Regular Dinner, 11 to 2. 30 cents.
Regular Dinner, 11 to 2. 30 cents.
The waiter walked off, and presently returned with some bread and butter.
"Pea or tomato soup?" he asked.
"What's that?" questioned the boy.
"Pea or tomato soup?"
"I don't want any soup—I want a regular dinner."
At this the waiter smiled, for he saw that Nat was green.
"We serve soup first—if the customer wants it."
"And what do you serve after that?"
"One kind of meat, vegetables, coffee or milk, and pie or pudding."
"Oh! Well bring me the meat and other stuff. I never cared for soup anyway."
"Roast beef or lamb?"
"Roast beef."
The waiter went off, and presently Nat was supplied with all he cared to eat. The food was good, and he took his time, finishing off with a piece of lemon meringue pie, a dainty of which he was exceedingly fond, but which Mrs. Felton had seldom dared to make.
"Thirty cents, but I guess it was worth it," he thought, as he left the restaurant.
Nat had never seen Lake Erie, and toward the middle of the afternoon he walked down in the direction of the water. The shipping interested him greatly, and it was dark before he realized that the day was gone without anything definite being accomplished.
"Gracious, how time flies when one is in the city!" he thought. "To-morrow, I must make up my mind what to do next. If I don't, I'll have my money spent, and no job, either."
As it grew darker the boy felt the necessity of looking for accommodations for the night. Seeing a sign on a house, Furnished Rooms by the Day, Week, or Month, he ascended the stoop, and rang the bell. A young Irish girl answered his summons.
"Can I get a bed for to-night?" asked Nat.
"I guess yez can—I'll call Mrs. O'Hara," said the girl.
The landlady soon showed herself, and said she could let Nat have a hall room for fifty cents. To the boy's notion this seemed rather high.
"I can't take less," said Mrs. O'Hara, firmly.
"Very well; I'll take the room for to-night," answered Nat. "Can I put my bundle up there now?"
"To be sure."
Fortunately for Nat, the room proved clean and well-kept, and the bed was better than the one he had used at the farm. Tired out, the boy slept soundly until seven o'clock, when he lost no time in dressing and going below.
"Will you want the room again to-night, Mr. Nason?" asked the landlady.
"I don't think so," answered Nat. It made him feel a foot taller to be addressed as Mr. Nason. "If I want it, I'll let you know by supper time."
"Very well."
With his bundle under his arm, Nat left the house, and walked down the street toward one of the main thoroughfares of Cleveland. Then he stopped at a restaurant for breakfast.
"Now, I've got to make up my mind what to do," he told himself. "Maybe I had better go back to the depot and see about a train and the fare to New York."
After making several false turns, the boy found his way to the depot, and there hunted up the ticket office, and procured a time-table. He was just looking into the time-table when he felt a heavy hand placed on his shoulder.
"So I've found you, have I?" came harshly from Abner Balberry. "You young rascal, what do you mean by runnin' away?"
Nat was so completely astonished by the unexpected appearance of his uncle and guardian, that for the moment he did not know what to say or do.
"Thought you was goin' to run away, didn't you?" continued Abner Balberry, with a gleam of triumph in his small eyes.
"Let go of me," answered Nat, trying to pull away.
"I ain't a-goin' to, Nat Nason. You're a-goin' back with me, an' on the next train."
"I'm not going back, Uncle Abner."
"What!"
"I said I'm not going back, so there," repeated Nat, desperately. "You don't treat me half decently, and I'm going to strike out for myself."
"Jest to hear the boy! You are a-goin' back. Nice doin's, I must say! What did you mean by trying to burn down the barn?"
"Burn down the barn?"
"That's wot I said."
"I never burned down any barn. Is the barn burned down?"
"No; because I put out the fire."
"When was this?"
"You know well enough."
"I don't know a word about it, Uncle Abner."
"You set the barn afire."
"Never!"
"You did! An' you've got to go back."
"Uncle Abner, I never set fire to a thing," gasped Nat. "I left because you worked me to death, and because you wouldn't let me have my supper. After this, I'm going to earn my own living in my own way."
