, he went downto the Cortlandt Street Ferry, and watched till he saw a gentleman, whohad the air of a traveller. Ben stepped up to him and inquired, "Are yougoing 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 thereanything I can do for you?"

"Yes, sir. If you would be so kind as to post this letter inPhiladelphia. "

"I will do so; but why don't you post it in New York? It will go just aswell. "

"The person who wrote it, " said Ben, "doesn't want to have it knownwhere 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. Hethought it would relieve his mother's anxiety. 

As he was standing on the pier, a gentleman having a carpet-bag in onehand, 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 thinkyou 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; butthe Astor House, which is situated nearly opposite the lower end of theCity Hall Park, he had passed a dozen times, and knew the way to itvery well. He was glad that the gentleman wished to go there, and not toone of the up-town hotels, of which he knew nothing. He went straight upCortlandt Street to Broadway, and then turning north, soon arrived atthe massive structure, which, for over thirty years, has welcomedtravellers 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 Ihave been in New York, and I did not feel quite certain of finding myway. Do you live in New York?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You may give me the package now. How much shall I pay you for yourservices?"

"Whatever you please, sir, " said Ben. 

"Will that answer?" and the traveller placed twenty-five cents in thehands 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'ttake me more than fifteen minutes to come up from the ferry, and Ishould 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 thirtycents. But out of this he had spent twenty-five cents for dinner, andfor his letter, including postage, five cents. Thus his expenses hadbeen thirty cents, which, being deducted, left him just one dollar. Outof this, however, it would be necessary to buy some supper, and pay forhis lodging and breakfast at the Newsboys' Home. Fifteen cents, however, would do for the first, while the regular charge for the second would bebut twelve cents. Ben estimated, therefore, that he would haveseventy-three cents to start on next day. He felt that this was asatisfactory state of finances, and considered whether he could notafford to spend a little more for supper. However, not feeling veryhungry, he concluded not to do so. 

The next morning he bought papers as usual and sold them. But it seemedconsiderably harder work, for the money, than carrying bundles. However, Ben foresaw that in order to become a "baggage-smasher" (forthis is the technical term by which the boys and men are known, who waitaround the ferries and railway depots for a chance to carry baggage, though I have preferred to use the term luggage boy), it would benecessary to know more about localities in the city than he did atpresent. Accordingly he devoted the intervals of time between theselling of papers, to seeking out and ascertaining the locality of theprincipal hotels and streets in the city. 

In the course of a fortnight he had obtained a very fair knowledge ofthe city. He now commenced waiting at the ferries and depots, though hedid not immediately give up entirely the newspaper trade. But at lengthhe 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. 

CHAPTER XII. 

BEN'S HOME IN PHILADELPHIA. 

Though the story of "Ben, the Luggage Boy, " professes to treat of lifein the city streets, I must devote a single chapter to a very differentplace. I must carry the reader to Ben's home in Pennsylvania, and showwhat effect his running away had upon the family circle. 

There was a neat two-story house standing on the principal street inCedarville, with a pleasant lawn in front, through which, from the gate, a gravelled walk ran to the front door. Mr. Brandon, as I have alreadysaid, was a coal-dealer, and in very comfortable circumstances; so thatBen had never known what it was to want anything which he really needed. He was a man of great firmness, and at times severity, and more thanonce Ben had felt aggrieved by his treatment of him. Mrs. Brandon wasquite different from her husband, being gentle and kind, and it was toher that Ben always went for sympathy, in any trouble or difficulty, whether at home or at school. 

Mrs. Brandon was sitting at the window with her work in her hand; but ithad fallen listlessly in her lap, and on her face was a look of painfulpreoccupation. Opposite her sat her daughter Mary, Ben's only sister, already referred to. 

"Don't worry so, mother, " said Mary; "you will make yourself sick. "

"I cannot help it, Mary, " said Mrs. Brandon. "I can't help worryingabout Ben. He has been gone a week now, and Heaven knows what he hassuffered. He may be dead. "

"No, mother, " said Mary, who had more of her father's strength than hermother's gentleness. "He is not dead, you may depend upon that. "

"But he had no money, that I know of. How could he live?"

"Ben can take care of himself better than most boys of his age. "

"But think of a boy of ten going out in the world by himself!"

"There are many boys of ten who have to do it, mother. "

"What could the poor boy do?"

"He might suffer a little; but if he does, he will the sooner comehome. "

"I wish he might, " said Mrs. Brandon, with a sigh. "I think your fatherdoes very wrong not to go after him. "

"He wouldn't know where to go. Besides, he has advertised. "

"I hope Ben will not see the advertisement. Poor boy! he would feel hurtto think that we cared so little for him as to offer only one dollar forhis return. "

"He will know you had nothing to do with the advertisement, mother; youmay be sure of that. "

"Yes, he knows me too well for that. I would give all I have to have himback. "

"I want him back too, " said Mary. "He is my only brother, and of courseI love him; but I don't think it will do him any harm to suffer a littleas a punishment for going away. "

"You were always hard upon the poor boy, Mary, " said Mrs. Brandon. 

"No, I am not hard; but I see his faults, and I want him to correctthem. It is you who have been too indulgent. "

"If I have been, it is because you and your father have been too muchthe other way. "

There was a brief pause, then Mrs. Brandon said, "Can you think of anyplace, Mary, where Ben would be likely to go?"

"Yes, I suppose he went to Philadelphia. When a boy runs away from home, he naturally goes to the nearest city. "

"I have a great mind to go up to-morrow. "

"What good would it do, mother?"

"I might meet him in the street. "

"There is not much chance of that. I shouldn't wonder if by this time hehad gone to sea. "

"Gone to sea!" repeated Mrs. Brandon, turning pale. "What makes youthink so? Did he ever speak of such a thing to you?"

"Yes, he once threatened to run away to sea, when I did something thatdid not suit him. "

"Oh, I hope not. I have heard that boys are treated very badly on boardship. Besides, he might get drowned. "

"I am not sure whether a good sea-voyage might not be the best thing forhim, " said strong-minded Mary. 

"But suppose he should be ill-treated?"

"It might take the pride out of him, and make him a better boy. "

"I never get much satisfaction from you, Mary. I don't see how you canbe so harsh. "

"I see we are not likely to agree, mother. But there is a boy coming upthe walk with a letter in his hand. "

"It may be from Ben, " said his mother, rising hastily, and going to thedoor. 

The boy was William Gordon, a school-mate of Ben's, whose disappearance, long before this time, had been reported throughout the village. 

"I was passing the post-office, Mrs. Brandon, " he said, "when thepostmaster called from the window, and asked me to bring you thisletter. I think it is from Ben. The handwriting looks like his. "

"Oh, thank you, William, " said Mrs. Brandon, joyfully. "Give it to mequick. "

She tore it open and read the letter, which is given at length in thelast chapter. 

"Is it from Ben?" asked William. 

"Yes. "

"Is he in Philadelphia? I noticed it was mailed there. "

"Yes--no--he says he cannot tell us where he is. "

"I think he must be in Philadelphia, or the letter would not be mailedthere. "

"Come in, William. I must go and tell Mary. "

"No, thank you, Mrs. Brandon. I am on an errand for my mother. I hopeBen is well?"

"Yes, he says so. "

Mrs. Brandon went in, and showed the letter to her daughter. 

"There, I told you, mother, you need not be alarmed. He says he isearning his living. "

"But it seems so hard for a boy of ten to have to work for his living. What can he do?"

"Oh, there are various things he can do. He might sell papers, forinstance. "

"I think I shall go to Philadelphia to-morrow, Mary. "

"It won't be of any use, you may depend, mother. He is not inPhiladelphia. "

"But this letter is posted there. "

"That is a proof to me that he is not there. He says he don't want tocome back. "

Shortly after, Mr. Brandon entered the house. 

"We have had a letter from Ben, father, " said Mary. 

"Show it to me, " he said, briefly. 

He read the letter, and handed it back without a word. 

"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Brandon?" asked his wife. 

"What is there to be done?" he asked. 

"I think I had better go up to Philadelphia to-morrow. "

"What for?"

"I might see him. "

"You would be going on a wild-goose chase. "

"Then why won't you go?"

"It isn't worth while. If the boy doesn't want to come home, he maytake care of himself if he likes it so well. I shan't run round afterhim. "

"He says he did not do what you punished him for, " said Mrs. Brandon, rather deprecatingly, for she was somewhat in awe of her husband. 

"Of course he would say that. I have heard that before. "

"But I don't think he really did. "

"I know you have always been foolishly indulgent to him. "

"At any rate that cannot be said of you, " said his wife, with somespirit. 

"No, " he answered, rather surprised at such an unusual manifestationfrom his usually acquiescent wife; "you are right there, and you mightadd that I don't mean to be, if he should return. "

"I think he would have come home but for that advertisement. You seewhat he says about it in his letter. "

"If I were to write it again, I should write it in the same manner, though perhaps I might not offer so large a sum. "

Mrs. Brandon sighed, and ceased speaking. She knew her husband wellenough to see that there was little chance of changing hisdetermination, or softening his anger towards Ben. 

The next day, when Mr. Brandon returned home to dinner from hiscoal-wharf, he found Mary seated at the head of the table. 

"Where is your mother?" he asked. 

"She went to Philadelphia by the middle train, " was the answer. 

"She has gone on a fool's errand. "

"I advised her not to go; but she thought she might meet Ben, and Icould not dissuade her. "

"Well, she will be better satisfied after she has been up--and failed tofind him. "

"Do you think he will ever come back, father?"

"Yes; he will turn up again some day, like a bad penny. He will findthat earning his own living is not quite so agreeable as being takencare of at home. "

"Suppose he shouldn't come back?"

"So much the worse for him, " said Mr. Brandon. 

Mr. Brandon spoke after his way of speaking, for he was not anaffectionate man, nor given to the softer emotions. He had never givenBen any reason to think he loved him, at least since he was a baby, butappearances are sometimes deceptive, and he thought more of his son'sabsence than any one would have supposed. He thought, too, of thatsentence in Ben's letter, in which he spoke of being punished for whathe did not do, and he admitted to himself, though he would not have doneso to his wife, that perhaps he had been unjust to the boy after all. Every day when he turned from his office to go home, it was with theunacknowledged hope that he might find the prodigal returned. But inthis hope they were all doomed to be disappointed. Year after yearpassed away, and still no tidings from Ben beyond that single letterwhich we have mentioned. 

Mrs. Brandon returned from Philadelphia, as might have been anticipated, disappointed and despondent. She was very tired, for she had wanderedabout the streets, looking everywhere, during the four or five hours shewas in the city. Once or twice her heart beat high, as she saw in frontof her a boy of Ben's size, and dressed as he had been dressed when heleft home. But when, with hurrying steps she came up with him, she wasdoomed, in every case, to disappointment. 

"I told you it would be no use, mother, " said Mary. 

"I couldn't stay at home contented, if I did nothing to find him, Mary. "

"He'll turn up yet some day, mother, --return in rags most likely. "

"Come when he may, or how he may, Mary, my arms shall be open to receivehim. "

But the years passed, and Ben did not come. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FIRST CIGAR. 

It was a week or more after Ben started in business as abaggage-smasher, that, in returning from carrying a carpet-bag toLovejoy's Hotel, on Broadway, he fell in with his first cityacquaintance, Jerry Collins. Jerry had just "polished up" a gentleman'sboots, and, having been unusually lucky this morning in securing shines, felt disposed to be lavish. 

"How are you, Ben?" asked Jerry. "What are you up to now?"

"I'm a baggage-smasher, " answered Ben, who was beginning to adopt thelanguage of the streets. 

"How does it pay?"

"Well, " said Ben, "sometimes it pays first rate, when I'm lucky. Otherdays I don't get much to do. I didn't make but fifteen cents thismorning. I carried a bag up to Lovejoy's, and that's all the man wouldpay me. "

"I've made fifty cents this mornin'. Look here, Johnny. "

The Johnny addressed was a boy who sold cigars, four for ten cents. 

"I'll take two, " said Jerry, producing five cents. 

"Six cents for two, " said the cigar boy. 

"All right, I'll owe you the other cent, " said Jerry, coolly. 

"Do you smoke?" inquired Ben. 

"In course I do. Don't you?"

"No. "

"Why don't you?"

"I don't know, " said Ben. "Do you like it?"

"It's bully. Here, take this cigar. I bought it for you. "

Ben hesitated; but finally, induced mainly by a curiosity to see how itseemed, accepted the cigar, and lighted it by Jerry's. The two boys satdown on an empty box, and Jerry instructed Ben how to puff. Ben did notparticularly enjoy it; but thought he might as well learn now as anyother time. His companion puffed away like a veteran smoker; but aftera while Ben's head began to swim, and he felt sick at his stomach. 

"I don't feel well, " he said. "I guess I'll stop smoking. "

"Oh, go ahead, " said Jerry. "It's only because it's the first time. You'll like it after a while. "

Thus encouraged, Ben continued to smoke, though his head and his stomachgot continually worse. 

"I don't like it, " gasped Ben, throwing down the cigar. "I'm going tostop. "

"You've got a healthy color, " said Jerry, slyly. 

"I'm afraid I'm going to be awful sick, " said Ben, whose sensations werevery far from comfortable. Just at this moment, ignorant of the briefcharacter of his present feelings, he heartily wished himself at home, for the first time since his arrival in the city. 

"You do look rather green, " said Jerry. "Maybe you're going to have thecholera. I've heard that there's some cases round. "

This suggestion alarmed Ben, who laid his head down between his knees, and began to feel worse than ever. 

"Don't be scared, " said Jerry, thinking it time to relieve Ben's mind. "It's only the cigar. You'll feel all right in a jiffy. "

While Ben was experiencing the disagreeable effects of his first cigar, he resolved never to smoke another. But, as might have been expected, hefelt differently on recovering. It was not long before he could puffaway with as much enjoyment and unconcern as any of his streetcompanions, and a part of his earnings were consumed in this way. It maybe remarked here that the street boy does not always indulge in theluxury of a whole cigar. Sometimes he picks up a fragment which has beendiscarded by the original smoker. There are some small dealers, who makeit a business to collect these "stubs, " or employ others to do so, andthen sell them to the street boys, at a penny apiece, or less, accordingto size. Sometimes these stubs are bought in preference to a cheapcigar, because they are apt to be of a superior quality. Ben, however, never smoked "stubs. " In course of time he became very much like otherstreet boys; but in some respects his taste was more fastidious, and hepreferred to indulge himself in a cheap cigar, which was notsecond-hand. 

We must now pass rapidly over the six years which elapsed from the dateof Ben's first being set adrift in the streets to the period at whichour story properly begins. These years have been fruitful of change toour young adventurer. They have changed him from a country boy of ten, to a self-reliant and independent street boy of sixteen. The impressionsleft by his early and careful home-training have been mostly effaced. Nothing in his garb now distinguishes him from the class of which he isa type. He has long since ceased to care for neat or whole attire, orcarefully brushed hair. His straggling locks, usually long, protrudefrom an aperture in his hat. His shoes would make a very pooradvertisement for the shoemaker by whom they were originallymanufactured. His face is not always free from stains, and his streetcompanions have long since ceased to charge him with putting on airs, onaccount of the superior neatness of his personal appearance. Indeed, hehas become rather a favorite among them, in consequence of hisfrankness, and his willingness at all times to lend a helping hand to acomrade temporarily "hard up. " He has adopted to a great extent thetastes and habits of the class to which he belongs, and bears withacquired philosophy the hardships and privations which fall to theirlot. Like "Ragged Dick, " he has a sense of humor, which is apt to revealitself in grotesque phrases, or amusing exaggerations. 

Of course his education, so far as education is obtained from books, hasnot advanced at all. He has not forgotten how to read, having occasionto read the daily papers. Occasionally, too, he indulges himself in adime novel, the more sensational the better, and is sometimes induced toread therefrom to a group of companions whose attainments are even lessthan his own. 

It may be asked whether he ever thinks of his Pennsylvania home, of hisparents and his sister. At first he thought of them frequently; but bydegrees he became so accustomed to the freedom and independence of hisstreet life, with its constant variety, that he would have beenunwilling to return, even if the original cause of his leaving home wereremoved. Life in a Pennsylvania village seemed "slow" compared with theexcitement of his present life. 

In the winter, when the weather was inclement, and the lodgingaccommodations afforded by the street were not particularlysatisfactory, Ben found it convenient to avail himself of the cheaplodgings furnished by the Newsboys' Lodging House; but at other times, particularly in the warm summer nights, he saved his six cents, andfound a lodging for himself among the wharves, or in some lane or alley. Of the future he did not think much. Like street boys in general, hishorizon was limited by the present. Sometimes, indeed, it did occur tohim that he could not be a luggage boy all his lifetime. Some time orother he must take up something else. However, Ben carelessly concludedthat he could make a living somehow or other, and as to old age that wastoo far ahead to disquiet himself about. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE PASSENGER FROM ALBANY. 

Ben did not confine himself to any particular pier or railway depot, butstationed himself now at one, now at another, according as the whimseized him, or as the prospect of profit appeared more or lesspromising. One afternoon he made his way to the pier at which the Albanyboats landed. He knew the hour of arrival, not only for the river-boats, but for most of the inward trains, for this was required by hisbusiness. 

He had just finished smoking a cheap cigar when the boat arrived. Thepassengers poured out, and the usual bustle ensued. Now was the time forBen to be on the alert. He scanned the outcoming passengers with anattentive eye, fixing his attention upon those who were encumbered withcarpet-bags, valises, or bundles. These he marked out as his possiblepatrons, and accosted them professionally. 

"Smash yer baggage, sir?" he said to a gentleman carrying a valise. 

The latter stared hard at Ben, evidently misunderstanding him, andanswered irascibly, "Confound your impudence, boy; what do you mean?"

"Smash yer baggage, sir?"

"If you smash my baggage, I'll smash your head. "

"Thank you, sir, for your kind offer; but my head aint insured, " saidBen, who saw the joke, and enjoyed it. 

"Look here, boy, " said the puzzled traveller, "what possible good wouldit do you to smash my baggage?"

"That's the way I make a livin', " said Ben. 

"Do you mean to say any persons are foolish enough to pay you fordestroying their baggage? You must be crazy, or else you must think Iam. "

"Not destroying it, smashin' it. "

"What's the difference?"

Here a person who had listened to the conversation with some amusementinterposed. 

"If you will allow me to explain, sir, the boy only proposes to carryyour valise. He is what we call a 'baggage-smasher, ' and carrying it iscalled 'smashing. '"

"Indeed, that's a very singular expression to use. Well, my lad, I thinkI understand you now. You have no hostile intentions, then?"

"Nary a one, " answered Ben. 

"Then I may see fit to employ you. Of course you know the wayeverywhere?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You may take my valise as far as Broadway. There I shall take a stage. "

Ben took the valise, and raising it to his shoulders was about toprecede his patron. 

"You can walk along by my side, " said the gentleman; "I want to talk toyou. "

"All right, governor, " said Ben. "I'm ready for an interview. "

"How do you like 'baggage-smashing, ' as you call it?"

"I like it pretty well when I'm workin' for a liberal gentleman likeyou, " said Ben, shrewdly. 

"What makes you think I am liberal?" asked the gentleman, smiling. 

"I can tell by your face, " answered our hero. 

"But you get disappointed sometimes, don't you?"

"Yes, sometimes, " Ben admitted. 

"Tell me some of your experiences that way. "

"Last week, " said Ben, "I carried a bag, and a thunderin' heavy one, from the Norwich boat to French's Hotel, --a mile and a half I guess itwas, --and how much do you think the man paid me?"

"Twenty-five cents. "

"Yes, he did, but he didn't want to. All he offered me first was tencents. "

"That's rather poor pay. I don't think I should want to work for thatmyself. "

"You couldn't live very high on such pay, " said Ben. 

"I have worked as cheap, though. "

"You have!" said Ben, surprised. 

"Yes, my lad, I was a poor boy once, --as poor as you are. "

"Where did you live?" asked Ben, interested. 

"In a country town in New England. My father died early, and I was leftalone in the world. So I hired myself out to a farmer for a dollar aweek and board. I had to be up at five every morning, and work all day. My wages, you see, amounted to only about sixteen cents a day and boardfor twelve hours' work. "

"Why didn't you run away?" inquired Ben. 

"I didn't know where to run to. "

"I s'pose you aint workin' for that now?" said our hero. 

"No, I've been promoted, " said the gentleman, smiling. "Of course I gothigher pay, as I grew older. Still, at twenty-one I found myself withonly two hundred dollars. I worked a year longer till it became threehundred, and then I went out West, --to Ohio, --where I took up aquarter-section of land, and became a farmer on my own account. Sincethen I've dipped into several things, have bought more land, which hasincreased in value on my hands, till now I am probably worth fiftythousand dollars. "

"I'm glad of it, " said Ben. 

"Why?"

"Because you can afford to pay me liberal for smashin' your baggage. "

"What do you call liberal?" inquired his patron, smiling. 

"Fifty cents, " answered Ben, promptly. 

"Then I will be liberal. Now, suppose you tell me something aboutyourself. How long have you been a 'baggage-smasher, ' as you call it?"

"Six years, " said Ben. 

"You must have begun young. How old are you now?"

"Sixteen. "

"You'll soon be a man. What do you intend to do then?"

"I haven't thought much about it, " said Ben, with truth. 

"You don't mean to carry baggage all your life, do you?"

"I guess not, " answered Ben. "When I get to be old and infirm, I'm goin'into some light, genteel employment, such as keepin' a street stand. "

"So that is your highest ambition, is it?" asked the stranger. 

"I don't think I've got any ambition, " said Ben. "As long as I make alivin', I don't mind. "

"When you see well-dressed gentlemen walking down Broadway, or riding intheir carriages, don't you sometimes think it would be agreeable if youcould be in their place?"

"I should like to have a lot of money, " said Ben. "I wouldn't mind bein'the president of a bank, or a railway-director, or somethin' of thatkind. "

"I am afraid you have never thought seriously upon the subject of yourfuture, " said Ben's companion, "or you wouldn't be satisfied with yourpresent business. "

"What else can I do? I'd rather smash baggage than sell papers or blackboots. "

"I would not advise either. I'll tell you what you ought to do, my youngfriend. You should leave the city, and come out West. I'll give yousomething to do on one of my farms, and promote you as you are fit forit. "

"You're very kind, " said Ben, more seriously; "but I shouldn't like it. "

"Why not?"

"I don't want to leave the city. Here there's somethin' goin' on. I'dmiss the streets and the crowds. I'd get awful lonesome in the country. "

"Isn't it better to have a good home in the country than to live as youdo in the city?"

"I like it well enough, " said Ben. "We're a jolly crowd, and we do as weplease. There aint nobody to order us round 'cept the copps, and theylet us alone unless we steal, or something of that kind. "

"So you are wedded to your city life?"

"Yes, I guess so; though I don't remember when the weddin' took place. "

"And you prefer to live on in your old way?"

"Yes, sir; thank you all the same. "

"You may change your mind some time, my lad. If you ever do, and willwrite to me at B----, Ohio, I will send for you to come out. Here is mycard. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Ben. "I'll keep the card, and if ever I change mymind, I'll let you know. "

They had been walking slowly, or they would have reached Broadwaysooner. They had now arrived there, and the stranger bade Ben good-by, handing him at the same time the fifty cents agreed upon. 

"He's a brick, " Ben soliloquized, "even if he did say he'd smash myhead. I hope I'll meet some more like him. "

Ben's objection to leaving the city is felt in an equal degree by manyboys who are situated like himself. Street life has its privations andactual sufferings; but for all that there is a wild independence andfreedom from restraint about it, which suits those who follow it. To beat the beck and call of no one; to be responsible only to themselves, provided they keep from violating the law, has a charm to these youngoutcasts. Then, again, they become accustomed to the street and itsvaried scenes, and the daily excitement of life in a large city becomessuch a matter of necessity to them, that they find the country lonesome. Yet, under the auspices of the Children's Aid Society, companies of boysare continually being sent out to the great West with the happiestresults. After a while the first loneliness wears away, and they becomeinterested in the new scenes and labors to which they are introduced, and a large number have already grown up to hold respectable, and, insome cases, prominent places, in the communities which they havejoined. Others have pined for the city, until they could no longerresist their yearning for it, and have found their way back to the old, familiar scenes, to resume the former life of suffering and privation. Such is the strange fascination which their lawless and irresponsiblemode of life oftentimes exerts upon the minds of these young Arabs ofthe street. 

When Ben parted from the passenger by the Albany boat, he did notimmediately seek another job. Accustomed as he was to live from "hand tomouth, " he had never troubled himself much about accumulating more thanwould answer his immediate needs. Some boys in the Lodging House madedeposits in the bank of that institution; but frugality was not one ofBen's virtues. As long as he came out even at the end of the day, hefelt very well satisfied. Generally he went penniless to bed; hisbusiness not being one that required him to reserve money for capital tocarry it on. In the case of a newsboy it was different. He must keepenough on hand to buy a supply of papers in the morning, even if he werecompelled to go to bed supperless. 

With fifty cents in his pocket, Ben felt rich. It would buy him a goodsupper, besides paying for his lodging at the Newsboys' Home, and aticket for the Old Bowery besides, --that is, a fifteen-cent ticket, which, according to the arrangement of that day, would admit him to oneof the best-located seats in the house, that is, in the pit, corresponding to what is known as the parquette in other theatres. Thisarrangement has now been changed, so that the street boys findthemselves banished to the upper gallery of their favorite theatre. Butin the days of which I am speaking they made themselves conspicuous inthe front rows, and were by no means bashful in indicating theirapprobation or disapprobation of the different actors who appeared onthe boards before them. 

Ben had not gone far when he fell in with an acquaintance, --BarneyFlynn. 

"Where you goin', Ben?" inquired Barney. 

"Goin' to get some grub, " answered Ben. 

"I'm with you, then. I haven't eat anything since mornin', and I'm awfulhungry. "

"Have you got any stamps?"

"I've got a fifty. "

"So have I. "

"Where are you goin' for supper?"

"To Pat's, I guess. "

"All right; I'll go with you. "

The establishment known as "Pat's" is located in a basement in NassauStreet, as the reader of "Mark, the Match Boy, " will remember. It is, ofcoarse, a cheap restaurant, and is considerably frequented by the streetboys, who here find themselves more welcome guests than at some of themore pretentious eating-houses. 

Ben and Barney entered, and gave their orders for a substantial repast. The style in which the meal was served differed considerably from theservice at Delmonico's; but it is doubtful whether any of the guests atthe famous up-town restaurant enjoyed their meal any better than the twostreet boys, each of whom was blest with a "healthy" appetite. Barneyhad eaten nothing since morning, and Ben's fast had only been broken bythe eating of a two-cent apple, which had not been sufficient to satisfyhis hunger. 

Notwithstanding the liberality of their orders, however, each of theboys found himself, at the end of the meal, the possessor of twenty-fivecents. This was not a very large sum to sleep on, but it was long sinceeither had waked up in the morning with so large a capital to commenceoperations upon. 

"What shall we do?" asked Ben. 

"Suppose we go to the Old Bowery, " suggested Barney. 

"Or Tony Pastor's, " amended Ben. 

"I like the Bowery best. There's a great fight, and a feller gets killedon the stage. It's a stunnin' old play. "

"Then let us go, " said Ben, who, as well as his companion, liked theidea of witnessing a stage fight, which was all the more attractive onaccount of having a fatal termination. 

As the theatre tickets would cost but fifteen cents each, the boys feltjustified in purchasing each a cheap cigar, which they smoked as theywalked leisurely up Chatham Street. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE ROOM UNDER THE WHARF. 

It was at a late hour when the boys left the theatre. The play had beenof a highly sensational character, and had been greeted withenthusiastic applause on the part of the audience, particularly theoccupants of the "pit. " Now, as they emerged from the portals of thetheatre, various characteristic remarks of a commendatory character wereinterchanged. 

"How'd you like it, Ben?" asked Barney. 

"Bully, " said Ben. 

"I liked the fight best, " said Barney. "Jones give it to him just aboutright. "

"Yes, that was good, " said Ben; "but I liked it best where Alphonso saysto Montmorency, 'Caitiff, beware, or, by the heavens above, my trustysword shall drink thy foul heart's blood!'"

Ben gave this with the stage emphasis, so far as he could imitate it. Barney listened admiringly. 

"I say, Ben, " he replied, "you did that bully. You'd make a tip-topactor. "

"Would I?" said Ben, complacently. "I think I'd like to try it if I knewenough. How much money have you got, Barney?"

"Nary a red. I spent the last on peanuts. "

"Just my case. We'll have to find some place to turn in for the night. "

"I know a place, " said Barney, "if they'll let us in. "

"Whereabouts is it?"

"Down to Dover Street wharf. "

"What sort of a place is it? There aint any boxes or old wagons, arethere?"

"No, it's under the wharf, --a bully place. "

"Under the wharf! It's wet, isn't it?"

"No, you just come along. I'll show you. "

Having no other place to suggest, Ben accepted his companion's guidance, and the two made their way by the shortest route to the wharf named. Itis situated not far from Fulton Ferry on the east side. It may be calleda double wharf. As originally built, it was found too low for the classof vessels that used it, and another flooring was built over the first, leaving a considerable space between the two. Its capabilities for aprivate rendezvous occurred to a few boys, who forthwith proceeded toavail themselves of it. It was necessary to carry on their proceedingssecretly; otherwise there was danger of interference from the citypolice. What steps they took to make their quarters comfortable willshortly be described. 

When they reached the wharf, Barney looked about him with an air ofcaution, which Ben observed. 

"What are you scared of?" asked Ben. 

"We mustn't let the 'copp' see us, " said Barney, "Don't make no noise. "

Thus admonished, Ben followed his companion with as little noise aspossible. 

"How do you get down there?" he asked. 

"I'll show you, " said Barney. 

He went to the end of the wharf, and, motioning Ben to look over, showedhim a kind of ladder formed by nailing strips of wood, at regularintervals, from the outer edge down to the water's edge. This was notan arrangement of the boys, but was for the accommodation of river-boatslanding at the wharf. 

"I'll go down first, " whispered Barney. "If the 'copp' comes along, moveoff, so he won't notice nothin'. "

"All right!" said Ben. 

Barney got part way down the ladder, when a head was protruded frombelow, and a voice demanded, "Who's there?"

"It's I, --Barney Flynn. "

"Come along, then. "

"I've got a fellow with me, " continued Barney. 

"Who is it?"

"It's Ben, the baggage-smasher. He wants to stop here to-night. "

"All right; we can trust him. "

"Come along, Ben, " Barney called up the ladder. 

Ben quickly commenced the descent. Barney was waiting for him, and heldout his hand to help him off. Our hero stepped from the ladder upon thelower flooring of the wharf, and looked about him with some curiosity. It was certainly a singular spectacle that met his view. About a dozenboys were congregated in the room under the wharf, and had evidentlytaken some pains to make themselves comfortable. A carpet of good sizewas spread over a portion of the flooring. Upon this three beds werespread, each occupied by three boys. Those who could not be accommodatedin this way laid on the carpet. Some of the boys were already asleep;two were smoking, and conversing in a low voice. Looking about him Benrecognized acquaintances in several of them. [A]

"Is that you, Mike Sweeny?" he asked of a boy stretched out on thenearest bed. 

"Yes, " said Mike; "come and lay alongside of me. "

There was no room on the bed, but Ben found space beside it on thecarpet, and accordingly stretched himself out. 

[A] The description of the room under the wharf, and the circumstancesof its occupation by a company of street boys, are not imaginary. It wasfinally discovered, and broken up by the police, the details beinggiven, at the time, in the daily papers, as some of my New York readerswill remember. Discovery did not take place, however, until it had beenoccupied some time. 

"How do you like it?" asked Mike. 

"Tip-top, " said Ben. "How'd you get the carpet and beds? Did you buy'em?"

"Yes, " said Mike, with a wink; "but the man wasn't in, and we didn't payfor 'em. "

"You stole them, then?"

"We took 'em, " said Mike, who had an objection to the word stole. 

"How did you get them down here without the copp seein' you?"

"We hid 'em away in the daytime, and didn't bring 'em here till night. We came near gettin' caught. "

"How long have you been down here?"

"Most a month. "

"It's a good place. "

"Yes, " said Mike, "and the rent is very reasonable. We don't have to paynothin' for lodgin'. It's cheaper'n the Lodge. "

"That's so, " said Ben. "I'm sleepy, " he said, gaping. "I've been to theOld Bowery to-night. Good-night!"

"Good-night!"

In five minutes Ben was fast asleep. Half an hour later, and not a soundwas heard in the room under the wharf except the occasional deepbreathing of some of the boys. The policeman who trod his beat near bylittle suspected that just at hand, and almost under his feet, was arendezvous of street vagrants and juvenile thieves, for such I am sorryto say was the character of some of the boys who frequented these cheaplodgings. 

In addition to the articles already described there were two or threechairs, which had been contributed by different members of theorganization. 

Ben slept soundly through the night. When he woke up, the gray morninglight entering from the open front towards the sea had already lightedup indistinctly the space between the floors. Two or three of the boyswere already sitting up, yawning and stretching themselves after theirnight's slumber. Among these was Mike Sweeny. 