"You're goin' back," snarled the farmer.
For answer, Nat gave a sudden jerk and pulled himself from his uncle's grasp. Then he started to run from the depot at his best speed.
"Hi! stop!" yelled the farmer. "Stop thet boy. I'm his guardian, and he is runnin' away from me."
The cry was taken up on all sides, and soon a crowd of a dozen men and boys were in pursuit of Nat, who by this time had reached the street.
Nat had always been fleet of foot, and now a new fear lent strength to his flying feet. He was accused of setting fire to the barn! Perhaps his uncle would have him arrested and sent to prison.
"He shan't do it," he muttered. "I must get away, somehow."
Down one street after another went poor Nat, with the crowd behind him growing steadily larger. Some thought they were after a thief, and some a murderer, and soon two policemen joined in the chase.
Coming to an alley way, Nat darted through it to a side street, and then around a corner to a thoroughfare leading down to the docks. This threw the crowd off the trail for a moment, and gave him a brief breathing spell.
Reaching the docks fronting the lake, the boy came to a halt. Not far off was a steamboat, getting ready to cast off.
"Where does that boat go to?" he asked of a man standing near.
"That's the boat for Buffalo," was the answer.
"And when does she leave?"
"She is getting ready to leave now."
"Then that's the boat I want," came from Nat, and he rushed to the end of the dock, and up the gangplank with all speed. A moment later the gangplank was withdrawn, and the steamboat started on her trip down Lake Erie.
Trembling with excitement, Nat entered the cabin, and from the window looked back to the dock they had just left. It was not long before he beheld Abner Balberry and several others, on the dock, gazing up and down in perplexity. They did not know whether the boy was on the boat, or in hiding close by.
"What a narrow escape!" thought Nat, when the dock had faded from view. "In another minute Uncle Abner would have collared me, sure."
"Had to run pretty hard to catch the boat, didn't you?" remarked a man sitting beside him.
"Yes," answered Nat.
"Bound for Buffalo, I suppose."
"Yes."
"First visit to that city?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's a fine city to visit, I can tell you. Of course you'll run up to look at Niagara Falls?"
"I hadn't thought of that."
"It's not very far away, you know. The trolley cars run from Buffalo to the Falls and back."
"Then I'll certainly have to go up and look at the Falls," answered the boy.
He was too excited to make up his mind just what to do next, and so walked away from the man. Finding a secluded corner of the deck, he sat down on a camp stool to think the situation over.
The fact that his uncle believed he had tried to burn down the barn filled him with alarm. Certainly, the building must have been set on fire, but who had done the base deed?
"Perhaps that man I took to be Uncle Abner!" he cried to himself. Up to the present time he had forgotten about seeing that individual in the semi-darkness while on the way to get the cow.
The weather was warm and pleasant, and had Nat been less disturbed in mind he would have enjoyed the trip on Lake Erie thoroughly. Even as it was, he gazed at the great lake in wonder.
"If this is only a lake, what must the ocean be!" he mused. "When I get to New York, I'll have to take a trip to Coney Island, or some other ocean beach."
The boat Nat was on carried more freight than passengers, and made half a dozen landings before Buffalo was reached. But the boy thought the craft one of the best on the lake, and wandered over her from end to end with great interest. At noon he purchased a light lunch, and at supper time a sandwich and a glass of milk.
"They charge pretty stiff prices on a boat," he thought, after paying over his money. "I've got to live cheaper after this, or I'll be a beggar before I settle down and find something to do."
It was dark when Buffalo was reached, and here Nat was more bewildered than he had been on arriving at Cleveland. He followed the crowd up from the dock to one of the main streets, and then stood on a corner, not knowing which way to turn, or what to do next.
"What a terrible lot of people and cars!" was his mental comment. "It's enough to make a fellow's head swim."
He felt that it would be useless to try to do anything that night, and so looked around for a cheap lodging house. Soon he found a place where beds could be had for twenty-five cents a night, and he entered.