"Are you awake, Ben?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Ben; "I didn't hardly know where I was at first. "

"It's a bully place, isn't it?"

"That's so. How'd you come across it?"

"Oh, some of us boys found it out. We've been sleepin' here a month. "

"Won't you let a feller in?"

"We might let you in. I'll speak to the boys. "

"I'd like to sleep here, " said Ben. "It's a good deal better thansleepin' out round. Who runs the hotel?"

"Well, I'm one of 'em. "

"You might call it Sweeny's Hotel, " suggested Ben, laughing. 

"I aint the boss; Jim Bagley's got most to do with it. "

"Which is he?"

"That's he, over on the next bed. "

"What does he do?"

"He's a travellin' match merchant. "

"That sounds big. "

"Jim's smart, --he is. He makes more money'n any of us. "

"Where does he travel?"

"Once he went to Californy in the steamer. He got a steerage ticket forseventy-five dollars; but he made more'n that blackin' boots for theother passengers afore they got there. He stayed there three months, andthen came home. "

"Does he travel now?"

"Yes, he buys a lot of matches, and goes up the river or down intoJersey, and is gone a week. A little while ago he went to Buffalo. "

"Oh, yes; I know where that is. "

"Blest if I do. "

"It's in the western part of York State, just across from Canada. "

"Who told you?"

"I learned it in school. "

"I didn't know you was a scholar, Ben. "

"I aint now. I've forgot most all I ever knew. I haven't been to schoolsince I was ten years old. "

"Where was that?"

"In the country. "

"Well, I never went to school more'n a few weeks. I can read a little, but not much. "

"It costs a good deal to go to Buffalo. How did Jim make it while he wasgone?"

"Oh, he came home with ten dollars in his pocket besides payin' hisexpenses. "

"What does Jim do with all his money?"

"He's got a mother and sister up in Bleecker Street, or somewheres roundthere. He pays his mother five dollars a week, besides takin' care ofhimself. "

"Why don't he live with his mother?"

"He'd rather be round with the boys. "

I may remark here that Jim Bagley is a real character, and all that hasbeen said about him is derived from information given by himself, in aconversation held with him at the Newsboys' Lodging House. He figureshere, however, under an assumed name, partly because the record in whichhis real name is preserved has been mislaid. The impression made uponthe mind of the writer was, that Jim had unusual business ability andself-reliance, and might possibly develop into a successful andprosperous man of business. 

Jim by this time was awake. 

"Jim Bagley, " said Mike, "here's a feller would like to put up at ourhotel. "

"Who is he?" asked Jim. 

The travelling match merchant, as Mike had described him, was a boy offifteen, rather small of his age, with a keen black eye, and a quick, decided, business-like way. 

"It's this feller, --he's a baggage-smasher, " explained Mike. 

"All right, " said Jim; "he can come if he'll pay his share. "

"How much is it?" asked Ben. 

Mike explained that it was expected of each guest to bring somethingthat would add to the comforts of the rendezvous. Two boys hadcontributed the carpet, for which probably they had paid nothing; Jimhad supplied a bed, for which he did pay, as "taking things withoutleave" was not in his line. Three boys had each contributed a chair. Thus all the articles which had been accumulated were individualcontributions. Ben promised to pay his admission fee in the same way, but expressed a doubt whether he might not have to wait a few days, inorder to save money enough to make a purchase. He never stole himself, though his association with street boys, whose principles are notalways very strict on this point, had accustomed him to regard theft asa venial fault, provided it was not found out. For his own part, however, he did not care to run the risk of detection. Though he had cuthimself off from his old home, he still felt that he should not like tohave the report reach home that he had been convicted of dishonesty. 

At an early hour the boys shook off their slumbers, and one by one leftthe wharf to enter upon their daily work. The newsboys were the first togo, as they must be on hand at the newspaper offices early to get theirsupply of papers, and fold them in readiness for early customers. Theboot-blacks soon followed, as most of them were under the necessity ofearning their breakfast before they ate it. Ben also got up early, andmade his way to the pier of the Stonington line of steamers from Boston. These usually arrived at an early hour, and there was a good chance of ajob in Ben's line when the passengers landed. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

BEN MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 

Ben had about half an hour to wait for the arrival of the steamer. Amongthe passengers who crossed the plank from the steamer to the pier was agentleman of middle age, and a boy about a year younger than Ben. Theboy had a carpet-bag in his hand; the father, for such appeared to bethe relationship, carried a heavy valise, besides a small bundle. 

"Want your baggage carried?" asked Ben, varying his usual address. 

The gentleman hesitated a moment. 

"You'd better let him take it, father, " said the boy. 

"Very well, you may take this;" and the valise was passed over to Ben. 

"Give me the bag too, " said Ben, addressing the boy. 

"No, I'll take that. You'll have all you want to do, in carrying thevalise. "

They crossed the street, and here the gentleman stood still, evidentlyundecided about something. 

"What are you thinking about, father?"

"I was thinking, " the gentleman said, after a slight pause, "what I hadbetter do. "

"About what?"

"I have two or three errands in the lower part of the city, which, as mytime is limited, I should like to attend to at once. "

"You had better do it, then. "

"What I was thinking was, that it would not be worth while for you to goround with me, carrying the baggage. "

"Couldn't I go right up to Cousin Mary's?" asked his son. 

"I am afraid you might lose the way. "

"This boy will go with me. I suppose he knows the way all about thecity. Don't you?" he asked, turning to Ben. 

"Where do you want to go?" asked Ben. 

"To No. --Madison Avenue. "

"Yes, I can show you the way there well enough, but it's a good wayoff. "

"You can both take the cars or stage when you get up to the AstorHouse. "

"How will that do?" asked Charles, for this was his name. 

"I think that will be the best plan. This boy can go with you, and youcan settle with him for his services. Have you got money enough?"

"Yes, plenty. "

"I will leave you here, then. "

Left to themselves, it was natural that the two boys should grow social. So far as clothing went, there was certainly a wide difference betweenthem. Ben was attired as described in the first chapter. Charles, on theother hand, wore a short sack of dark cloth, a white vest, and graypants. A gold chain, depending from his watch-pocket, showed that he wasthe possessor of a watch. His whole appearance was marked by neatnessand good taste. But, leaving out this difference, a keen observer mightdetect a considerable resemblance in the features of the two boys. Bothhad dark hair, black eyes, and the contour of the face was the same. Iregret to add, however, that Ben's face was not so clean as it ought tohave been. Among the articles contributed by the boys who lived in theroom under the wharf, a washstand had not been considered necessary, andit had been long since Ben had regarded washing the face and hands asthe first preparation for the labors of the day. 

Charles Marston looked at his companion with some interest andcuriosity. He had never lived in New York, and there was a freshness andnovelty about life in the metropolis that was attractive to him. 

"Is this your business?" he asked. 

"What, --smashin' baggage?" inquired Ben. 

"Is that what you call it?"

"Yes. "

"Well, is that what you do for a living?"

"Yes, " said Ben. "It's my profession, when I aint attendin' to my dutiesas a member of the Common Council. "

"So you're a member of the city government?" asked Charles, amused. 

"Yes. "

"Do you have much to do that way?"

"I'm one of the Committee on Wharves, " said Ben. "It's my business tosee that they're right side up with care; likewise that nobody runs awaywith them in the night. "

"How do you get paid?"

"Well, I earn my lodgin' that way just now, " said Ben. 

"Have you always been in this business?"

"No. Sometimes I've sold papers. "

"How did you like that?"

"I like baggage-smashin' best, when I get enough to do. You don't livein the city, do you?"

"No, I live just out of Boston, --a few miles. "

"Ever been in New York before?"

"Once. That was four years ago. I passed through on the way fromPennsylvania, where I used to live. "

"Pennsylvania, " repeated Ben, beginning to be interested. "Whereaboutsdid you live there, --in Philadelphy?"

"No, a little way from there, in a small town named Cedarville. "

Ben started, and he nearly let fall the valise from his hand. 

"What's the matter?" asked Charles. 

"I came near fallin', " said Ben, a little confused. "What's your name?"he asked, rather abruptly. 

"Charles Marston. "

Ben scanned intently the face of his companion. He had good reason to doso, for though Charles little suspected that there was any relationshipbetween himself and the ragged and dirty boy who carried his valise, thetwo were own cousins. They had been school-mates in Cedarville, andpassed many a merry hour together in boyish sport. In fact Charles hadbeen Ben's favorite playmate, as well as cousin, and many a time, whenhe lay awake in such chance lodgings as the street provided, he hadthought of his cousin, and wished that he might meet him again. Now theyhad met most strangely; no longer on terms of equality, but one with allthe outward appearance of a young gentleman, the other, a ragged andignorant street boy. Ben's heart throbbed painfully when he saw that hiscousin regarded him as a stranger, and for the first time in a longwhile he felt ashamed of his position. He would not for the world haverevealed himself to Charles in his present situation; yet he felt astrong desire to learn whether he was still remembered. How to effectthis without betraying his identity he hardly knew; at length he thoughtof a way that might lead to it. 

"My name's shorter'n yours, " he said. 

"What is it?" asked Charles. 

"It's Ben. "

"That stands for Benjamin; so yours is the longest after all. "

"That's so, I never thought of that. Everybody calls me Ben. "

"What's your other name?"

Ben hesitated. If he said "Brandon" he would be discovered, and hispride stood in the way of that. Finally he determined to give a falsename; so he answered after a slight pause, which Charles did not notice, "My other name is Hooper, --Ben Hooper. Didn't you ever know anybody ofmy name?"

"What, --Ben Hooper?"

"No, Ben. "

"Yes. I had a cousin named Ben. "

"Is he as old as you?" asked Ben, striving to speak carelessly. 

"He is older if he is living; but I don't think he is living. "

"Why, don't you know?"

"He ran away from home when he was ten years old, and we have never seenhim since. "

"Didn't he write where he had gone?"

"He wrote one letter to his mother, but he didn't say where he was. Thatis the last any of us heard from him. "

"What sort of a chap was he?" inquired Ben. "He was a bad un, wasn'the?"

"No, Ben wasn't a bad boy. He had a quick temper though; but whenever hewas angry he soon got over it. "

"What made him run away from home?"

"His father punished him for something he didn't do. He found it outafterwards; but he is a stern man, and he never says anything about him. But I guess he feels bad sometimes. Father says he has grown old veryfast since my cousin ran away. "

"Is his mother living, --your aunt?" Ben inquired, drawn on by an impulsehe could not resist. 

"Yes, but she is always sad; she has never stopped mourning for Ben. "

"Did you like your cousin?" Ben asked, looking wistfully in the face ofhis companion. 

"Yes, he was my favorite cousin. Poor Ben and I were always together. Iwish I knew whether he were alive or not. "

"Perhaps you will see him again some time. "

"I don't know. I used to think so; but I have about given up hopes ofit. It is six years now since he ran away. "

"Maybe he's turned bad, " said Ben. "S'posin' he was a raggedbaggage-smasher like me, you wouldn't care about seein' him, would you?"

"Yes, I would, " said Charles, warmly. "I'd be glad to see Ben again, nomatter how he looked, or how poor he might be. "

Ben looked at his cousin with a glance of wistful affection. Street boyas he was, old memories had been awakened, and his heart had beentouched by the sight of the cousin whom he had most loved when a youngboy. 

"And I might be like him, " thought Ben, looking askance at the rags inwhich he was dressed, "instead of a walkin' rag-bag. I wish I was;" andhe suppressed a sigh. 

It has been said that street boys are not accessible to the softeremotions; but Ben did long to throw his arm round his cousin's neck inthe old, affectionate way of six years since. It touched him to thinkthat Charlie held him in affectionate remembrance. But his thoughts werediverted by noticing that they had reached the Astor House. 

"I guess we'd better cross the street, and take the Fourth Avenue cars, "he said. "There's one over there. "

"All right!" said Charles. "I suppose you know best. "

There was a car just starting; they succeeded in getting aboard, andwere speedily on their up town. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

BEN FORMS A RESOLUTION. 

"Does this car go up Madison Avenue?" asked Charles, after they hadtaken their seats. 

"No, " said Ben, "it goes up Fourth Avenue; but that's only one blockaway from Madison. We'll get out at Thirtieth Street. "

"I'm glad you're with me; I might have a hard time finding the place ifI were alone. "

"Are you going to stay in the city long?" asked Ben. 

"Yes, I am going to school here. Father is going to move here soon. Until he comes I shall stay with my Cousin Mary. "

Ben felt quite sure that this must be his older sister, but did not liketo ask. 

"Is she married?"

"Yes, it is the sister of my Cousin Ben. About two years ago she marrieda New York gentleman. He is a broker, and has an office in Wall Street. I suppose he's rich. "

"What's his name?" asked Ben. "Maybe I've seen his office. "

"It is Abercrombie, --James Abercrombie. Did you ever hear that name?"

"No, " answered Ben, "I can't say as I have. He aint the broker that doesmy business. "

"Have you much business for a broker?" asked Charles, laughing. 

"I do a smashin' business in Erie and New York Central, " answered Ben. 

"You are in the same business as the railroads, " said Charles. 

"How is that?"

"You are both baggage-smashers. "

"That's so; only I don't charge so much for smashin' baggage as theydo. "

They were on Centre Street now, and a stone building with massive stonecolumns came in view on the west side of the street. 

"What building is that?" asked Charles. 

"That's a hotel, where they lodge people free gratis. "

Charles looked at his companion for information. 

"It's the Tombs, " said Ben. "It aint so popular, though, as the hotelswhere they charge higher. "

"No, I suppose not. It looks gloomy enough. "

"It aint very cheerful, " said Ben. "I never put up there, but that'swhat people say that have enjoyed that privilege. "

"Where is the Bowery?"

"We'll soon be in it. We turn off Centre Street a little farther up. "

Charles was interested in all that he saw. The broad avenue which isknown as the Bowery, with its long line of shops on either side, and theliberal display of goods on the sidewalk, attracted his attention, andhe had numerous questions to ask, most of which Ben was able to answer. He had not knocked about the streets of New York six years for nothing. His business had carried him to all parts of the city, and he hadacquired a large amount of local information, a part of which heretailed now to his cousin as they rode side by side in the horse-cars. 

At length they reached Thirtieth Street, and here they got out. At thedistance of one block they found Madison Avenue. Examining the numbers, they readily found the house of which they were in search. It was ahandsome four-story house, with a brown-stone front. 

"This must be Mr. Abercrombie's house, " said Charles. "I didn't thinkCousin Mary lived in such a nice place. "

Ben surveyed the house with mingled emotions. He could not helpcontrasting his own forlorn, neglected condition with the position ofhis sister. She lived in an elegant home, enjoying, no doubt, all theadvantages which money could procure; while he, her only brother, walkedabout the streets in rags, sleeping in any out-of-the-way corner. But hecould blame no one for it. It had been his own choice, and until thismorning he had been well enough contented with it. But all at once aglimpse had been given him of what might have been his lot had he beenless influenced by pride and waywardness, and by the light of this newprospect he saw how little hope there was of achieving any decentposition in society if he remained in his present occupation. But whatcould he do? Should he declare himself at once to his cousin, and hissister? Pride would not permit him to do it. He was not willing to letthem see him in his ragged and dirty state. He determined to work andsave up money, until he could purchase a suit as handsome as that whichhis cousin wore. Then he would not be ashamed to present himself, so faras his outward appearance went. He knew very well that he was ignorant;but he must trust to the future to remedy that deficiency. It would be awork of time, as he well knew. Meanwhile he had his cousin's assurancethat he would be glad to meet him again, and renew the old, affectionateintimacy which formerly existed between them. 

While these thoughts were passing through Ben's mind, as I have said, they reached the house. 

"Have you had any breakfast?" asked Charles as they ascended the steps. 

"Not yet, " answered Ben. "It isn't fashionable to take breakfast early. "

"Then you must come in. My cousin will give you some breakfast. "

Ben hesitated; but finally decided to accept the invitation. He had tworeasons for this. Partly because it would give him an opportunity to seehis sister; and, secondly, because it would save him the expense ofbuying his breakfast elsewhere, and that was a consideration, now thathe had a special object for saving money. 

"Is Mrs. Abercrombie at home?" asked Charles of the servant who answeredhis summons. 

"Yes, sir; who shall I say is here?"

"Her cousin, Charles Montrose. "

"Will you walk into the parlor?" said the servant, opening a door at theside of the hall. She looked doubtfully at Ben, who had also entered thehouse. 

"Sit down here, Ben, " said Charles, indicating a chair on one side ofthe hat-stand. "I'll stop here till Mrs. Abercrombie comes down, " hesaid. 

Soon a light step was heard on the stairs, and Mrs. Abercrombiedescended the staircase. She is the same that we last saw in the modesthouse in the Pennsylvania village; but the lapse of time has softenedher manners, and the influence of a husband and a home have improvedher. But otherwise she has not greatly changed in her looks. 

Ben, who examined her face eagerly, recognized her at once. Yes, it washis sister Mary that stood before him. He would have known her anywhere. But there was a special mark by which he remembered her. There was adent in her cheek just below the temple, the existence of which he couldaccount for. In a fit of boyish passion, occasioned by her teasing him, he had flung a stick of wood at her head, and this had led to the mark. 

"Where did you come from, Charles?" she said, giving her hand cordiallyto her young cousin. 

"From Boston, Cousin Mary. "

"Have you just arrived, and where is your father? You did not come onalone, did you?"

"No, father is with me, or rather he came on with me, but he had someerrands down town, and stopped to attend to them. He will be here soon. "

"How did you find the way alone?"

"I was not alone. There is my guide. By the way, I told him to stay, andyou would give him some breakfast. "

"Certainly, he can go down in the basement, and the servants will givehim something. "

Mrs. Abercrombie looked at Ben as she spoke; but on her part there wasno sign of recognition. This was not strange. A boy changes greatlybetween ten and sixteen years of age, and when to this natural change isadded the great change in Ben's dress, it will not be wondered at thathis sister saw in him only an ordinary street boy. 

Ben was relieved to find that he was not known. He had felt afraid thatsomething in his looks might remind his sister of her lost brother; butthe indifferent look which she turned upon him proved that he had noground for this fear. 

"You have not breakfasted, I suppose, Charles. " said his cousin. 

"You wouldn't think so, if you knew what an appetite I have, " heanswered, laughing. 

"We will do our best to spoil it, " said Mrs. Abercrombie. 

She rang the bell, and ordered breakfast to be served. 

"We are a little late this morning, " she said. 

"Mr. Abercrombie is in Philadelphia on business; so you won't see himtill to-morrow. "

When the servant appeared, Mrs. Abercrombie directed her to take Bendownstairs, and give him something to eat. 

"Don't go away till I see you, Ben, " said Charles, lingering a little. 

"All right, " said Ben. 

He followed the servant down the stairs leading to the basement. On theway, he had a glimpse through the half-open door of the breakfast-table, at which his sister and his cousin were shortly to sit down. 

"Some time, perhaps, I shall be invited in there, " he said to himself. 

But at present he had no such wish. He knew that in his ragged garb hewould be out of place in the handsome breakfast-room, and he preferredto wait until his appearance was improved. He had no fault to find withthe servants, who brought him a bountiful supply of beefsteak and breadand butter, and a cup of excellent coffee. Ben had been up long enoughto have quite an appetite. Besides, the quality of the breakfast wasconsiderably superior to those which he was accustomed to take in thecheap restaurants which he frequented, and he did full justice to thefood that was spread before him. 

When he had satisfied his appetite, he had a few minutes to wait beforeCharles came down to speak to him. 

"Well, Ben, I hope you had a good breakfast, " he said. 

"Tip-top, " answered Ben. 

"And I hope also that you had an appetite equal to mine. "

"My appetite don't often give out, " said Ben; "but it aint so good nowas it was when I came in. "

"Now we have a little business to attend to. How much shall I pay youfor smashing my baggage?" Charles asked, with a laugh. 

"Whatever you like. "

"Well, here's fifty cents for your services, and six cents for yourcar-fare back. "

"Thank you, " said Ben. 

"Besides this, Mrs. Abercrombie has a note, which she wants carried downtown to her husband's office in Wall Street. She will give you fiftycents more, if you will agree to deliver it there at once, as it is ofimportance. "

"All right, " said Ben. "I'll do it. "

"Here is the note. I suppose you had better start with it at once. Good-morning. "

"Good-morning, " said Ben, as he held his cousin's proffered hand amoment in his own. "Maybe I'll see you again some time. "

"I hope so, " said Charles, kindly. 

A minute later Ben was on his way to take a Fourth Avenue car downtown. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

LUCK AND ILL LUCK. 

"That will do very well for a beginning, " thought Ben, as he surveyed, with satisfaction, the two half dollars which he had received for hismorning's services. He determined to save one of them towards the fundwhich he hoped to accumulate for the object which he had in view. Howmuch he would need he could not decide; but thought that it would besafe to set the amount at fifty dollars. This would doubtless require aconsiderable time to obtain. He could not expect to be so fortunateevery day as he had been this morning. Some days, no doubt, he wouldbarely earn enough to pay expenses. Still he had made a beginning, andthis was something gained. It was still more encouraging that he haddetermined to save money, and had an inducement to do so. 

As Ben rode down town in the horse-cars, he thought of the six yearswhich he had spent as a New York street boy; and he could not helpfeeling that the time had been wasted, so far as any progress orimprovement was concerned. Of books he knew less than when he first cameto the city. He knew more of life, indeed, but not the best side oflife. He had formed some bad habits, from which he would probably havebeen saved if he had remained at home. Ben realized all at once how muchhe had lost by his hasty action in leaving home. He regarded his streetlife with different eyes, and felt ready to give it up, as soon as hecould present himself to his parents without too great a sacrifice ofhis pride. 

At the end of half an hour, Ben found himself at the termination of thecar route, opposite the lower end of the City Hall Park. 

As the letter which he had to deliver was to be carried to Wall Street, he kept on down Broadway till he reached Trinity Church, and then turnedinto the street opposite. He quickly found the number indicated, andentered Mr. Abercrombie's office. It was a handsome office on the lowerfloor. Two or three clerks were at work at their desks. 

"So this is my brother-in-law's office, " thought Ben. "It's ratherbetter than mine. "

"Well, young man, what can I do for you to-day?" inquired a clerk, in atone which indicated that he thought Ben had got into the wrong shop. 

"You can tell me whether your name is Sampson, " answered Ben, coolly. 

"No, it isn't. "

"That's what I thought. "

"Suppose I am not; what then?"

"Then the letter I've got isn't for you, that's all. "

"So you've got a letter, have you?"

"That's what I said. "

"It seems to me you're mighty independent, " sneered the clerk, who feltaggrieved that Ben did not show him the respect which he conceived to behis due. 

"Thank you for the compliment, " said Ben, bowing. 

"You can hand me the letter. "

"I thought your name wasn't Sampson. "

"I'll hand it to Mr. Sampson. He's gone out a moment. He'll be indirectly. "

"Much obliged, " said Ben; "but I'd rather hand it to Mr. Sampson myself. Business aint particularly pressin' this mornin', so, if you'll hand methe mornin' paper, I'll read till he comes. "

"Well, you've got cheek, " ejaculated the clerk. 

"I've got two of 'em if I counted right when I got up, " said Ben. 

Here there was a laugh from the other two clerks. 

"He's too smart for you, Granby, " said one. 

"He's impudent enough, " muttered the first, as he withdrew discomfitedto his desk. 

The enemy having retreated, Ben sat down in an arm-chair, and, pickingup a paper, began to read. 

He had not long to wait. Five minutes had scarcely passed when a man ofmiddle age entered the office. His manner showed that he belonged there. 

"If you're Mr. Sampson, " said Ben, approaching him, "here is a letterfor you. "

"That is my name, " said the gentleman, opening the note at once. 

"You come from Mrs. Abercrombie, " he said, glancing at Ben, as hefinished reading it. 

"Yes, sir, " said Ben. 

"How did she happen to select you as her messenger?"

"I went up there this morning to carry a valise. "

"I have a great mind to send you back to her with an answer; but Ihesitate on one account. "

"What is that?" asked Ben. 

"I don't know whether you can be trusted. "

"Nor I, " said Ben; "but I'm willin' to run the risk. "

"No doubt, " said Mr. Sampson, smiling; "but it seems to me that I shouldrun a greater risk than you. "

"I don't know about that, " answered Ben. "If it's money, and I keep it, you can send the copps after me, and I'll be sent to the Island. Thatwould be worse than losing money. "

"That's true; but some of you boys don't mind that. However, I aminclined to trust you. Mrs. Abercrombie asks for a sum of money, andwishes me to send it up by one of the clerks. That I cannot very welldo, as we are particularly busy this morning. I will put the money in anenvelope, and give it to you to deliver. I will tell you beforehand thatit is fifty dollars. "

"Very good, " said Ben; "I'll give it to her. "

"Wait a moment. "

Mr. Sampson went behind the desk, and reappeared almost directly. 

"Mrs. Abercrombie will give you a line to me, stating that she hasreceived the money. When you return with this, I will pay you for yourtrouble. "

"All right, " said Ben. 

As he left the office the young clerk first mentioned said, "I amafraid, Mr. Sampson, Mrs. Abercrombie will never see that money. "

"Why not?"

"The boy will keep it. "

"What makes you think so?"

"He's one of the most impudent young rascals I ever saw. "

"I didn't form that opinion. He was respectful enough to me. "

"He wasn't to me. "

Mr. Sampson smiled a little. He had observed young Granby's assumptionof importance, and partly guessed how matters stood. 

"It's too late to recall him, " he said. "I must run the risk. My ownopinion is that he will prove faithful. "

Ben had accepted the commission gladly, not alone because he would getextra pay for the additional errand, but because he saw that there wassome hesitation in the mind of Mr. Sampson about trusting him, and hemeant to show himself worthy of confidence. There were fifty dollars inthe envelope. He had never before been trusted with that amount ofmoney, and now it was rather because no other messenger could beconveniently sent that he found himself so trusted. Not a thought ofappropriating the money came to Ben. True, it occurred to him that thiswas precisely the sum which he needed to fit him out respectably. Butthere would be greater cause for shame if he appeared well dressed onstolen money, than if he should present himself in rags to his sister. However, it is only just to Ben to say that had the party to whom hewas sent been different, he would have discharged his commissionhonorably. Not that he was a model boy, but his pride, which was in somerespects a fault with him, here served him in good stead, as it made himashamed to do a dishonest act. 

Ben rightly judged that the money would be needed as soon as possible, and, as the distance was great, he resolved to ride, trusting to Mr. Sampson's liberality to pay him for the expense which he would thusincur in addition to the compensation allowed for his services. 

He once more made his way to the station of the Fourth Avenue cars, andjumped aboard one just ready to start. 

The car gradually filled, and they commenced their progress up town. 

Ben took a seat in the corner next to the door. Next to him was a manwith black hair and black whiskers. He wore a tall felt hat with a bellcrown, and a long cloak. Ben took no particular notice of him, being toomuch in the habit of seeing strange faces to observe them minutely. Theletter he put in the side pocket of his coat, on the side nearest thestranger. He took it out once to look at it. It was addressed to Mrs. Abercrombie, at her residence, and in one corner Mr. Sampson had written"Money enclosed. "

Now it chanced, though Ben did not suspect it, that the man at his sidewas a member of the swell mob, and his main business was pickingpockets. He observed the two words, already quoted, on the envelope whenBen took it in his hand, and he made up his mind to get possession ofit. This was comparatively easy, for Ben's pocket was on the sidetowards him. Our hero was rather careless, it must be owned, but ithappened that the inside pocket of his coat had been torn away, whichleft him no other receptacle for the letter. Besides, Ben had never beenin a situation to have much fear of pick pockets, and under ordinarycircumstances he would hardly have been selected as worth plundering. But the discovery that the letter contained money altered the case. 

While Ben was looking out from the opposite window across the street, the stranger dexterously inserted his hand in his pocket, and withdrewthe letter. They were at that moment just opposite the Tombs. 

Having gained possession of the letter, of course it was his interest toget out of the car as soon as possible, since Ben was liable at anymoment to discover his loss. 

He touched the conductor, who was just returning from the other end ofthe car, after collecting the fares. 

"I'll get out here, " he said. 

The conductor accordingly pulled the strap, and the car stopped. 

The stranger gathered his cloak about him, and, stepping out on theplatform, jumped from the car. Just at that moment Ben put his hand intohis pocket, and instantly discovered the loss of the letter. Heimmediately connected it with the departure of his fellow-passenger, and, with a hasty ejaculation, sprang from the car, and started inpursuit of him. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

WHICH IS THE GUILTY PARTY?

It was an exciting moment for Ben. He felt that his character forhonesty was at stake. In case the pickpocket succeeded in getting offwith the letter and money, Mr. Sampson would no doubt come to theconclusion that he had appropriated the fifty dollars to his own use, while his story of the robbery would be regarded as an impudentfabrication. He might even be arrested, and sentenced to the Island fortheft. If this should happen, though he were innocent, Ben felt that heshould not be willing to make himself known to his sister or hisparents. But there was a chance of getting back the money, and heresolved to do his best. 

The pickpocket turned down a side street, his object being to get out ofthe range of observation as soon as possible. But one thing he did notanticipate, and this was Ben's immediate discovery of his loss. On thissubject he was soon enlightened. He saw Ben jump from the horse-car, andhis first impulse was to run. He made a quick movement in advance, andthen paused. It occurred to him that he occupied a position of advantagewith regard to his accuser, being respectably dressed, while Ben wasmerely a ragged street boy, whose word probably would not inspire muchconfidence. This vantage ground he would give up by having recourse toflight, as this would be a virtual acknowledgment of guilt. He resolvedinstantaneously to assume an attitude of conscious integrity, and frowndown upon Ben from the heights of assumed respectability. There was onedanger, however, that he was known to some of the police force in histrue character. But he must take the risk of recognition. 

On landing in the middle of the street, Ben lost no time; but, runningup to the pickpocket, caught him by the arm. 

"What do you want, boy?" he demanded, in a tone of indifference. 

"I want my money, " said Ben. 

"I don't understand you, " said the pickpocket loftily. 

"Look here, mister, " said Ben, impatiently; "you know well enough what Imean. You took a letter with money in it out of my pocket. Just hand itback, and I won't say anything about it. "

"You're an impudent young rascal, " returned the "gentleman, " affectingto be outraged by such a charge. "Do you dare to accuse a gentleman likeme of robbing a ragmuffin like you?"

"Yes, I do, " said Ben, boldly. 

"Then you're either crazy or impudent, I don't know which. "

"Call me what you please; but give me back my money. "

"I don't believe you ever had five dollars in your possession. How muchdo you mean to say there was in this letter?"

"Fifty dollars, " answered Ben. 

The pickpocket had an object in asking this question. He wanted to learnwhether the sum of money was sufficient to make it worth his while tokeep it. Had it been three or four dollars, he might have given it up, to avoid risk and trouble. But on finding that it was fifty dollars hedetermined to hold on to it at all hazards. 

"Clear out, boy, " he said, fiercely. "I shan't stand any of yourimpudence. "

"Give me my money, then. "

"If you don't stop that, I'll knock you down, " repeated the pickpocket, shaking off Ben's grasp, and moving forward rapidly. 

If he expected to frighten our hero away thus easily, he was very muchmistaken. Ben had too much at stake to give up the attempt to recoverthe letter. He ran forward, and, seizing the man by the arm, hereiterated, in a tone of firm determination, "Give me my money, or I'llcall a copp. "

"Take that, you young villain!" exclaimed the badgered thief, bringinghis fist in contact with Ben's face in such a manner as to cause theblood to flow. 

In a physical contest it was clear that Ben would get the worst of it. He was but a boy of sixteen, strong, indeed, of his age; but still whatcould he expect to accomplish against a tall man of mature age? He sawthat he needed help, and he called out at the top of his lungs, "Help!Police!"

His antagonist was adroit, and a life spent in eluding the law had madehim quick-witted. He turned the tables upon Ben by turning round, grasping him firmly by the arm, and repeating in a voice louder thanBen's, "Help! Police!"

Contrary to the usual custom in such cases, a policeman happened to benear, and hurried to the spot where he was apparently wanted. 

"What's the row?" he asked. 

Before Ben had time to prefer his charge, the pickpocket said glibly:--

"Policeman, I give this boy in charge. "

"What's he been doing?"

"I caught him with his hand in my pocket, " said the man. "He's athieving young vagabond. "

"That's a lie!" exclaimed Ben, rather startled at the unexpected turnwhich affairs had taken. "He's a pickpocket. "

The real culprit shrugged his shoulders. "You aint quite smart enough, boy, " he said. 

"Has he taken anything of yours?" asked the policeman, who supposed Bento be what he was represented. 

"No, " said the pickpocket; "but he came near taking a money letter whichI have in my pocket. "

Here, with astonishing effrontery, he displayed the letter which he hadstolen from Ben. 