"I'll take a bed," he said to the clerk at the desk.
"All right; twenty-five cents." And as the money was passed over, the clerk continued: "Leave your valuables at the desk."
"Valuables?" repeated Nat. "You mean my watch?"
"You may leave it if you wish, and your money too."
"No; I'll keep them on me," answered the boy.
He was conducted to an elevator, and soon found himself on the fifth story of the building. Here was a big room containing twenty cots, ten on each side.
"Here you are; No. 134," said the attendant, and left him.
On several of the cots some men were already sleeping. They were not pleasant-appearing individuals, and a few of them smelt strongly of liquor.
"This isn't so nice," thought Nat. "But it's cheap, and that's something."
Before retiring, he placed his bundle and his clothing under his pillow, and stowed away his watch and money on his person.
Nat's actions were closely watched by a man who occupied the next cot on the left. He was a seedy individual, with a face that was horribly pockmarked.
"Reckon he's got a dollar or two," thought this man, who was known among his associates by the name of Checkers.
Despite his surroundings, Nat slept soundly throughout the night, and continued to sleep long after the sun came up.
While it was still early, Bob Checkers arose, dressed himself, and slipped over to the sleeping boy's side. Making certain that nobody was watching him, the fellow began a rapid search of Nat's clothing, and afterwards of the lad's person.
Soon he came in contact with a small roll of bills, which Nat, in the belief that they would be quite secure, had placed in a pocket of his shirt. A thrill of delight shot through the fellow as his hand touched them.
"Dis is de best yet!" he murmured to himself, and placing the bills in his own pocket, he left the lodging house almost on a run.
When Nat awoke it was so late that he leaped up and dressed with all possible speed.
"I've got to get a hustle on me, if I mean to do anything," he told himself. "It won't do to dream away one day after another."
He was anxious to get to New York, to try his luck, but being so close to Niagara Falls, he decided to run up to that great wonder, and look at it before striking out for the metropolis.
He had some loose change in his pocket, and did not immediately miss the roll of bills which the sneak thief had so cleverly abstracted from his person.
Leaving the lodging house, he looked up a cheap restaurant, where he obtained a cup of coffee and some rolls for ten cents. Then, seeing a car marked Niagara Falls, he jumped on board.
"Do you go to the Falls?" he asked of the conductor.
"Certainly."
Trolley riding was new to him, and he thoroughly enjoyed the trip, which lasted the best part of two hours. The car landed him on the main street of Niagara Falls, and he was told that the Falls themselves were just beyond the public park. Listening, he could readily hear the thunder of the waters—a thunder that goes on day and night, and has for ages.
Feeling dry, he treated himself to a glass of soda, and then asked permission to leave his bundle in the shop where he made the purchase.
"All right," said the proprietor. "Leave it there, with your name on it," and Nat did as requested.
He was soon down in the public park, and then went out on Goat Island. The great falls were a revelation to him—just as they are to all visitors—and he remained for a long time in one spot, gazing first at the American Falls, and then at the Horseshoe or Canadian Falls.
"What an awful mass of water!" was his thought. "How grand! How very grand!"
From Goat Island, Nat walked over to the Three Sisters. On the last of the Three Sisters he sat down on a great rock to look at the rushing and swirling rapids—a sight which to many is as grand as that of the Falls themselves.
"No boat could ever live in that river," he thought, and he was right.
Sitting on a rock he got to thinking of his financial affairs, and felt in his clothing for his bills, to count them over.
When he realized that the money was gone, a sudden cold sweat came out on his brow. He looked around him, and gave a groan.
"I must have dropped the bills somewhere," he muttered. "But where?" Never once did he imagine that he had been robbed, and it may be added here, he never learned the truth.
To look for the money would have been a hopeless task, and Nat did not attempt it. Having gazed around on the rocks, he sat down to review the situation.
"Just twenty-two cents left," he mused, as he counted over his change. "That won't do more than buy a dinner. And what am I to do after it is gone? What a fool I was not to take care of my money. I'm a regular greeny, after all!"