"That's _my_ letter, " said Ben. "He took it from my pocket. "

"A likely story, " smiled the pickpocket, in serene superiority. "Theletter is for Mrs. Abercrombie, a friend of mine, and contains fiftydollars. I incautiously wrote upon the envelope 'Money enclosed, ' whichattracted the attention of this young vagabond, as I held it in my hand. On replacing it in my pocket, he tried to get possession of it. "

"That's a lie from beginning to end, " exclaimed Ben, impetuously. "He'stryin' to make me out a thief, when he's one himself. "

"Well, what is your story?" asked the policeman, who, however, hadalready decided in his own mind that Ben was the guilty party. 

"I was ridin' in the Fourth Avenue cars along side of this man, " saidBen, "when he put his hand in my pocket, and took out the letter thathe's just showed you. I jumped out after him, and asked him to give itback, when he fetched me a lick in the face. "

"Do you mean to say that a ragamuffin like you had fifty dollars?"demanded the thief. 

"No, " said Ben, "the money wasn't mine. I was carryin' it up to Mrs. Abercrombie, who lives on Madison Avenue. "

"It's a likely story that a ragamuffin like you would be trusted with somuch money. "

"If you don't believe it, " said Ben, "go to Mr. Abercrombie's office inWall Street. Mr. Sampson gave it to me only a few minutes ago. If hesays he didn't, just carry me to the station-house as quick as you wantto. "

This confident assertion of Ben's put matters in rather a differentlight. It seemed straightforward, and the reference might easily provewhich was the real culprit. The pickpocket saw that the officer wavered, and rejoined hastily, "You must expect the officer's a fool to believeyour ridiculous story. "

"It's not so ridiculous, " answered the policeman, scrutinizing thespeaker with sudden suspicion. "I am not sure but the boy is right. "

"I'm willing to let the matter drop, " said the pickpocket, magnanimously; "as he didn't succeed in getting my money, I will notprosecute. You may let him go, Mr. Officer. "

"Not so fast, " said the policeman, his suspicions of the other partygetting stronger and more clearly defined. "I haven't any authority todo as you say. "

"Very well, take him along then. I suppose the law must take itscourse. "

"Yes, it must. "

"Very well, boy, I'm sorry you've got into such a scrape; but it's yourown fault. Good morning, officer. "

"You're in too much of a hurry, " said the policeman, coolly; "you mustgo along with me too. "

"Really, " said the thief, nervously, "I hope you'll excuse me. I've gotan important engagement this morning, and--I--in fact it will beexcessively inconvenient. "

"I'm sorry to put you to inconvenience, but it can't be helped. "

"Really, Mr. Officer--"

"It's no use. I shall need you. Oblige me by handing me that letter. "

"Here it is, " said the thief, unwillingly surrendering it. "Really, it'sexcessively provoking. I'd rather lose the money than break myengagement. I'll promise to be on hand at the trial, whenever it comesoff; if you keep the money it will be a guaranty of my appearance. "

"I don't know about that, " answered the officer "As to being present atthe trial, I mean that you shall be. "

"Of course, I promised that. "

"There's one little matter you seem to forget, " said the officer; "yourappearance may be quite as necessary as the boy's. It may be your trialand not his. "

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded the pickpocket, haughtily. 

"Not by no manner of means. I aint the judge, you know. If your story isall right, it'll appear so. "

"Of course; but I shall have to break my engagement. "

"Well, that can't be helped as I see. Come along, if _you_ please. "

He tucked one arm in that of the man, and the other in Ben's, and movedtowards the station-house. Of the two Ben seemed to be much the moreunconcerned. He was confident that his innocence would be proclaimed, while the other was equally convinced that trouble awaited him. 

"Well, boy, how do you like going to the station-house?" asked thepoliceman. 

"I don't mind as long as he goes with me, " answered Ben. "What I wasmost afraid of was that I'd lose the money, and then Mr. Sampson wouldhave taken me for a thief. "

Meanwhile the other party was rapidly getting more and more nervous. Hefelt that he was marching to his fate, and that the only way of escapewas by flight, and that immediate; for they were very near thestation-house. Just as Ben pronounced the last words, the thief gatheredall his strength, and broke from the grasp of the officer, whose holdwas momentarily relaxed. Once free he showed an astonishing rapidity. 

The officer hesitated for an instant, for he had another prisoner toguard. 

"Go after him, " exclaimed Ben, eagerly. "Don't let him escape. I'll staywhere I am. "

The conviction that the escaped party was the real thief determined thepoliceman to follow Ben's advice. He let him go, and started in rapidpursuit of the fugitive. 

Ben sat down on a doorstep, and awaited anxiously the result of thechase. 

CHAPTER XX. 

HOW ALL CAME RIGHT IN THE MORNING. 

It is quite possible that the pickpocket would have made good hisescape, if he had not, unluckily for himself, run into anotherpoliceman. 

"Beg your pardon, " he said, hurriedly. 

"Stop a minute, " said the officer, detaining him by the arm, for hisappearance and haste inspired suspicion. He was bare-headed, for his hathad fallen off, and he had not deemed it prudent to stop long enough topick it up. 

"I'm in a great hurry, " panted the thief. "My youngest child is in afit, and I am running for a physician. "

This explanation seemed plausible, and the policeman, who was himselfthe father of a family, was on the point of releasing him, when thefirst officer came up. 

"Hold on to him, " he said; "he's just broken away from me. "

"That's it, is it?" said the second policeman. "He told me he was aftera doctor for his youngest child. "

"I think he'll need a doctor himself, " said the first, "if he triesanother of his games. You didn't stop to say good-by, my man. "

"I told you I had an important engagement, " said the pickpocket, sulkily, --"one that I cared more about than the money. Where's the boy?"

"I had to leave him to go after you. "

"That's a pretty way to manage; you let the thief go in order to chasehis victim. "

"You're an able-bodied victim, " said the policeman, laughing. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm going back for the boy. He said he'd wait till I returned. "

"Are you green enough to think you'll find him?" sneered the man incharge. 

"Perhaps not; but I shouldn't be surprised if I did. If I guess right, he'll find it worth his while to keep his promise. "

When they returned to the place where the thief had first effected hisescape, our hero was found quietly sitting on a wooden step. 

"So you've got him, " said Ben, advancing to meet the officer withevident satisfaction. 

"He's got you too, " growled the pickpocket. "Why didn't you run away, you little fool?"

"I didn't have anything to run for, " answered Ben. "Besides, I want mymoney back. "

"Then you'll have to go with me to the station-house, " said the officer. 

"I wish I could go to Mr. Abercrombie's office first to tell Mr. Sampsonwhat's happened. "

"I can't let you do that; but you may write a letter from thestation-house. "

"All right, " said Ben, cheerfully; and he voluntarily placed himself onthe other side of the officer, and accompanied him to the station-house. 

"I thought you was guilty at first, " said the officer; "but I guess yourstory is correct. If it isn't, you're about the coolest chap I eversaw, and I've seen some cool ones in my day. "

"It's just as I said, " said Ben. "It'll all come right in the morning. "

They soon reached the station-house. Ben obtained the privilege ofwriting a letter to Mr. Sampson, for which the officer undertook toprocure a messenger. In fact he began to feel quite interested for ourhero, feeling fully convinced that the other party was the realoffender. 

Ben found some difficulty in writing his letter. When he first came tothe city, he could have written one with considerable ease, but he hadscarcely touched a pen, or formed a letter, for six years, and of coursethis made an important difference. However he finally managed to writethese few lines with a lead-pencil:--

 "MR. SAMPSON: I am sory I can't cary that leter til to-morrow; but it was took from my pokit by a thefe wen I was ridin' in the cars, and as he sed I took it from him, the 'copp' has brort us both to the stashun-house, whare I hope you wil come and tel them how it was, and that you give me the leter to cary, for the other man says it is his The 'copp' took the leter

 "BEN HOOPER. "

It will be observed that Ben's spelling had suffered; but this will notexcite surprise, considering how long it was since he had attendedschool. It will also be noticed that he did not sign his real name, butused the same which he had communicated to Charles Marston. More thanever, till he was out of his present difficulty, he desired to concealhis identity from his relations. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Sampson was busily engaged in his office in Wall Street. It may as well be explained here that he was the junior partner of Mr. Abercrombie. Occasionally he paused in his business to wonder whether hehad done well to expose a ragged street boy to such a temptation; but hewas a large-hearted man, inclined to think well of his fellow-men, andthough in his business life he had seen a good deal that was mean andselfish in the conduct of others, he had never lost his confidence inhuman nature, and never would. It is better to have such a disposition, even if it does expose the possessor to being imposed upon at times, than to regard everybody with distrust and suspicion. At any rate itpromotes happiness, and conciliates good-will, and these will offset anoccasional deception. 

An hour had passed, when a boy presented himself at Mr. Abercrombie'soffice. It was a newsboy, who had been intrusted with Ben's letter. 

"This is for Mr. Sampson, " he said, looking around him on entering. 

"Another of Mr. Sampson's friends, " sneered Granby, in a tone which hetook care should be too low to come to that gentleman's ears. 

"My name is Sampson, " said the owner of that name. "Who is your letterfrom?"

"It's from Ben. "

"And who is Ben?" asked Mr. Sampson, not much enlightened. 

"It's Ben, the baggage-smasher. "

"Give it to me, " said the gentleman, conjecturing rightly that it washis messenger who was meant. 

He ran his eye rapidly over the paper, or, I should say, as rapidly asthe character of Ben's writing would permit. 

"Do you come from the station-house?" he asked, looking up. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Which station-house is it?"

"In Leonard Street. "

"Very well. Go back and tell the boy that I will call this afternoon. Iwill also give you a line to a house on Madison Avenue. Can you go rightup there, calling at the station-house on the way?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very well. Here is something for your trouble. "

The boy pocketed with satisfaction the money proffered him, and took theletter which Mr. Sampson hastily wrote. It was to this effect:--

 "MY DEAR MRS. ABERCROMBIE: I received your note, and despatched the money which you desired by a messenger; but I have just learned that his pocket was picked on the horse-cars. I cannot spare one of my clerks just now, but at one o'clock will send one up with the money, hoping that he may have better fortune than the first messenger, and that you will not be seriously inconvenienced by the delay. 

 "Yours truly, "HENRY SAMPSON. "

Then he dismissed the matter from his mind until afternoon, when, theoffice having closed, he made his way to the Leonard Streetstation-house, where he was speedily admitted to see Ben. 

"I'm glad you've come, Mr. Sampson, " said our hero, eagerly. "I hope youdon't think I was to blame about the letter. "

"Tell me how it was, my lad, " said Mr. Sampson, kindly. "I dare say youcan give me a satisfactory explanation. "

Ben felt grateful for the kindness of his tone. He saw that he was notcondemned unheard, but had a chance of clearing himself. 

He explained, briefly, how it occurred. Of course it is unnecessary togive his account, for we know all about it already. 

"I believe you, " said Mr. Sampson, in a friendly tone. "The only fault Ihave to find with you is that you might have been more careful inguarding your pockets. "

"That's so, " said Ben; "but I don't often carry anything that's worthstealing. "

"No, I suppose not, " said Mr. Sampson, smiling. "Well, it appears thatno serious loss has occurred. The money will be recovered, as it is inthe hands of the authorities. As to the delay, that is merely aninconvenience; but the most serious inconvenience falls upon you, inyour being brought here. "

"I don't mind that as long as the money is safe, " said Ben. "It'll allbe right in the morning. "

"I see you are a philosopher. I see your face is swelled. You must havegot a blow. "

"Yes, " said Ben; "the chap that took my letter left me something toremember him by. "

"I shall try to make it up to you, " said Mr. Sampson. "I can't stop anylonger, but I will be present at your trial, and my testimony willundoubtedly clear you. "

He took his leave, leaving Ben considerably more cheerful than before. Astation-house is not a very agreeable place of detention; but then Benwas not accustomed to luxury, and the absence of comfort did nottrouble him much. He cared more for the loss of his liberty, finding thenarrow cell somewhat too restricted for enjoyment. However, he consoledhimself by reflecting, to use his favorite phrase, that it would "all beright in the morning. "

It will not be necessary to give a circumstantial account of Ben'strial. Mr. Sampson was faithful to his promise, and presented himself, somewhat to his personal inconvenience, at the early hour assigned fortrial. His testimony was brief and explicit, and cleared Ben. The realpickpocket, however, being recognized by the judge as one who had beenup before him some months before, charged with a similar offence, wassentenced to a term of imprisonment, considerably to hisdissatisfaction. 

Ben left the court-room well pleased with the result. His innocence hadbeen established, and he had proved that he could be trusted, or rather, he had not proved faithless to his trust, and he felt that with hispresent plans and hopes he could not afford to lose his character forhonesty. He knew that he had plenty of faults, but at any rate he wasnot a thief. 

While he stood on the steps of the Tombs, in which the trial had takenplace, Mr. Sampson advanced towards him, and touched him on theshoulder. 

"Well, my lad, " he said, in a friendly manner, "so you're all right oncemore?"

"Yes, " said Ben; "I knew it would all be right in the morning. "

"I owe you something for the inconvenience you have suffered while in myemploy. Here is a ten-dollar bill. I hope you will save it till you needit, and won't spend it foolishly. "

"Thank you, " said Ben, joyfully. "I'll put it in the bank. "

"That will be a good plan. Good-morning; when you need a friend, youwill know where to find me. "

He shook Ben's hand in a friendly way and left him. 

"He's a trump, " thought Ben. "If my father'd treated me like that, I'dnever have wanted to run away from home. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

IN A NEW LINE. 

"Ten dollars!" said Ben to himself, with exultation. "That's pretty goodpay for a few hours in the station-house. I'd like to board there a weekon the same terms. "

Ben's capital now amounted to eleven dollars; but of this sum he decidedto retain one dollar as a reserve to fall back upon in case of need. Theten dollars he determined to deposit at once in a savings-bank. Heaccordingly bent his steps towards one in the course of the forenoon. The business was quickly transacted, and Ben left the building with abank-book containing an entry of his first deposit. 

This was a very good beginning, so Ben thought. Fifty dollars, as he hadestimated, would enable him to carry out the plan which he proposed, andhe had already one-fifth of the sum. But the accumulation of the otherforty dollars would no doubt take him a considerable time. The businessof a "baggage-smasher, " as Ben knew from experience, is precarious, theamount of gains depending partly upon luck. He had sometimes haunted thesteamboat landings for hours without obtaining a single job. Now that hewas anxious to get on, he felt this to be an objection. He began toconsider whether there was any way of adding to his income. 

After considerable thought he decided to buy a supply of weekly papers, which he could sell while waiting for a job. One advantage in selectingweekly papers rather than daily was this, that the latter must be soldwithin a few hours, or they prove a dead loss. A daily paper ofyesterday is as unsalable as a last year's almanac. As Ben was liable tobe interrupted in his paper business at any time by a chance to carryluggage, it was an important consideration to have a stock which wouldremain fresh for a few days. 

This idea impressed Ben so favorably that he determined to act upon itat once. In considering where he should go for his supply of papers, hethought of a Broadway news-stand, which he frequently had occasion topass. On reaching it, he said to the proprietor, "Where do you buy yourpapers?"

"What do you want to know for?"

"I thought maybe I'd go into the business. "

"You don't think of setting up a stand, do you?" asked the man, with asignificant glance at Ben's ragged attire. 

"No, " said Ben. "I haven't got capital enough for that, unless you'llsell out for fifty cents. "

"I suppose you want a few to carry round and sell?"

"Yes. "

"Where do you think of going with them?"

"Down to the wharves. I'm a baggage-smasher, and I thought I might makesomethin' by sellin' papers, when I hadn't any baggage to carry. "

"I get my papers from the 'American News Company' on Nassau Street. "

"I know the place well enough. "

"What papers do you think I could sell best?" asked Ben. 

"The picture papers go off as fast as any, " said the street dealer. "But I'll tell you what, my lad, maybe I can make an arrangement for youto sell papers for me. "

"I don't think I'd like to stand here all day, " said Ben, supposing theother to mean to engage him to tend the stand. 

"I don't mean that. "

"Well, " said Ben, "I'm open to an offer, as the old maid of sixty told afeller that called to see her. "

"I'll tell you what I mean. I'll give you a bundle of papers everymorning to take with you. You will sell what you can, and bring back therest at night. "

"I like that, " said Ben, with satisfaction. "But how much will I get?"

"It will depend on the price of the papers. 'Harper's Weekly' and 'FrankLeslie' sell for ten cents. I will allow you two cents on each of these. On the 'Ledger' and 'Weekly, ' and other papers of that price, I willallow one cent. You'd make rather more if you bought them yourself; butyou might have them left on your hands. "

"That's so, " said Ben. 

"Did you ever sell papers?"

"I used to sell the mornin' and evenin' papers before I went tobaggage-smashin'. "

"Then you know something about the business. When do you want to begin?"