Nat was greatly depressed in spirits, and he gave a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul. Then, gazing up once more, he gave a quick cry of alarm.
A fashionably dressed young man had appeared before him, wearing a button-hole bouquet, and light tan gloves. The fellow had a wild look in his eyes, and was on the point of throwing himself headlong into the swiftly flowing rapids.
"Don't!" screamed Nat, and with one mighty leap, he caught the fashionably dressed young man by the arm, and forcibly hauled him backwards.
"Let—let me go!" was the frightened return. "I—I—let me go!"
"You shan't throw yourself in the rapids!" said Nat. He held the young man tightly. "It's death to do that! Don't you know it?"
"Yes, I know it," was the unsteady answer. Then of a sudden the young man sank down in a heap on the rocks. "Great Heavens! what a narrow escape!"
He was close to fainting, and Nat supported him until he appeared to grow calmer. The wild look left his eyes, and they filled instead with tears.
"I—I was going to—to——" He did not finish. "You—you saved me!"
"You mustn't do anything like that," said Nat. "It's awful to even think about it."
"But I haven't got anything to live for," was the jerked-out answer.
"Oh, yes, you have." And Nat glanced at the well-dressed fellow, with his gold watch and chain, and his large diamond stud. "You're not poor like I am."
"Are you poor?"
"Am I? Wouldn't you think a fellow with only twenty-two cents was poor?"
"Is that all you have?"
"Yes. I had some bank bills, but I lost them. Twenty-two cents is all I've got, but I wasn't going to commit suicide on that account."
The fashionably dressed young man gave a shiver.
"Don't mention it," he whispered. "I must have been clean crazy for the minute. Let us go away from the river and the falls."
"I'm willing," answered Nat, and walked from the islands to the shore park. Here they seated themselves on a bench, some distance away from the water.
"What is your name, if I may ask?"
"Nat Nason. What's yours?"
"Paul Hampton. So you've only got twenty-two cents to your name? Well, you are worse off than I am, after all. I've got money a-plenty."
"What made you dream of doing such a thing?" asked Nat, curiously.
"Would you like to hear my story? Well, it won't do any harm to tell it to you, an utter stranger, and it will relieve my mind. Maybe you can give me some advice."
"If I can I certainly will," answered Nat, promptly.
"Well, to start with," began Paul Hampton, "I am a graduate of Yale University, and a lawyer by profession. I suppose you don't think I look much like a lawyer."
"I don't know much about lawyers," answered Nat, cautiously.
"I practice in Niagara Falls, and also in Buffalo. I have not paid as much attention to the profession in the past as I intend to pay in the future."
"Maybe you don't need the money."
"That is one reason. But there is another, Nat. I fell desperately in love. The fever is at an end now. You drove it out of me, when you stopped me from jumping into the rapids."
Paul Hampton paused long enough to light a cigar. Then he leaned back, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
"I was a big fool. I can realize it now," he went on. "I should have passed Grace by long ago."
"Was that the name of the girl?"
"Yes. Her father is well-to-do, and gives her everything her heart desires. Consequently, she has been leading me around like a puppy dog tied to a string."
"I see. That is not very pleasant."
"I thought I loved her, but I fancy now that I was too good for her," continued the fashionably dressed young man. "But let me tell you the whole story.
"I called on Grace for over a month, and finally told her that I loved her. She said she thought her father would never consent to our marriage. Then I asked her if she was willing to elope with me.
"I believe that angered her, but she didn't show it. She said she would think it over, and the next day sent a note saying she would be ready any time I fixed. Oh, what a fool I was to believe her!"
"And she wouldn't elope?" asked Nat.
"It was arranged that she should be in readiness the next morning at four o'clock, and that I should procure a carriage and call for her. We would drive to a minister in the next town, and be married, and then ask her father's forgiveness."
"And she backed out?"
"The morning dawned dark and misty. I had obtained from a livery stable the night before a carriage with a span of horses. At half-past three I drove within a few yards of the house, when, according to agreement, I saw a white handkerchief waving from a window.
"Very soon Grace made her appearance at the door. She was heavily cloaked and veiled, and refused to speak while I hurried her into the carriage. Off we went at a trot towards the next town. We drew up at the door of the leading minister of the place, and I tried to assist my companion to alight from the carriage, when she fell and hurt her ankle on the curb."
"Well, that was too bad," said Nat, sympathetically.
"I asked her if she was hurt, when to my amazement she broke out into a rich Irish brogue: 'It's almost kilt I am!' said she."
"Was she Irish?"
"Irish? No! It was not Grace at all, but her cook. She had put up a cruel joke on me. And that wasn't the worst of it. Grace had told Biddy that I was in love with her, and the ignorant cook believed it."
"And what did you do then?"
"What could I do? I told Biddy it was a trick, and I had to give her ten dollars to keep from making a complaint to the police. Wasn't it dreadful?"
"Yes, it was, but if I were you, Mr. Hampton, I'd consider myself lucky to get rid of such a girl. Supposing she had married you? You would most likely be miserable all your life with her."
At these words, Paul Hampton stared at Nat.
"You are right," he answered, presently. "I was a big fool. After this I shall drop her entirely and stick to my law business."
"Perhaps some day she'll be sorry she treated you so unfairly—when she sees how you are rising in your profession."
"Hope she does. But I don't want any more to do with her," went on Paul Hampton, decidedly. "Let us talk about something else," he added, after a pause. "Did you tell me you were worth only twenty-two cents?"
"I did."
"Do your folks live around here?"
"My parents are dead."
"Oh! Well, I want to reward you for what you did for me."
"I don't ask any reward."
"Nevertheless, you must accept something," answered the fashionably dressed young man.
Nat and his newly-found friend sat in the Niagara Falls Park until nearly one o'clock, talking their affairs over. Then Paul Hampton asked the boy to go with him for dinner.
"I want to prove to you that I am not as crazy as I seemed," said the young man. "That was a sudden fit, that's all."
"Well, take my advice and don't get any more such fits," answered our hero.
Paul Hampton led the way to one of the leading hotels of the town, and showed Nat where he could wash and brush up before dining. Then the two entered the dining hall, and the youth was treated to the finest spread he had ever tasted.
"I didn't expect this, Mr. Hampton," said he, when the repast was over.
"Oh, that is not much. Do you smoke?"
"No, sir."
"I am glad to hear it. I think I smoke too much. Now, to get to business. Where are you going to from here?"
"I am going to try my luck in New York, if I can manage to get there."
"I see. Well, I'll buy you a railroad ticket. How does that strike you?"
"You are very kind."
"When do you want to start?"
"I am not particular."
"Then supposing you make it to-morrow morning? You can spend the balance of the day and the night with me. I want to do something more for you."
Nat demurred, but the young man would not listen, and in the end our hero agreed to remain in Niagara Falls until the next morning. A railroad ticket was purchased, and handed to the boy, and with it Paul Hampton passed over a five-dollar bill.
"That is for running expenses," he said. "No, don't try to refuse it, or I shall be angry with you."
As Nat's shoes were worn, the young man insisted upon purchasing another pair, and then purchased the boy some collars and a necktie, and also a new hat.
"There, now you are fixed to go to New York," said he, "and I wish you the best of luck when you get there."
"Thank you very much."
"If you have time, write to me and let me know how you are making out."
"I will."
The night was spent in a hotel close to the railroad station, and early in the morning Paul Hampton saw Nat on the train. All of the boy's possessions had been put in a neat dress-suit case, also a present from the young man.
"Here is a letter I want you to read after you are well on your way," said Paul Hampton, on parting, and he handed the missive over. "Be careful of it, for I think it contains some advice that will do you good."
"Thank you; I'll take care of it, and give it a good reading," answered Nat, and in a moment more the train started, and the long journey to New York City was begun.
Our hero sank back in his seat with a good deal of satisfaction. His passage was paid through, and he had exactly four dollars and seventy-five cents in his pocket.