"Right off. "

"Very well; I will make you up a bundle of a dozen papers to begin on. I'll put in three each of the illustrated papers, and fill up with thestory papers. "

"All right, mister, you know better than I what people will buy. "

The dealer began to collect the papers, but paused in the middle of histask, and looked doubtfully at our hero. 

"Well, what's up?" asked Ben, observing his hesitation. 

"How do I know but you'll sell the papers, and keep the money yourself?"said the dealer. 

"That's so, " said Ben. "I never thought of that. "

"That wouldn't be very profitable for me, you see. "

"I'll bring back the money or the papers, " said Ben. "You needn't beafraid. "

"Very likely you would; but how am I to know that?"

"So you don't want to trust me, " said Ben, rather disappointed. 

"Have you got any money?"

"Yes. "

"Very well, you can leave enough with me to secure me against loss, andI will give you the papers. "

"How much will that be?"

After a little thought, the dealer answered, "Seventy-five cents. " Hehad some doubt whether Ben had so much; but our hero quickly set hisdoubts at rest by drawing out his two half-dollars, and demanding aquarter in change. 

The sight of this money reassured the dealer. Ben's ragged clothes hadled him to doubt his financial soundness; but the discovery that he wasa capitalist to the extent of a dollar gave him considerable morerespect for him. A dollar may not be a very large sum; I hope that toyou, my young reader, it is a very small one, and that you have neverbeen embarrassed for the want of it; but it is enough to lift a raggedstreet boy from the position of a penniless vagabond to that of athrifty capitalist. After seeing it, the dealer would almost have feltsafe in trusting Ben with the papers without demanding a deposit oftheir value. Still it was better and safer to require a deposit, and hetherefore took the dollar from Ben, returning twenty-five cents inchange. 

This preliminary matter settled, he made up the parcel of papers. 

"There they are, " he said. "If you're smart, you can sell 'em all beforenight. "

"I hope so, " said Ben. 

With the papers under his arm, Ben made his way westward to theCortlandt Street ferry, which was a favorite place of resort with him. 

He did not have long to wait for his first customer. As he was walkingdown Cortlandt Street, he met a gentleman, whose attention seemedattracted by the papers he carried. 

"What papers have you got there, my lad?" he inquired. 

"'Harper's Weekly, ' 'Frank Leslie, ' 'Ledger, ' 'Weekly, '" repeated Ben, glibly, adding the names of the other papers in his parcel. 

"Give me the two picture papers, " said the gentleman. "Twenty cents, Isuppose. "

"Yes, " said Ben, "and as much more as you want to pay. I don't set nolimit to the generosity of my customers. "

"You're sharp, " said the gentleman, laughing. "That's worth something. Here's twenty-five cents. You may keep the change. "

"I'll do it cheerfully, " said Ben. "Thank you, sir. I hope you'll buyall your papers of me. "

"I won't promise always to pay you more than the regular price, but youmay leave 'Harper's' and 'Leslie' at my office every week. Here is mycard. "

Ben took the card, and put it in his pocket. He found the office to belocated in Trinity Building, Broadway. 

"I'll call every week reg'lar, " he said. 

"That's right, my lad. Good-morning. "

"Good-mornin'. "

Ben felt that he had started well. He had cleared nine cents by hissale, four representing his regular commission, while the other fivecents might be regarded as a donation. Nine cents was something. But forhis idea about the papers, he would have made nothing so far. It is avery good thing to have two strings to your bow, so Ben thought, thoughthe thought did not take that precise form in his mind. He kept on hisway till he reached the ferry. There was no train in on the other side, and would not be for some time, but passengers came over the ferry, andBen placed himself where he could be seen. It was some time before hesold another paper however, although Ben, who improved some of his sparetime by looking over the pictures, was prepared to recommend them. 

"What papers have you got, boy?" asked a tall, lank man, whose thinlips and pinched expression gave him an outward appearance of meanness, which, by the way, did not belie his real character. 

Ben recited the list. 

"What's the price of 'Harper's Weekly'?"

"Ten cents. "

"Ten cents is too much to pay for any paper. I don't see how they havethe face to ask it. "

"Nor I, " said Ben; "but they don't consult me, "

"I'll give you eight cents. "

"No you won't, not if I know it. I'd rather keep the paper for myprivate readin', " answered Ben. 

"Then you are at liberty to do so, " said the gentleman, snappishly. "You'd make profit enough, if you sold at eight cents. "

"All the profit I'd make wouldn't pay for a fly's breakfast, " said Ben. 

The gentleman deigned no response, but walked across the street in adignified manner. Here he was accosted by a boot-black, who proposed toshine his boots. 

"He'll get 'em done at the wholesale price, see if he don't, " thoughtBen. He kept an eye on the boot-black and his patron until the job wasfinished. Then he witnessed what appeared to be an angry dispute betweenthe two parties. It terminated by the gentleman lifting his cane in amenacing manner. Ben afterwards gained from the boy particulars of thetransaction, which may be given here in the third person. 

"Shine yer boots?" asked the boot-black, as the gentleman reached hisside of the street, just after his unsuccessful negotiations with Ben. 

"What do you charge?" he inquired. 

"Ten cents. "

"That's too much. "

"It's the reg'lar price. "

"I can get my boots blacked for five cents anywhere. If you'll do it forthat, you can go to work. "

The boy hesitated. It was half price, but he had not yet obtained a job, and he yielded. When the task was finished, his generous patron drewfour cents from his pocket. 

"I haven't got but four cents, " he observed. "I guess that'll do. "

The boy was indignant, as was natural. To work for half price, and thenlose one-fifth of his reduced pay, was aggravating. What made it worsewas, that his customer was carefully dressed, and bore every appearanceof being a man of substance. 

"I want another cent, " he demanded. 

"You're well enough paid, " said the other, drawing on a kid glove. "Fourcents I consider very handsome pay for ten minutes' work. Many men donot make as much. "

This reasoning did not strike the little boot-black as sound. He was nologician; but he felt that he had been defrauded, and that in a verymean manner. 

"Give me my money, " he screamed, angrily. 

"I'll hand you over to the authorities, " said the gentleman, --though Ihardly feel justified in calling him such, --lifting his cane menacingly. 

What could the boy do? Might was evidently on the side of the man whohad cheated him. But he was quick-witted, and a characteristic mode ofrevenge suggested itself. The street was muddy (New York streets areoccasionally in that condition). The boot-black stooped down andclutched a handful of mire in his hand, fortunately having no kid glovesto soil, and, before his late customer fathomed his intention, plentifully besprinkled one of the boots which he had just carefullypolished. 

"That's worth a cent, " he remarked, with satisfaction, escaping from thewrath of the injured party. 

His victim, almost speechless with rage, seemed disposed to pursue him;but the boy, regardless of the mire, had run across the street, and tofollow would only be to make matters worse. 

"If I ever catch you, I'll break every bone in your body, you littlevagabond, " he said, in a voice almost choked by passion, shaking hiscane energetically. 

Ben, who had witnessed the whole, burst into a hearty laugh, which drewupon his head a portion of wrath. After a pause, the victim of his ownmeanness turned up a side street. The reader will be glad to learn thathe had to employ a second boot black; so that he was not so much betteroff for his economical management after all. It may be added that he wasactuated in all his dealings by the same frugality, if we may dignify itby that name. He was a large dealer in ready-made under-clothing, forthe making of which he paid starvation prices; but, unfortunately, thepoor sewing-girls, whom he employed for a pittance, were not so wellable to defend themselves against imposition as the smart littleboot-black, who "knew his rights, and knowing, dared maintain. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE HEAVY VALISE. 

Ben had sold half his papers when the arrival of the train fromPhiladelphia gave him an opportunity to return to his legitimatecalling. 

"Smash your baggage, sir?" asked Ben of a dark-complexioned man ofthirty-five, who carried a moderate-sized valise. 

"Yes, " said the other. 

"Where shall I carry it?"

"To----" Here the man hesitated, and finally answered, "There is no needof telling you. I will take it from you when we have got along farenough. "

Ben was about to walk beside the owner of the valise; but the latterobjected to this. 

"You needn't walk beside me, " he said. "Keep about a block ahead. "

"But how will I know where to go?" asked Ben, naturally. 

"You know where Broome Street runs into the Bowery?"

"Of course I do. "

"Go there by the shortest route. Don't trouble yourself about me. I'llfollow along behind, and take the valise from you there. If you getthere before I do, wait for me. "

"I suppose I'm too ragged to walk alongside of him, " thought Ben. 

He could think of no other reason for the direction given by the other. However, Ben's pride was not very much hurt. Although he was ragged now, he did not mean to be long. The time would come, he was confident, whenhe could lay aside his rags, and appear in a respectable dress. 

The valise which he carried proved to be considerably heavier than wouldhave been imagined from its size. 

"I wonder what's in it, " thought Ben, who found it tugging away at hisarms. "If it's shirts they're cast-iron. Maybe they're just comin' infashion. "

However, he did not perplex himself much about this point. Beyond amomentary curiosity, he felt no particular interest in the contents ofthe valise. The way in which it affected him principally was, to makehim inwardly resolve to ask an extra price, on account of the extraweight. 

After walking a while he looked back for the owner of the valise. But hewas not in sight. 

"I might carry off his baggage, " thought Ben, "without his knowin' it. "

He kept on, however, never doubting that the owner would sooner or laterovertake him. If he did not care enough for the valise to do this, Benwould not be responsible. 

He had just shifted the heavy burden from one hand to the other, when hefelt himself tapped on the shoulder. Looking round, he saw that the onewho had done this was a quiet-looking man, of middle size, but with akeen, sharp eye. 

"What's wanted?" asked Ben. 

"Where did you get that valise, my lad?" asked the new-comer. 

"I don't know as that's any of your business, " answered Ben, who didn'tperceive the other's right to ask the question. 

"Is it yours?"

"Maybe it is. "

"Let me lift it a moment. "

"Hands off!" said Ben, suspiciously. "Don't try none of your tricks onme. "

The other did not appear to notice this. 

"I take it for granted that the valise is not yours, " he said. "Now tellme where you got it from. "

There was something of authority in his manner, which led Ben to thinkthat he had a warrant for asking the question, though he could not guesshis object in doing so. 

"I'm a baggage-smasher, " answered Ben. "I got this from a man that cameby the Philadelphia train. "

"Where is he?"

"I guess he's behind somewheres. "

"Where are you carrying the valise?"

"Seems to me you want to know a good deal, " said Ben, undecided as tothe right of the other to ask so many questions. 

"I'll let you into a secret, my lad; but you must keep the secret. Thatvalise is pretty heavy, isn't it?"

"I'll bet it is. "

"To the best of my information, the man who employed you is a notedburglar, and this valise contains his tools. I am a detective, and am onhis track. I received a telegram an hour ago from Philadelphia, informing me that he was on his way. I got down to the wharf a littletoo late. Now tell me where you are to carry this;" and the detectivepointed to the valise. 

"I am to meet the gentleman at the corner of Broome Street and theBowery, " said Ben. 

"Very well. Go ahead and meet him. "

"Shall you be there?" asked Ben. 

"Never mind. Go on just as if I had not met you, and deliver up thevalise. "

"If you're goin' to nab him, just wait till I've got my pay. I don'twant to smash such heavy baggage for nothin'. "

"I agree to that. Moreover, if I succeed in getting hold of the fellowthrough your information, I don't mind paying you five dollars out ofmy own pocket. "

"Very good, " said Ben. "I shan't mind takin' it, not by no means. "

"Go on, and don't be in too much of a hurry. I want time to lay mytrap. "

Ben walked along leisurely, in accordance with his instructions. Atlength he reached the rendezvous. He found the owner of the valisealready in waiting. 

"Well, boy, " he said, impatiently, "you took your time. "

"I generally do, " said Ben. "It aint dishonest to take my own time, isit?"

"I've been waiting here for a quarter of an hour. I didn't know butyou'd gone to sleep somewhere on the way. "

"I don't sleep much in the daytime. It don't agree with my constitution. Well, mister, I hope you'll give me something handsome. Your baggagehere is thunderin' heavy. "

"There's twenty-five cents, " said the other. 

"Twenty-five cents!" exclaimed Ben, indignantly. 

"Twenty-five cents for walkin' two miles with such a heavy load. It'sworth fifty. "

"Well, you won't get fifty, " said the other, roughly. 

"Just get somebody else to carry your baggage next time, " said Ben, angrily. 

He looked round, and saw the quiet-looking man, before referred to, approaching. He felt some satisfaction in knowing that his recentemployer would meet with a check which he was far from anticipating. 

Without answering Ben, the latter took the valise, and was about movingaway, when the quiet-looking man suddenly quickened his pace, and laidhis hand on his arm. 

The burglar, for he was really one, started, and turned pale. 

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want, " said the detective, quietly. "I want you. "

"What do you want me for?" demanded the other; but it was easy to seethat he was nervous and alarmed. 

"You know that also, " said the detective; "but I don't mind tellingyou. You came from Philadelphia this morning, and your name is 'SlyBill. ' You are a noted burglar, and I shall take you into immediatecustody. "

"You're mistaken, " said Bill. "You've got hold of the wrong man. "

"That will soon be seen. Have the kindness to accompany me to thestation-house, and I'll take a look into that valise of yours. "

Bill was physically a stronger man than the detective, but he succumbedat once to the tone of quiet authority with which he spoke, and preparedto follow, though by no means with alacrity. 

"Here, my lad, " said the detective, beckoning Ben, who came up. "Comeand see me at this place, to-morrow, " he continued, producing a card, "and I won't forget the promise I made you. "

"All right, " said Ben. 

"I'm in luck ag'in, " he said to himself. "At this rate it won't take melong to make fifty dollars. Smashin' baggage for burglars pays prettywell. "

He bethought himself of his papers, of which half remained unsold. Hesold some on the way back to the wharf, where, after a while, he gotanother job, for which, being at some distance, he was paid fifty cents. 

At five in the afternoon he reported himself at the news-stand. 

"I've sold all the papers you gave me, " he said, "and here's the money. I guess I can sell more to-morrow. "

The news-dealer paid him the commission agreed upon, amounting toeighteen cents, Ben, of course, retaining besides the five cents whichhad been paid him extra in the morning. This made his earnings for theday ninety-eight cents, besides the dollars promised by the detective. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE SURPRISE. 

Ben had certainly met with good luck so far. Even his temporarydetention at the station-house he regarded as a piece of good luck, since he was paid handsomely for the confinement, while his bed therewas considerably more comfortable than he often enjoyed. His adventurewith the burglar also brought him in as much as under ordinarycircumstances he would have earned in a week. In two days he was able tolay aside fifteen dollars and a half towards his fund. 

But of course such lucky adventures could not be expected every day. Thebulk of his money must be earned slowly, as the reward of persistentlabor and industry. But Ben was willing to work now that he had anobject before him. He kept up his double business of baggage-smasher andvender of weekly papers. After a while the latter began to pay himenough to prove quite a help, besides filling up his idle moments. Another good result of his new business was, that, while waiting forcustomers, he got into the habit of reading the papers he had for sale. Now Ben had done very little reading since he came to New York, and, ifcalled upon to read aloud, would have shown the effects of want ofpractice, in his frequent blunders. But the daily lessons in readingwhich he now took began to remedy this deficiency, and give himincreased fluency and facility. It also had the effect of making himwish that his education had not been interrupted, so that his CousinCharles might not be so far ahead of him. 

Ben also gave up smoking, --not so much because he considered itinjurious, but because cigars cost money, and he was economizing inevery possible way. He continued to sleep in the room under the wharf, which thus far the occupants had managed to keep from the knowledge ofthe police. Gradually the number had increased, until from twenty tothirty boys made it a rendezvous nightly. By some means a stove had beenprocured, and what was more difficult, got safely down withoutobservation, so that, as the nights grew cooler, the boys managed tomake themselves comfortable. Here they talked and told stories, and hada good time before going to sleep. One evening it was proposed by one ofthe boys that each should tell his own story; for though they mettogether daily they knew little of each other beyond this, that theywere all engaged in some street avocation. Some of the stories told werereal, some burlesque. 

First Jim Bagley told his story. 

"I aint got much to tell, boys, " he said. "My father kept a cigar storeon Eighth Avenue, and my mother and sister and I lived behind the shop. We got along pretty well, till father got run over by a street-car, andpretty soon after he died. We kept the store along a little while, butwe couldn't make it go and pay the rent; so we sold out to a man whopaid half down, and promised to pay the rest in a year. But before theyear was up he shut up the shop, and went off, and we never got the restof the money. The money we did get did not last long. Mother got somesewin' to do, but she couldn't earn much. I took to sellin' papers; butafter a while I went into the match business, which pays pretty good. Ipay mother five dollars a week, and sometimes more; so she gets alongwell. "

"I don't see how you make so much money, Jim, " said Phil Cranmer. "I'vetried it, and I didn't get nothin' much out of it. "

"Jim knows how, " said one of the boys. "He's got enterprise. "

"I go off into the country a good deal, " said Jim. "There's plenty ofmatch boys in the city. Sometimes I hire another boy to come along andhelp me. If he's smart I make money that way too. Last time I went out Ididn't make so much. "

"How was that, Jim?"

"I went up to Albany on the boat. I was doin' pretty well up there, whenall to once they took me up for sellin' without a license; so I had topay ten dollars afore they'd let me off. "

"Did you have the money to pay, Jim?"

"Yes, but it cleaned me out, so I didn't have but two dollars left. ButI travelled off into the country towns, and got it back in a week ortwo. I'm glad they didn't get hold of Bill. "

"Who was Bill?"

"The feller that sold for me. I couldn't have paid his fine too. That'sabout all I have to tell. "[B]

"Captain Jinks!" called out one of the boys; "your turn next. "

Attention was directed to a tall, overgrown boy of sixteen, or possiblyseventeen, to whom for some unknown reason the name of the famousCaptain Jinks had been given. 

"That aint my name, " he said. 

"Oh, bother your name! Go ahead. "

"I aint got nothing to say. "

"Go ahead and say it. "

The captain was rather taciturn, but was finally induced to tell hisstory. 

[B] The main incidents of Jim Bagley's story are true, having beencommunicated to the writer by Jim himself, a wide-awake boy of fifteen, who appeared to possess decided business ability and energy. The nameonly is fictitious. 

"My father and mother are dead, " he said. "I used to live with my sisterand her husband. He would get drunk off the money I brought home, and ifI didn't bring home as much as he expected, he'd fling a chair at myhead. "

"He was a bully brother-in-law, " said Jerry. "Did it hurt the chairmuch?"

"If you want to know bad, I'll try it on you, " growled the narrator. 

"Good for Captain Jinks!" exclaimed two or three of the boys. 

"When did you join the Hoss Marines?" asked Jerry, with apparentinterest. 

"Shut up your mouth!" said the captain, who did not fancy the joke. 

"Go ahead, Jinks. "

"I would not stand that; so I went off, and lived at the Lodge till Igot in here. That's all. "

Captain Jinks relapsed into silence, and Tim McQuade was called upon. Hehad a pair of sparkling black eyes, that looked as if he were not averseto fun. 

"Maybe you don't know, " he said, "that I'm fust cousin to a Markis. "

"The Markis of Cork, " suggested one of the boys. 

"And sometimes I expect to come in for a lot of money, if I don't missof it. "

"When you do, just treat a feller, will you?" said Jerry. 

"Course I will. I was born in a big castle made of stone, and used to goround dressed in welvet, and had no end of nice things, till one day afeller that had a spite ag'in the Markis carried me off, and brought meto America, where I had to go to work and earn my own livin'. "

"Why don't you write the Markis, and get him to send for you?" askedJerry. 

"'Cause he can't read, you spalpeen! What 'ud be the use of writin' tohim?"

"Maybe it's the fault of your writin', Tim. "

"Maybe it is, " said Tim. "When the Markis dies I'm going back, an' I'llinvite you all to come an' pass a week at Castle McQuade. "

"Bully for you, Tim! Now, Dutchey, tell us your story. "

Dutchey was a boy of ten, with a full face and rotund figure, whoseEnglish, as he had been but two years in the country, was highlyflavored with his native dialect. 

"I cannot English sprechen, " he said. 

"Never mind, Dutchey. Do as well as you can. "

"It is mine story you want? He is not very long, but I will tell him sogoot as I can. Mine vater was a shoemaker, what makes boots. He comefrom Sharmany, on der Rhein, mit my moder, and five childer. He take alittle shop, and make some money, till one day a house fall on his headmit a brick, an he die. Then I go out into der street, and black bootsso much as I get him to do, and the money what I get I carry home tomine moder. I cannot much English sprechen, or I could tell mine storymore goot. "

"Bully for you, Dutchey! You're a trump. "

"What is one trump?" asked the boy, with a puzzled expression. 

"It is a good feller. "

This explanation seemed to reconcile Dutchey to being called a trump, and he lay back on the bed with an expression of satisfaction. 

"Now, Ben, tell us your story. "

It was Ben, the luggage boy, who was addressed. The question embarrassedhim, for he preferred to keep his story secret. He hoped ere long toleave his present haunts and associates, and he did not care to give thelatter a clue by which they might trace him in his new character andposition. Yet he had no good reason to assign for silence. He wasconsidering what sort of a story he could manufacture, that would passmuster, when he was relieved from further consideration by an unexpectedoccurrence. 

It appears that a boy had applied for admission to the rendezvous; but, on account of his unpopular character, had been refused. This naturallyincensed him, and he determined to betray the boys to the policeman onthe beat. The sight that greeted Ben, as he looked towards the entrance, was the face of the policeman, peering into the apartment. He uttered ahalf exclamation, which attracted the general attention. Instantly allwas excitement. 

"The copp! the copp!" passed from mouth to mouth. 

The officer saw that the odds were against him, and he must summon help. He went up the ladder, therefore, and went in search of assistance. Theboys scrambled up after him. Some were caught, and ultimately sentencedto the Island, on a charge of stealing the articles which were found;but others escaped. Among these was Ben, who was lucky enough to glideoff in the darkness. He took the little German boy under his protection, and managed to get him safely away also. In this case the ends ofjustice were not interfered with, as neither of the two had been guiltyof dishonesty, or anything else rendering them amenable to the law. 

"Well, Dutchey, we're safe, " said Ben, when they had got some blocksaway from the wharf. "How do you feel?"

"I lose mine breath, " said the little boy, panting with the effort hehad made. 

"That's better than losin' your liberty, " said Ben. "You'll get yourbreath back again. Now we must look about and see where we can sleep. Iwonder if Jim Bagley's took. "

Just then a boy came running up. 

"Why, it's Ben and Dutchey, " he said. 

"Jerry, is it you? I'm glad you're safe. "

"The copp got a grip of me, but I left my jacket in his hands. He cancarry that to the station-house if he wants to. "

Jerry's appearance corresponded to his statement, his jacket being gone, leaving a dilapidated vest and ragged shirt alone to protect the upperpart of his body. He shivered with the cold, for it was now November. 

"Here, Jerry, " said Ben, "just take my vest an' put over yours. I'llbutton up my coat. "

"If I was as fat as Dutchey, I wouldn't mind the cold, " said Jerry. 

The three boys finally found an old wagon, in which all three huddled uptogether, by this means keeping warmer than they otherwise could. Beingturned out of their beds into the street might have been considered ahardship by boys differently reared, but it was not enough to disturbthe philosophy of our young vagrants. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

BEN TRANSFORMED. 

Ben worked away steadily at his double occupation, saving money as wellas he could; but he met with no more profitable adventures. His earningswere gradual. Some weeks he laid by as much as a dollar and a half, oreven two dollars, but other weeks he barely reached a dollar. So the endof March came before he was able to carry out the object which he had inview. 

One morning about this time Ben carefully counted up his deposits, andfound they amounted to fifty dollars and thirty-seven cents. It was ajoyful moment, which he had long looked forward to. He had been temptedto rest satisfied with forty when he had reached that sum, but heresisted the temptation. 

"I aint goin' to do things by halves, " he said to himself. "I can't doit for less'n fifty dollars. I must wait awhile. "

But the moment had arrived when he could accomplish his purpose. As Benlooked down at his ragged attire, which was in a considerably worsecondition then when he was first presented to the reader, he felt thatit was high time he got a new suit. 

The first thing to be done was to get his money. He made his way to thesavings-bank, and presented himself at the counter. 

"I want all of my money, " he said. 

"I hope you're not going to spend it all, " said the bank officer, who bythis time had come to feel acquainted with Ben, from his frequent callsto make deposits. 

"I'm goin' to buy some new clothes, " said Ben. "Don't I look as if Ineeded some?"

"Yes, you are rather out at elbows, I must admit. But new clothes won'tcost all the money you have in the bank. "

"I'm goin' home to my friends, " said Ben, "after I've got dresseddecently. "

"That's a good resolution, my boy; I hope you'll stick to it. "

"It's what I've been workin' for, for a long time, " said Ben. 

He filled out the order for the money, and it was delivered to him. 

The next thing was to buy a new suit of clothes. Usually Ben hadprocured his outfit in Chatham Street, but he soared higher now. He madehis way to a large ready-made clothing warehouse on Broadway, andentered. The main apartment was spacious, the counters were heaped witharticles of dress, and numerous clerks were ready to wait uponcustomers. 

"Well, what's wanted?" asked one, glancing superciliously at the raggedboy entering. 

"Have you got any clothes that will fit me?" asked Ben. 

"I guess you've lost your way, Johnny, haven't you?"

"What makes you think so?" asked Ben. 

"This isn't Chatham Street. "

"Thank you for the information, " said Ben. "I thought it was when I sawyou here. "

There was a laugh, at the clerk's expense, among those who heard theretort. 

"What are you here for, any way?" demanded the clerk, with an air ofinsulted majesty. 

"To buy some clothes, " said Ben; "but you needn't show 'em to me. I'llgo to somebody else. "

"Have you got any money?"

"You'll know soon enough. "

He went to another part of the store, and applied to a salesman whoseappearance he liked better. After some hesitation, Ben made choice of asuit of substantial warm cloth, a dark mixed sack-coat, vest of the samematerial, and a pair of pants of neat pattern. 

"I won't trouble you to send 'em, " said Ben, "as my house is closed forthe season. "

The bundle was made up, and handed to him. The price of the entire suitwas twenty dollars, which was a good price for those days. Ben took thebundle under his arm and went out. 

His purchases were not yet all made. He went next to a furnishing store, and bought three shirts, three pairs of stockings, some collars, and anecktie, finishing up with a pair of gloves. These cost him eightdollars. A neat felt hat and a pair of shoes, which he procuredelsewhere, completed his outfit. On counting up, Ben found that he hadexpended thirty-six dollars, leaving in his hands a balance of fourteendollars and thirty-seven cents. 

Before putting on his new purchases, Ben felt that he must go through aprocess of purification. He went, therefore, to a barber's basementshop, with which baths were connected, and, going down the steps, saidto the barber's assistant, who happened to be alone at the time, "I wanta warm bath. "

"Pay in advance, " said the young man, surveying the ragged figure beforehim with some hesitation. 

"All right, " said Ben. "How much is it?"

"Twenty-five cents. "

"Here it is, " said Ben, producing the exact amount from his vest-pocket. 

Such ragged customers were not usual; but there seemed to be no goodexcuse for refusing Ben, as he had the money to pay. In five minutes thebath was declared to be ready, and Ben, entering the small room assignedto him, joyfully divested himself of the ragged garments which he wasnever again to put on, and got into the tub. It probably will not excitesurprise when I say that Ben stood in need of a bath. His street lifehad not been particularly favorable to cleanliness, nor had he beenprovided with such facilities for attending to his toilet as are usualin well-regulated families. However, he was quite aware of hisdeficiencies in this way, and spared neither pains nor soap to remedythem. It was a work of time; but finally he felt satisfied with theresult of his efforts, and, after drying himself, proceeded to put onhis new clothes. They proved to fit excellently. Indeed, they wroughtsuch a change in our hero's appearance that he could hardly believe inhis own identity when he stood before the glass, and saw reflected theform of a well-dressed boy, in place of the ragged figure which he sawon entering. The only thing which marred his good appearance was hishair, which had grown to undue length. He determined to have it cutbefore he left the barber's shop. 

He tied up the clothes he had taken off in the paper which had containedhis new suit, and, opening the door, went out into the main room withthe bundle under his arm. 

Meanwhile the proprietor of the shop had returned. 

"Who is taking a bath?" he asked of his assistant. 

"A ragged street boy, " said the latter. 

"What did you let him in for?"

"He paid in advance. "

"I don't care about such customers any way, " said the barber. "Remembernext time. "

"All right. "

At this moment Ben made his appearance; but that appearance was so muchaltered that the young man looked at him in astonishment. He lookedthoroughly well dressed, and might have passed readily for the scion ofa wealthy family. 

"Were two bath-rooms occupied?" asked the proprietor. 

"No. "

"I thought you said--"

"I was never so surprised in my life, " said the assistant. "Did you getchanged in the bath?" he asked of Ben. 

"Yes, " said Ben. 

"What made you wear such a ragged suit?"

"I was in disguise, " said Ben; "but I've got tired of it, and thrown itoff. I think I'll have my hair cut. "

"Take a seat, " said the proprietor. "I'll cut your hair myself. How willyou have it cut?"

"I want to be in the fashion, " said Ben. "Make it look as well as youcan. "

He took his seat, and the task commenced. The barber was skilful in hisart, and he saw at once what style would become Ben best. He exertedhimself to the utmost, and when at the end of half an hour he withdrewthe cloth from around our hero's neck, he had effected a change almostmarvellous in Ben's appearance. 

I have already said that Ben was naturally good-looking. But even goodlooks need fair play, and rags and neglect are apt to obscure the giftsof nature. So Ben had never looked his best till now. But when his hairwas cut and arranged, and he looked in the mirror to observe theeffect, he was himself surprised. It was some like the change thattransformed Cinderella into a princess. 

"I shan't be ashamed to tell my cousin who I am now, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

BEN MAKES HIMSELF KNOWN. 

Ben went out into the street with two bundles under his arm. Onecontained the ragged clothes which he had just taken off. The other, which was much smaller, contained his extra shirts and stockings. Thefirst he did not care to keep. He therefore lost no time in throwing itinto an alley-way. 

"It'll be a lucky chap that finds it, " thought Ben. 

He next put on his gloves, and considered what he should do next. It washalf-past twelve o'clock already, for he had not been able to get hismoney from the bank till ten, and the purchases and bath, as well as thehair-cutting, had taken up considerable time. He began to feel hungry, and appetite suggested that he should first of all go to a restaurantand get some dinner. 

On the way thither he met two of his street acquaintances, who passedhim without the slightest mark of recognition. This pleased Ben, for itassured him that the change which he had effected in his appearance wasa considerable one. 

While eating dinner, he deliberated what he should do. It was Saturday, and it would be almost too late to start for his Pennsylvania home. Hedecided to go to his sister's house on Madison Avenue, and make himselfknown there first of all. He was influenced to this partly by the desirehe had to meet his cousin, who, as he knew, was making his home, whileattending school, at the house of Mr. Abercrombie. He had more than oncebeen up to that part of the city in the hope of catching a glimpse ofthe cousin for whom he retained his old, boyish love; but he had alwaysshrunk, even when seeing him, from attracting his observation. He didnot wish to be remembered in his rags, and so denied himself thepleasure for which he yearned. But now he was satisfied with hisappearance. He felt that he was as well dressed as Charles himself, andwould do no discredit to him if they were seen in the street together. 

He got on board an omnibus, and took his seat. A lady soon afterentered, and sat down beside him She drew out some money from herpurse, and, passing it to Ben, said, "Will you have the kindness to passup my fare, sir?"

"Certainly, " said Ben, politely. 

It was a small incident, but he felt, from the young lady's manner ofaddressing him, that she looked upon him as her equal socially, and thisafforded him not a little pleasure. He wondered how he could have beencontent to drift about the streets so long, clothed in rags. New hopesand a new ambition had been awakened within him, and he felt that a newlife lay before him, much better worth living than the old life. 

These thoughts occupied him as he rode up Broadway. 

At length he left the omnibus, and took the shortest route to hissister's house. When he ascended the steps, and rang the bell, he feltrather a queer sensation come over him. He remembered very well the lasttime he had ascended those same steps, carrying his cousin's valise. Hisheart beat quick with excitement, in the midst of which the door wasopened by the servant. 

He had already decided to ask for his cousin, preferring to make himselfknown to him first. 

"Is Charles Marston in?" he inquired. 

"Yes, sir, " said the servant. "Won't you come in?"

She threw open the door of the parlor, and Ben, entering, seated himselfin an arm-chair, holding his hat in his hand. 

"I wonder if she'd asked me in here if I'd come in my rags?" he askedhimself, with a smile. 

The servant went upstairs, where she found Charles in his own room, writing a French exercise. 

"Master Charles, " she said, "one of your school-mates is in the parlor. He wants to see you. "

"All right. I'll go right down. "

The mistake was quite a natural one, as boys who attended the sameprivate school frequently called for Charles. 

Charles went downstairs, and entered the parlor. Ben rose as he entered. 

"How are you, Charlie?" said Ben, rising, and offering his hand. 

Charles looked in his face with a puzzled expression. It was not one ofhis school-mates, as he had supposed; but it must be some one that knewhim intimately, or he would not have addressed him so familiarly. 

"I ought to know you, " he said, apologetically; "but I can't think whoit is. "

"Don't you remember your Cousin Ben, Charlie?" asked our hero. 

"Ben!" exclaimed Charles, in the greatest astonishment. He lookedeagerly in our hero's face for a moment, then impulsively threw his armsaround Ben's neck, and kissed him. 

"I am so glad to see you, Ben, " he said. "Where have you been all thetime?"

"Then you didn't forget me, Charlie?" said Ben, returning the embrace. 

"No, Ben. I've thought of you many and many a time. We used to be suchgood friends, you know. We will be again, --will we not?"

"I hope so, Charlie. That was one of my reasons for coming back. "

"How did you know I was here?"

"I will tell you some time, Charlie; but not now. Is my sister at home?"

"Yes. I will call her. She will be very much surprised. We all thoughtyou--"

"Dead, I suppose. "

"Yes; but I always hoped you would come back again. "

"Don't tell Mary who it is. See if she recognizes me. "

Summoned by Charles, Mrs. Abercrombie came down to the parlor. She wasmerely told that a gentleman desired to see her. 

When she entered the parlor, Ben rose from his seat. 

She looked at him for a moment, and her face lighted up. 

"It's Ben, " she said. "O Ben, how could you stay away so long?"

"What, do you remember me, Mary?" asked our hero, in surprise. 

"Yes. I knew you by your resemblance to Charles. We always remarked itwhen you were young boys together. "

As the two boys were standing side by side, the resemblance of which shespoke was quite striking. Ben was the larger of the two; but theirfeatures were similar, as well as the color of the hair and eyes, andthe similarity of their dress completed the illusion. Mrs. Abercrombiesurveyed her brother with satisfaction. She had been afraid he would becoarse and vulgar after so many years of neglect, if he should everreturn; but here he was, to all appearance, a young gentleman of whomshe need not feel ashamed. 

"Ben must share my room, Cousin Mary, " said Charles. "We've got so muchto say to each other. "

"I didn't know I was to stay, " said Ben, smiling. 

"You mustn't leave us again, Ben, " said his sister. "Monday you muststart for home. Poor mother has mourned for you so long. She will beoverjoyed to see you again. "

When Mr. Abercrombie came home, his new brother-in-law was introduced tohim. He received Ben cordially, and in a way to make him feel at home. In the course of the morning Mr. Sampson called, and Ben was introducedto him. 

"There's something in your brother's voice that sounds familiar, " hesaid to Mrs. Abercrombie. "I think I must have met him before. "

"He has not been with us for some years, " said Mrs. Abercrombie, who didnot care to reveal that Ben was a returned prodigal. 

"Probably I am deceived, " said Mr. Sampson. 

Ben, however, knew that Mr. Sampson had good cause to remember him. Hewas afraid the servant who had brought him his breakfast some monthsbefore in the basement might remember him; but there was no danger ofthat. She never dreamed of associating the young gentleman, hermistress's brother, with the ragged and dirty boy who had brought thevalise for Master Charles. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 

On Sunday evening, Ben, in company with his sister, her husband, andCharles, attended a sacred concert in Steinway Hall. As he steppedwithin the vestibule, he saw two street boys outside, whom he knew well. Their attire was very similar to that which he had himself worn untilthe day before. They looked at Ben, but never thought of identifying himwith the baggage-smasher with whom they had often bunked together. 

"See what it is, " thought Ben, "to be well dressed and have fashionablefriends. "

As he sat in a reserved seat but a little distance from the platform, surrounded by well-dressed people, he was sometimes tempted to doubtwhether he was the same boy who a few days before was wandering aboutthe streets, a friendless outcast. The change was so complete andwonderful that he seemed to himself a new boy. But he enjoyed thechange. It seemed a good deal pleasanter resting in the luxuriousbedchamber, which he shared with Charles at his sister's house, than thechance accommodations to which he had been accustomed. 

On Monday he started for Philadelphia, on his journey home. 

We will precede him. 

Mrs. Brandon sat in an arm-chair before the fire, knitting. She was notold, but care and sorrow had threaded her dark hair with silver, and onher brow there were traces of a sorrow patiently borne, but none theless deeply felt. She had never recovered from the loss of her son. Herdaughter Mary had inherited something of her father's self-contained, undemonstrative manner; but Ben had been impulsive and affectionate, andhad always been very near his mother's heart. To feel that he had passedfrom her sight was a great sorrow; but it was a greater still not toknow where he was. He might be suffering pain or privation; he mighthave fallen into bad and vicious habits for aught she knew. It wouldhave been a relief, though a sad one, to know that he was dead. Butnothing whatever had been heard of him since the letter of which thereader is already aware. 

Since Mary's marriage Mrs. Brandon had been very much alone. Her husbandwas so taciturn and reserved that he was not much company for her; soshe was left very much to her own thoughts, and these dwelt often uponBen, though six years had elapsed since he left home. 

"If I could see him once more, " she often said to herself, "I could diein peace. "

So Mrs. Brandon was busily thinking of Ben on that Monday afternoon, asshe sat knitting before the fire; little thinking that God had heard herprayer, and that the son whom she so longed to see was close at hand. Hewas even then coming up the gravelled walk that led to the house. 

It may be imagined that Ben's heart beat with unwonted excitement, asthe scenes of his early boyhood once more appeared before him. Athousand boyish memories returned to him, as he trod the familiarstreet. He met persons whom he knew, but they showed no recognition ofhim. Six years had wrought too great a change in him. 

He rang the bell. 

The summons was answered by the servant, the only one employed in Mrs. Brandon's modest establishment. 

"Is Mrs. Brandon at home?" asked Ben. 

"Yes, " answered the girl. "Will you walk in?"

Ben stepped into the entry, and the girl opened the door of the room inwhich Mrs. Brandon was seated. 

Mrs. Brandon looked up. 

She saw standing at the door a well-grown lad of sixteen, with a facebrowned by long exposure to the sun and air. It was six years since shehad seen Ben; but in spite of the changes which time may have wrought, amother's heart is not easily deceived. A wild hope sprang up in herheart. She tried to rise from her chair, but her excite was so greatthat her limbs refused their office. 

"Mother!" exclaimed Ben, and, hurrying forward he threw his arms aroundhis mother's neck. 

"God be thanked!" she exclaimed, with heartfelt gratitude. "I havemissed you so much, Ben. "

Ben's heart reproached him as he saw the traces of sorrow upon hismother's face, and felt that he had been the cause. 

"Forgive me, mother!" he said. 

"It is all forgotten now. I am so happy!" she answered, her eyes filledwith joyful tears. 

They sat down together, and Ben began to tell his story. In the midst ofit his father entered. He stopped short when he saw Ben sitting besidehis mother. 

"It is Ben come back, " said his mother, joyfully. 

Mr. Brandon did not fall on his son's neck and kiss him. That was nothis way. He held out his hand, and said, "Benjamin, I am very glad tosee you. "

In the evening they talked together over the new plans which Ben'sreturn suggested. 

"You must stay with us, Ben, " said his mother. "I cannot part with younow. "

"I am getting old, Benjamin, " said his father. "I need help in mybusiness. You must stay and help me, and by and by you shall have thewhole charge of it. "

"I am afraid I don't know enough, " said Ben. "I haven't studied anysince I left home. I don't know as much as I did when I was ten. "

"You shall study at home for a year, " said his father. "The teacher ofthe academy shall give you private lessons. You can learn a great dealin a year if you set about it. "

To this arrangement Ben acceded. He is now studying at home, and hisabilities being excellent, and his ambition excited, is makingremarkable progress. Next year he will assist his father. Mr. Brandonseems to have changed greatly. He is no longer stern and hard, butgentle and forbearing, and is evidently proud of Ben, who would run achance of being spoiled by over-indulgence, if his hard discipline as astreet boy had not given him a manliness and self-reliance above hisyears. He is gradually laying aside the injurious habits which heacquired in his street life, and I confidently hope for him a worthy anduseful manhood. 

From time to time Ben visits New York, and renews his intimacy with hisCousin Charles, who returns his warm affection. Charles, in turn, spends the summer at Cedarville, where they are inseparable. 

So we bid farewell to Ben, the Luggage Boy, hoping that he may be ableto repay his mother in part for the sorrow which his long absenceoccasioned her, and that she may live long to enjoy his society. To myyoung readers, who have received my stories of street life with so muchindulgence, I bid a brief farewell, hoping to present them ere long thesixth volume of the Ragged Dick Series, under the title of

 RUFUS AND ROSE;

 Or, THE FORTUNES OF ROUGH AND READY. 

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 =Question of Honor. = By Lynde Palmer. 

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 =Young Explorer, The; or, Among the Sierras. = By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

 =Young Miner, The; or, Tom Nelson in California. = By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

 =Young Ranchers, The; or, Fighting the Sioux. = By Edward S. Ellis. 

 =Young Wrecker, The. = By Richard Meade Bache. 

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. 'S POPULAR JUVENILES. 

HARRY CASTLEMON. 

HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK. 

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It wasour custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, andwe were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject theteacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a ManWould See if He Went to Greenland. " My heart was in the matter, andbefore the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. Theteacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they wereall over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writingone of these days. " That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not sayso out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best ofthem. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawnfrom the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what theteacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made useof this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy'scountenance. " Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his educationcould make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to beable to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "TheOld Guide's Narrative, " which was sent to the _New York Weekly_, andcame back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of thesheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothingabashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friendof mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side ofthe paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knewit; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work--the other boys had beenout skating on the brick-pond--I shyly broached the subject to mymother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, andthen said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" Thatsettled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to untilI sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was itwork? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfactionof seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was allcomplete. 

 --_Harry Castlemon in the Writer. _

 * * * * *

 GUNBOAT SERIES. 

 6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6. 00

 Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank on a Gunboat. Frank in the Woods. Frank before Vicksburg. Frank on the Lower Mississippi. Frank on the Prairie. 

 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 Frank Among the Rancheros. Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho. Frank in the Mountains. 

 SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 75

 The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman's Club Afloat. The Sportsman's Club. Among the Trappers. 

 FRANK NELSON SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 75

 Snowed up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders. 

 =COMPLETE CATALOG OF BEST BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS MAILED ON APPLICATION TO THE PUBLISHERS=

 =THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. , PHILADELPHIA=

 THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. 'S POPULAR JUVENILES

 ROUGHING IT SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 George in Camp. George at the Fort. George at the Wheel. 

 ROD AND GUN SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 Don Gordon's Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. Rod and Gun Club. 

 GO-AHEAD SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss. 

 WAR SERIES. 

 6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6. 00

 True to His Colors. Rodney the Partisan. Rodney the Overseer. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. Marcy the Refugee. Sailor Jack the Trader. 

 HOUSEBOAT SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 The Houseboat Boys. The Mystery of Lost River Caņon. The Young Game Warden. 

 AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES. 

 3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3. 00

 Rebellion in Dixie. A Sailor in Spite of Himself. The Ten-Ton Cutter. 

 =COMPLETE CATALOG OF BEST BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS MAILED ON APPLICATION TO THE PUBLISHERS=

 =THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. , PHILADELPHIA=

=HORATIO ALGER, JR. =

 * * * * *

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr. , show thegreatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one oftheir most favored writers. I am told that more than half a millioncopies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulatinglibraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only twoor three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but neverequaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite theirsimilarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear. 

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York. " It was his first book foryoung people, and its success was so great that he immediately devotedhimself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for awriter then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy ofthe boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then ithas been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200, 000copies of the series have been sold. 

 --"Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls. "

 * * * * *

A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He shouldbe able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He shouldlearn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. Aboy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him. 

 --From "Writing Stories for Boys, " by Horatio Alger, Jr. 

 RAGGED DICK SERIES. 

 6 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $6. 00

 Ragged Dick. Fame and Fortune. Mark the Match Boy. Rough and Ready. Ben the Luggage Boy. Rufus and Rose. 

 TATTERED TOM SERIES--First Series. 

 4 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $4. 00

 Tattered Tom. Paul the Peddler. Phil the Fiddler. Slow and Sure. 

 TATTERED TOM SERIES--Second Series. 

 4 vols. $4. 00

 Julius. The Young Outlaw. Sam's Chance. The Telegraph Boy. 

 CAMPAIGN SERIES. 

 3 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $3. 00

 Frank's Campaign. Charlie Codman's Cruise. Paul Prescott's Charge. 

 LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--First Series. 

 4 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $4. 00

 Luck and Pluck. Sink or Swim. Strong and Steady. Strive and Succeed. 

 LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--Second Series. 

 4 vols. $4. 00

 Try and Trust. Bound to Rise. Risen from the Ranks. Herbert Carter's Legacy. 

 BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. 

 4 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $4. 00

 Brave and Bold. Jack's Ward. Shifting for Himself. Wait and Hope. 

 =COMPLETE CATALOG OF BEST BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS MAILED ON APPLICATION TO THE PUBLISHERS=

 =THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. , PHILADELPHIA=

 VICTORY SERIES. 

 3 Vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $3. 00

 Only an Irish Boy. Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary. Adrift in the City. 

 FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES. 

 3 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $3. 00

 Frank Hunter's Peril. The Young Salesman. Frank and Fearless. 

 GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY. 

 3 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $3. 00

 Walter Sherwood's Probation. The Young Bank Messenger. A Boy's Fortune. 

 HOW TO RISE LIBRARY. 

 3 vols. =By Horatio Alger, Jr. = $3. 00

 Jed, the Poorhouse Boy. Lester's Luck. Rupert's Ambition. 

 =COMPLETE CATALOG OF BEST BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS MAILED ON APPLICATION TO THE PUBLISHERS=

 =THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. , PHILADELPHIA=

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. 'S POPULAR JUVENILES

=J. T. TROWBRIDGE. =

Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of lifeand select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, andall that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line ofmarch of the great body of humanity. 

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late _Our YoungFolks_, and continued in the first volume of _St. Nicholas_, under thetitle of "Fast Friends, " is no doubt destined to hold a high place inthis class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of theirseniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successfulmanner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive toall young readers, they have great value on account of theirportraitures of American country life and character. The drawing iswonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will wefind anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq. Thepicture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fictionis there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor littleStephen Treadwell, "Step Hen, " as he himself pronounced his name in anunfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in hislesson in school. 

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the criticalreader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, thateasily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out todo. --_Scribner's Monthly. _

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. 'S POPULAR JUVENILES

 =JACK HAZARD SERIES. =

 6 vols. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE $7. 25

 Jack Hazard and His Fortunes. Doing His Best. The Young Surveyor. A Chance for Himself. Fast Friends. Lawrence's Adventures. 

 * * * * *

 =CHARLES ASBURY STEPHENS. =

 "This author wrote his "Camping Out Series" at the very height of his mental and physical powers. 

 "We do not wonder at the popularity of these books; there is a freshness and variety about them, and an enthusiasm in the description of sport and adventure, which even the older folk can hardly fail to share. "--_Worcester Spy. _

 "The author of the Camping Out Series is entitled to rank as decidedly at the head of what may be called boys' literature. "--_Buffalo Courier. _

 =CAMPING OUT SERIES. =

 By C. A. STEPHENS. 

 =All books in this series are 12mo. With eight full page illustrations. Cloth, extra, 75 cents. =

 CAMPING OUT. As Recorded by "Kit. "

 "This book is bright, breezy, wholesome, instructive, and stands above the ordinary boys' books of the day by a whole head and shoulders. "--_The Christian Register_, Boston. 

 LEFT ON LABRADOR; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE SCHOONER YACHT "CURLEW. " As Recorded by "Wash. "

 "The perils of the voyagers, the narrow escapes, their strange expedients, and the fun and jollity when danger had passed, will make boys even unconscious of hunger. "--_New Bedford Mercury. _

 OFF TO THE GEYSERS; OR THE YOUNG YACHTERS IN ICELAND. As Recorded by "Wade. "

 "It is difficult to believe that Wade and Read and Kit and Wash were not live boys, sailing up Hudson Straits, and reigning temporarily over an Esquimaux tribe. "--_The Independent_, New York. 

 LYNX HUNTING: From Notes by the Author of "Camping Out. "

 "Of first quality as a boys' book, and fit to take its place beside the best. "--_Richmond Enquirer. _

 FOX HUNTING. As Recorded by "Raed. "

 "The most spirited and entertaining book that has as yet appeared. It overflows with incident, and is characterized by dash and brilliancy throughout. "--_Boston Gazette. _

 ON THE AMAZON; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE "RAMBLER. " As Recorded by "Wash. "

 "Gives vivid pictures of Brazilian adventure and scenery. "--_Buffalo Courier. _