"I ought to get something to do before I spend that amount," he told himself. "Of course, it's not as much as if I had that roll of bills I lost, but there is no use in crying over spilt milk."
The run down to Buffalo was quickly made, and then the train started on its long journey to Albany and the great metropolis. After looking out of the window for a while, our hero took the letter Paul Hampton had given him, from his pocket and opened it. Inside was another envelope, also sealed, and a bit of paper on which was written:
"My Dear Friend:"Do not be discouraged, no matter what happens, when you arrive in New York. Try your best to get some good position. If you run short of funds inside of the next two months, open the envelope enclosed with this. It contains something that will help you on your way. Do not lose the envelope."Ever your friend,"Paul Hampton."
"My Dear Friend:
"Do not be discouraged, no matter what happens, when you arrive in New York. Try your best to get some good position. If you run short of funds inside of the next two months, open the envelope enclosed with this. It contains something that will help you on your way. Do not lose the envelope.
"Ever your friend,"Paul Hampton."
"Ever your friend,"Paul Hampton."
"That's certainly an odd letter," thought Nat, as he read it over a second time. "Wonder what that other envelope contains?"
His curiosity was great, but he was a thoroughly conscientious lad, and after a while he put the sealed envelope in an inside pocket, and pinned it there, so that it might not drop out.
"He was a curious fellow, and this is one of his odd ways of doing things," he reasoned. "Well, the envelope will give me some hope, if nothing else."
Nat had a map of the route in his possession, and he spent nearly the whole day in watching the towns and villages through which the train passed. At Albany came a long wait, and he walked out on the platform to stretch his legs. Then the train went on its way down the shore of the Hudson River, and about nine o'clock in the evening rolled into the Grand Central Depot, at Forty-second Street, New York City.
The great station was a revelation to Nat, and when he got out on the street, the lines of cabs, cars, and elevated trains made him stop short in utter bewilderment.
"This is ten times worse than Cleveland or Buffalo," was his comment. "What a racket on all sides! I wonder where all these folks are going?"
"Cab! coupé?" bawled a line of hackmen standing near. "Carry your baggage?" came from a boy, and he caught hold of Nat's dress-suit case.
"Here, let go of that!" cried our hero, and shoved the boy to one side.
"Carry it for you anywhere you want to go," went on the street urchin.
"I can carry it myself."
After a struggle Nat found himself out of the crowd and on a distant street corner. It was late, but the many street and shop lights made the scene almost as bright as day.
He did not know where to go, and so continued to walk along until he came to Sixth Avenue. Here he came to another halt.
"There is no sense in my walking myself to death to-night," he thought. "I had better wait till morning for that—when I go in search of a job."
At that moment a boy of almost his own age stepped up to him with a bundle of newspapers under his arm.
"Sporting extra?" he asked, holding out two evening papers. "All the latest baseball and racing news."
"I don't want any paper," answered Nat. "But I wish you'd do me a favor."
"What do you want?" demanded the other boy, promptly.
"I want to find a cheap but good boarding house. Do you know of any around here?"
The New York boy looked Nat over critically. The examination, brief as it was, appeared to satisfy him.
"Just come to the city?"
"Yes."
"Looking for work?"
"Yes."
"How much do you want to pay for board?"
"Not any more than I have to," answered Nat with a grin. "I'm not rich."
"I see. Well, mother takes boarders. It might be she would take you."
"For how much?"
"Four or five dollars a week."
"Oh, I can't pay that much! Why, where I come from you can get good board for three dollars a week."
"That's the country, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, New York City ain't the country. You have to pay more for things here."
"I suppose that is true."
"Come on over and talk to mother. What's your handle? Mine is Dick Talcott."
"Nat Nason. I am glad to know you." And our hero shook hands, which made the newsboy grin all over.
With his papers under his arm, Dick Talcott hurried down a side street, and around a corner. He stopped in front of a four-story brick house.
"We live on the third floor," said he. "Come on up," and he led the way up the somewhat narrow stairs. It was pitch-dark, and Nat kept close behind, so as not to run into anything.
"Mother, here is a boy who wants board," announced Dick, as he threw open a door. Then the pair entered a living room, where a middle-aged woman sat by a table, mending some underwear.
The woman arose and came forward, and Nat saw that she was rather pleasant looking. She was a widow, her husband having died only the year previous.
"So you wish board?" she said. "I will show you what rooms I have."
"He don't want to pay much, mother," put in the son. "He's just arrived in New York from the country, and he wants work."
"I can let you have a small hall room, with breakfast and supper, for three dollars and a half," said Mrs. Talcott. "That is the best I can do. Of course, you'll want to take lunch along to your work, unless you get work near here. Where do you come from?"
"Ohio."
"Is that so! The late Mr. Talcott came from Ohio."
"I think I had better take the room, at least for a week," said Nat. The manner of the lady pleased him. She was evidently poor, but of good breeding.
"Very well. Do you want the room to-night?"
"Yes."
"Have you had supper?"
"Yes, I had a bite on the train."
"Very well, I'll get the room ready for you."
"And I'll go out and finish selling my papers," said Dick Talcott, and ran out of the room and down the stairs, two steps at a time.
Having paid for his room for one week in advance, Nat sat down to talk to Mrs. Talcott. He found her a very pleasant woman, whose experiences in life had been much varied.
"Dick is the only person left to me," said she. "He had both a brother and a sister, but they died when they were young."
"Does he sell papers every day?"
"Oh, yes, and he has a morning route besides, which he carries for a stationer on the Avenue."
"I suppose he makes quite some money, doesn't he? Excuse me for asking, but you know, I've got to make my living too."
"The route pays him a dollar and a quarter a week, and he makes three or four dollars besides."
"Well, five dollars a week is better than nothing."
"The stationer says he will give Dick a place this fall. That will pay six or seven dollars a week."
"I wish I had a job at six or seven dollars a week."
"Have you anything in view?"
"Not a thing. I am going out in the morning to look for work."
"You may find it very hard to get an opening."
"Oh, I guess I can find something," answered Nat, confidently.
"I trust you are not disappointed. So many come in from the country and find it impossible to get an opening."
"I wish I had a map of New York City. I could study it, and locate the streets."
"I have such a map," was the answer, and the lady brought it forth. "I will put it on the table just as it should be. This is east and this is west, and here is where this house is located, and here is the Grand Central Depot. Now, you can do your best to fix the rest of it in your head."
Nat pored over the map for a good hour, and during that time located Broadway, and a number of other important thoroughfares.
"It's certainly a tremendously big city," said he. "One could get lost without half trying."
"You can carry that map around this week, if you wish," said Mrs. Talcott. "It may help you a great deal."
Nat went to bed with his head in something of a whirl from the long train ride and from studying the map. It was a long while ere he could close his eyes in sleep.
"I'm up against it now," he mused. "It's sink or swim, and nothing else."
He resolved to arise early, and as soon as he heard Dick Talcott get up, he dressed and went into the dining room to meet the newsboy.
"Hullo, how did you sleep?" asked Dick.
"Fairly good, considering. Are you going out on your route now?"
"Yes."
"I want to buy some papers that have advertisements of Help Wanted in them. Which are the best papers?"
Dick named them. "You needn't buy them unless you wish. I'll let you look over my bunch, if you want to come with me."
"Thank you, Dick."
The two procured a hasty breakfast, and set out, and soon the newsboy had his package of morning newspapers. He showed Nat where to look for the advertisements, and our hero sat down on a stoop, while Dick ran his route.
"Well, did you find anything worth looking up?" asked the newsboy, on returning.
"A dozen or more," cried Nat, gleefully. "It will be an easy matter to get work, I'm thinking."
At this the New York boy grinned broadly.
"Don't you fool yourself, Nat."
"But here are the advertisements."
"Yes, and a hundred young fellows after every one."
At this Nat's face fell.
"You are sure of this?"
"Go on, and find out for yourself. A good job isn't open more than an hour in this city."
"Then, I'd better hurry along."
Nat had written down about a dozen addresses on a slip of paper, and the newsboy showed him how he could get around from one place to the next with the least walking. Nat started off at a swift gait. Dick watched him out of sight with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"That boy means well," he murmured. "But he has got a whole lot to learn!"
The distance to the first place on Nat's list was almost half a mile. It was a shirt factory, where an assistant packer was desired, at eight dollars per week. Arriving there, Nat found about twenty young men and boys assembled, waiting to get into the office.
"Dick was right, a place here doesn't go begging long," thought the boy from the country.
It was some time before Nat could get into the office. He faced a tall, sharp-eyed man, who was in his shirt sleeves.
"Want the job, eh?" said the man. "Had any experience as a packer?"
"No, sir, but——"
"Can't use you. Next!"
Nat stared at the man in bewilderment.
"Won't you please try——"
"No." The man shook his head vigorously. "Next!" And our hero was elbowed toward the door by some others who wanted the position. In a moment more he found himself on the street again.
"Well, of all the mean men!" he began, and stopped short. "All right, he can keep his job. I'll try the next place."
The next was in a hat store, and the place was filled. Then came a clothing establishment, a hardware store, and a wholesale rubber factory. At none of these places was he wanted. By this time it was nearly noon, and he was getting just a little discouraged.
"It's going to be up-hill work, that's certain!" he told himself with a sigh.
The next place he visited was a seed store. Here a very elderly man came forward to greet him.
"So you want a place?" said he slowly. "Have you had any experience as an errand boy?"
"No, sir, but I am willing to learn."
"So they all say, but many boys don't seem to learn very fast. You look like a country lad." And the elderly man peered at Nat closely through his spectacles.
"I am a country boy. But if you'll give me a chance, I'll do my best."
"We can't pay you very much at the start."
"How much?"
"Two dollars and a half a week."
"I can't live on that. I've got to pay my board."
The elderly man shrugged his shoulders.
"Guess you had better look elsewhere then."
"Couldn't you pay me a little more? I am willing to work hard."
"Well, we might give you three dollars a week after the first month, but that is our limit for an errand boy."
"I can't take it," answered Nat. "I've got to earn more," and after a little additional talking he left the seed store.
He had a lunch in a bit of newspaper, and as it was nearly one o'clock, he sat down on a box on the sidewalk and ate it, washing it down with a drink of water from a cooler in a railroad ticket office. Then he went on his way once more, but at sundown had to give it up. He was so tired, and his feet were so sore from the pavements, that he could scarcely walk to his boarding house.
"I trust you found something," said Mrs. Talcott, as he entered.
"No," he answered, soberly. "I could have had one position, but it only paid two dollars and a half a week, so I didn't take it."
"I am sorry."
"I shall go out to-morrow again. I am bound to strike something sooner or later."
Being tremendously hungry Nat ate the supper provided with a relish. There were two other boarders—girls who worked in a large department store—and they were quite interested in him.
"You might get work at our place," said one of the girls. "They advertised to-day for wrappers."
"Yes, but they want experienced wrappers," said the other girl.
"I'll try them, anyway," said Nat. "And I am much obliged to you for telling me about it," he added.
On the following morning he was up as before and got the list from the papers again. Fortune was now with him, and at noon he found a position in a wholesale paper house. One of the clerks was going to visit some relatives down south, and Nat was hired to fill his place, at seven dollars per week.
"You've struck luck!" cried Dick Talcott, on hearing the news. "I hope the job lasts."
"So do I," answered Nat. "But even if it doesn't, it is better than nothing."
Nat went to work the next day. He found his duties rather simple and wondered how the firm could afford to pay him seven dollars for the little he was called on to do. Everybody treated him nicely, and he considered himself lucky to have made the connection with the firm.
During the time that he worked in the wholesale paper establishment Nat wrote a long letter to Sam Price, telling his friend of his adventures since leaving home, and asking for news from the farm. A few days later an answer came back, which ran as follows: