“Ned started for home after leaving me.”
“Ned started for home after leaving me.”
“Might have known it,” remarked Frank.
“Of course,” put in Fenn. “What else could he do? He wouldn’t stay in New York, where he doesn’t know a soul, after his aunt and uncle left.”
“Then I s’pose the only thing for us to do is to follow Ned back to Darewell,” suggested Bart. “Here’s an end to our holiday. Too bad!”
“Why need we go back?” asked Frank. “We’re here in New York. It may be many years before we have another chance like this. We have enough money to last us a week or more, even if we have to stay at a hotel.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fenn.
“Why not spend a week in New York anyhow?” Frank went on. “It’s too bad Ned has gone home. He’d stay with us if he was here. We can go to a cheap hotel and have almost asmuch fun as if we were at Ned’s uncle’s house. What’s the use going right back home?”
“I believe you’re right,” came from Bart. “We’ll stay a while and see what New York looks like. Might as well spend some of that money for hotel bills as anything else. I’ve heard they rob you in New York, but I guess we can look out for ourselves.”
“Let’s telegraph back to Darewell,” suggested Fenn.
“What for?” asked Bart.
“To see if Ned got there safely. If he did maybe he’ll come here and join us.”
“Good idea,” commented Frank. “Write out another message. Send it to Ned’s father. He’ll get it quicker at the bank than Ned would at the house.”
A little later this message, signed by Bart, went clicking over the wires to Darewell.
“Is Ned home? His uncle and aunt called away unexpectedly and he started back for Darewell. Answer.”
“Is Ned home? His uncle and aunt called away unexpectedly and he started back for Darewell. Answer.”
The boys said they would call in an hour for a reply. They spent the time wandering about the streets. Now, as it was approaching evening, thethoroughfares were filled with hurrying throngs. They found the telegram from Darewell waiting for them when they went back to the office. It was from Mr. Wilding and read:
“Ned not home. What is the trouble? Can’t you locate him in New York? Try. Will come on in the morning.”
“Ned not home. What is the trouble? Can’t you locate him in New York? Try. Will come on in the morning.”
“Ned has disappeared,” said Bart in strange tones, as he let the telegram fall to the floor.
When Ned started on a run up the street, after seeing in the station the man he believed was seeking to arrest him, he had no definite idea where he was going. All he cared about was to get out of the inspector’s sight.
“I can’t go back home,” he reasoned as he hurried on, seeking to lose himself in the crowd. “If I do they’ll arrest me as soon as I leave the train. I can’t bring disgrace on my father that way, though I am innocent of any intentional wrong-doing. Besides if it was known that I bought this stock it might injure his reputation at the bank. They might think he advised me to do it, and the bank doesn’t allow its officials to do that sort of business.”
Ned slowed his pace down from a run to a rapid walk, as he noticed that several persons were looking curiously at him. He did not want to attract attention.
“What had I better do?” he asked himself.“If I stay here I’m liable to arrest any moment. If I go home I’m sure of it as soon as I get off the train, as every one at the depot knows me. But they don’t here,” he added, as a thought came to him. “That’s one good thing. I’m an utter stranger in New York. The only persons who know me are my uncle and aunt. They are far enough off. Of course there’s Mary the servant girl, but I guess she’s not liable to meet me. Besides, she wouldn’t know the police wanted me. Then there’s Mr. Skem, but I guess he’s too busy himself, dodging the officers, to be found in this vicinity.
“That’s the best thing to do,” Ned decided. “I’ll stay in New York until—well until something happens. But the worst of it is I can’t even write to the folks at home. I can’t let them know what has occurred. I wonder what the boys will do when they come and find the house closed? If I send a letter to father the postal authorities can trace where it came from and get me. A telegram would be as bad. I’m just like a prisoner who can’t communicate with his friends. The only thing to do is to stick it out until something happens. If they would only arrest Skem & Skim maybe their testimony would clear me. But I guess they’re not likely to catch them. I’ve gotto stick it out alone and it’s going to be hard work.”
By this time Ned felt he was far enough away from the depot to render capture in the immediate future out of the question. He felt he could risk walking a little slower, for it was no joke to hurry along a mile or more carrying his valise, even though it was not a large one.
“I believe I’m hungry,” he said, as he came in front of a small restaurant. He had taken no food since breakfast and it was now about four o’clock in the afternoon. “I’ll feel better after I’ve eaten. Besides I’ve got to stay somewhere to-night. I must look for a hotel.”
He did feel more encouraged after he had dined, and, on inquiring of the cashier in the restaurant, where he could find a cheap but decent hotel, was directed to the Imperial a few blocks distant, back toward the station. Ned thought this would be safe enough.
“I’d better take an account of stock,” he remarked to himself as he started for the hotel. “Most of my clothes are in the trunk, and so is the check dad gave me to have uncle cash. I can’t get at that, and I guess I wouldn’t if I could. I’d have to endorse it to cash it, and when I wrote my name whoever saw it might tell the police.”
Ned’s imagination probably made things seem worse than they really were, but he was unaccustomed to city ways, and the memory of the inspector’s words, and the angry men who had lost money through Skem & Skim acted as an incentive for him to do everything possible to avoid arrest, which he felt would follow any disclosure of his identity, such as would result from endorsing a check.
“The only clothes I’ve got are on me,” Ned went on, continuing the process of “stock taking.” He had a change of underwear and some clean collars, cuffs and handkerchiefs in his valise, and about ten dollars in bills. In his pocketbook he carried five dollars and there was a little change in his overcoat.
“I’ve got to sail pretty close to the wind,” he told himself. “Fifteen dollars isn’t going very far in New York. I must get work to do until this thing blows over, or something happens. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll look for a job to-morrow.”
The hotel at which Ned arrived a few minutes later did not look very inviting. Still, he reflected, he was not in a position to be particular. It was a five-storied building, and on both sides of it, were shops for the sale of various articles.
“Can you give me a cheap room?” asked Ned of the clerk behind the desk.
“Sell you one, you mean I guess,” was the man’s reply as he went on with the operation of cleaning his finger nails. “We don’t give ’em away.”
“I’d like to engage a room for the night,” Ned went on.
“Dollar’s the cheapest we’ve got.”
“That will do.”
“Register,” the clerk said, swinging the book around in front of Ned, and handing him a pen which he dipped into the dirty ink bottle. Then he went on with his manicuring.
“I must sign my name,” thought Ned. “No I can’t do that! They might trace me!” He felt the rustle of the stock certificate in his pocket as he took the pen. What was he to do?
“Is it necessary to register?” he asked.
“Course it is,” replied the clerk looking at him curiously. “That’s the law. Everybody who stops at a hotel has to put their name on the book. What’s the matter? You ain’t afraid to register, are you? Don’t look as though you’d committed a murder or had robbed some one,” and the clerk grinned at his joke.
“No, of course not,” Ned replied, his heart thumping away under his overcoat. Then he resolvedto put on the book a fictitious name. He hesitated a moment and inscribed: “Thomas Seldon,” in a large hand as unlike as possible from his own usual small writing.
“Thomas Seldon, eh?” queried the clerk as he turned the book around once more. “Where you from? That has to go down.”
Once more Ned hesitated. What should he answer.
“What’s the matter? Forget where you live?” the clerk asked.
“No. It’s Perryville, New York,” replied Ned, taking a name at random, as he had the one he signed in the book.
The clerk told him to write it down, and after this was done the number 113 was placed after his name.
“Hope you’re not superstitious,” the clerk remarked.
“Why?” asked Ned.
“There’s a thirteen in your room number.”
“I don’t mind that.”
“Some folks do,” the clerk continued. “But that’s the only dollar room we’ve got left. Front!”
A boy answered the ring of the bell which the clerk touched, and, taking Ned’s grip led the way.A rattling, shaking elevator, of an antiquated type, carried Ned and his guide to the fifth floor. The young porter opened the door of a small room and set Ned’s grip down inside of it.
“Here’s where you bunk,” he remarked.
Ned had read of the necessity for tips in New York, and handed the boy a dime. The lad seemed to welcome it.
“T’anks,” he said.
“What’s that rope for?” asked Ned, as he noticed one in a corner of his room.
“Fire escape. New law. All rooms has to have ’em,” the boy replied. “If the shebang goes up you drop the rope out of the window and slide down. Your window’s right over the back yard and there’s a gate that leads out into a side street.”
“Do they have many fires?” asked Ned, feeling a bit nervous.
“Many? Every day ten or a dozen.”
“I mean around here?”
“Ain’t had none since I worked here, but when this place goes it’ll go quick. It’s about a thousand years old, I guess.”
When the boy had gone Ned looked out of the window. It overlooked the rear yard of the hotel, a place filled with boxes, barrels and all sorts of rubbish. The rope was fastened to aniron ring in the wall, and looked stout enough to hold several men. It was long enough to reach to the ground, as Ned could see.
“Hope I don’t have to use it,” he thought.
Leaving his valise in his room, Ned went downstairs, again, the old elevator taking considerable time on the trip.
“I’ll look around a bit, have some supper and then go to bed,” he decided. “Maybe my luck will change to-morrow.”
Ned after walking about the streets for awhile went back to the same restaurant where he had dined before, as he did not fancy the looks of his hotel well enough to eat there. He strolled about through the brilliantly lighted streets after supper pondering on his curious plight, and then went back to the Imperial.
As he approached the desk to get to the elevator he saw a stout man in close conversation with the clerk. He could hear the latter, in reply to some question, say:
“Guess we haven’t got anybody here you want, Jim. No new ones came except a kid. Queer thing about him, though, I believe he’s registered under the wrong name. Acts sort of funny.”
“What name did he give?” asked the stout man.
“‘Never’—‘ever’—no, that isn’t it but it’s something like that. ‘Seldom’—that’s it—no it isn’t either—‘Seldon,’ that’s it. ‘Thomas Seldon.’ I sized him up for a queer one.”
“I’ll have to get a look at him,” the stout man went on. “I don’t know as we have any call for him, but it’s best to be on the safe side.”
Ned felt his knees beginning to shake. He wondered who the big man might be. Just then the youthful porter sauntered toward him. Ned had come to a halt half way up the lobby of the hotel.
“Pipe off that guy?” asked the boy in a friendly whisper, with a nod at the stout man. Ned understood the question to mean “Do you know who that man is?” and he answered that he did not.
“One of the detectives from the Central Office. The sleuths come here same as at other hotels, every once in a while, to see if anybody they want might happen to be on hand. Guess he won’t land anybody this time, though, about a week ago—”
But Ned did not stop to listen. The stairway was in front of him, and he could get to his room without the clerk or the detective seeing him.
As he started up the stairs, intending to go tohis apartment and hide, for he had left the key in the lock, the boy-porter called after him:
“Why don’t you take the cage?”
“The elevator’s too slow,” Ned answered, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He was afraid the men might hear him. But they did not, and, walking swiftly he was soon in his room.
“What shall I do?” poor Ned asked himself. He seemed hounded on every side. “I must get away from here,” he thought. “The clerk suspects me! Perhaps that detective has a description of me! I must sneak out, and yet—I can’t go. I haven’t paid for my room!”
Then he caught sight of the rope fire escape. An idea came to him.
“I’ll slide down the rope to the ground,” he murmured. “That’s the way. I can get off without any one seeing me, and I’ll go to another hotel.”
He loosened the rope, which was looped upon a hook, and looked down into the yard. All was dark and quiet there. He tied his valise to the end of the rope and lowered it. The little thud of the satchel as it landed and slipped from the noose of the rope told him it was in the yard. Then, having left a dollar bill pinned to oneof the pillows of the bed, Ned put on his hat and overcoat, and, taking a firm hold of the rope stepped out of the window and went down, hand over hand. It was a trick he had often performed, though it was hard to descend the five stories. At last his feet touched the ground, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now to take my valise and skip,” he said in a whisper. “That was pretty well done.”
He stooped over to loosen his satchel from the rope. His fingers encountered nothing but the hempen strands.
“My valise is gone!” he exclaimed.
Ned felt around on the ground. He thought the valise might have slipped from the rope and rolled away into some corner of the yard. He got down on his knees and crawled about, looking among boxes and barrels, as well as he could in the darkness. But the valise was gone.
“Where in the world could it have disappeared to?” Ned asked himself. “I came down within three minutes after I lowered it to the ground.”
There was a gate, opening from the yard to the street, and Ned decided some one had either seen or heard the valise drop and had slipped in and stolen it.
“Now I am in a pickle,” the lad murmured. “No baggage, not even a clean collar, only a little over four dollars left” (for he had taken one from his pocketbook to leave for his room rent), “and I can’t even tell the police I’ve been robbed. If I do they’ll question me and find out I’m wanted for that stock matter. I certainly am up againstit. But I guess I’d better get away from here. That detective may go to my room, discover that I’ve gone, and make a search.”
Ned peered out of the gate. The street was deserted at that moment. With a hasty look up at the window of his room he had just left, and from which the rope still dangled, Ned, in worse plight than he had been before, hurried away. Once more he felt himself an outcast, without a place to go.
“When they see that rope they’ll suspect I’m some sort of a criminal,” he reflected bitterly. “What a lot of trouble a fellow can get into without meaning it,” he reflected. “This is the last time I’ll ever buy stocks or bonds on my own responsibility. I guess dad can manage finances until I learn the ropes a little better.”
He walked on, not knowing whither he was bound. He emerged from the side street to one of the main thoroughfares. There he mingled with the crowds, believing, that for the present at least, he was safe from pursuit.
“But I’ve got to stay somewhere to-night,” he told himself. “I can’t walk the streets forever. I wonder if there isn’t some place where I can get a bed without having to answer a lot of questions about myself?”
As he walked along an illuminated sign, on a building across the street, attracted his attention. It informed those who cared to know that the place was the “Owl Lodging House,” and that single beds could be had for fifteen cents a night, or a room including the privilege of a bath, for twenty-five cents.
“That about fits my pocketbook,” Ned reasoned. “Twenty-five cents a night is cheaper than a dollar, and I’ve got to be saving. I wonder if it’s clean? It seems like living in a tenement house, but I s’pose lots of men have to. I’ll try it anyhow. If I don’t like the looks of it I can leave.”
He walked up the stairs. Certainly the place would not have taken a prize for cleanliness but then, Ned reflected, beggars must not be choosers. He emerged into a big room, lighted by several gas jets, and seemingly filled with men in chairs who were lolling about in all sorts of attitudes. Some were asleep and some were reading newspapers. As Ned stood irresolutely gazing on the scene his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice.
“Well, young man, do you want a room or a bed?”
“Have you any rooms left?” asked Ned, turningto see a man staring at him from a small window in an office built against one side of the apartment.
“Lots of ’em,” replied the clerk of the lodging house. “Twenty-five cents. Pay in advance. This isn’t the Waldorf-Astoria.”
Ned handed a quarter through the half circular opening and received in return a key with a big brass tag.
“Do I register?” asked Ned, hoping that he would not have to put down another false name.
“Register nothin’,” the clerk replied. “They go by numbers here. Yours is seventeen,” and Ned, looking at the tag on his key, saw what the clerk meant.
“I’m glad there’s no thirteen in this,” the boy thought. “How do I get to my room?” he asked.
“Right along the corridor. You can’t miss it. Go on until you strike the right number and go in. Do you snore?”
“No. Why?”
“Because there is a man in the next room to you who says he’ll punch my face in, if I put any one near him who snores. It’s all right. Go ahead. If you want a bath it’s the last room atthe end of the hall, but you have to furnish your own soap and towels.”
“That settles the bath question,” thought Ned; “that is unless I dry myself on a pocket handkerchief, and I guess I’d better save that.”
“Lock your door,” the clerk called after him. “We’re not responsible for anything stolen from the rooms.”
Ned had not expected much for twenty-five cents, and the small room, the little narrow iron cot, and the scanty supply of coverings did not disappoint him. The room was merely separated from the others, in the row of which it was, by partitions that did not extend all the way to the ceiling. Ned sat down on the chair and gazed about him. He could hear men in the next rooms breathing heavily. It was rather chilly for there was no fire in the bedrooms.
“I can use my overcoat for a blanket,” Ned inadvertently spoke aloud. The next moment a voice, from the room on his left startled him.
“Hello, in seventeen!” called a man.
“Well?” asked Ned.
“Do you snore?”
“No.”
“All right. If you do there’ll be trouble. I’m a light sleeper.”
Ned wondered who his unseen questioner was, but he was too tired to care much.
He undressed, and crawled into bed. His overcoat answered well for a blanket, and soon he began to feel warm and drowsy, in spite of his strange surroundings.
He must have slept for several hours when he was suddenly awakened by a pounding on his door.
“What is it? Is the place afire?” he called, sitting up in bed.
“Fire nothing! I want my money you took!” It was the voice of the man who had asked him if he snored.
“I haven’t your money,” Ned answered, thinking the man might be a lunatic.
“Yes, you have! You sneaked into my room and took it! I woke up just in time! Open the door or I’ll break it down!”
Ned sprang from his bed and turned the key. The door flew open and a big man with a red moustache entered.
“Give me my money!” he demanded, striding up to Ned.
“I tell you I haven’t your money!” exclaimed Ned. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean well enough! I had a lot of dollar bills under my pillow! You sneaked in and took them! I want my money!”
“And I tell you I haven’t it and didn’t take it!” Ned repeated. “This is my room, and you’d better get out of it!”
“Not until I have my money! Where is it?”
He lifted a pillow from Ned’s bed. Under it were four one dollar bills which Ned had placed there before he went to sleep.
“Here’s part of it, anyhow!” the man exclaimed. “I want the rest now! Fork it over!”
“That’s my money!” cried Ned, as the red-moustached man took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.
“Your money! A likely story! Anybody with as much money as that would never stop in a place like this.”
“How did you happen to stop here then?” asked Ned quickly.
“Me? Why young impudence, I’m the proprietor of this lodging house! I live here! That’s why. Hey, Bill!” he called in a loud voice, “come here. There’s trouble.”
In answer to the summons a big man, evidently the night porter or watchman, came shuffling down the corridor.
“What’s the trouble, boss?” he asked, and Ned began to believe the man had spoken the truth when he said he was the proprietor of the place.
“Why, here’s a kid comes into my room when I’m asleep and takes my cash right from under my pillow. I wake up just in time to see him sneak back into his room and when I get him with the goods on him he has the impudence to deny it. There’s part of the cash,” and he showed Ned’s money, “but I want the rest. Better call a policeman, Bill.”
“All right, boss. Just as you say,” and the porter shuffled off.
“Do you mean to say you’re going to have me arrested on a charge of stealing your money?” asked Ned.
“That’s what I am unless you give it up.”
“But I didn’t take it. It must have been some one else, if you really were robbed. Why don’t you look in some of the other rooms along here?”
“Because I saw you come in here after you were in my room, and had your hand under my pillow.”
“Couldn’t you be mistaken?”
“Not much. I’ve been in this business too long. ’Tisn’t the first time I’ve been robbed, but it’s the first time I got the thief and I’m goin’ to make an example of you.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Ned said, trying to speak bravely, but the accusation, unjust as it was, coupled with his other misfortunes was almost too much for him.
“I’ll take the chances on that. Who are you, anyhow? What’s your name, and where’d you come from?”
Ned hesitated. If he gave his real name it might lead to trouble over the stock, in case the proprietor carried out the threat to have him arrested. He was not used to telling untruths and he was afraid if he gave a false name he would soon betray himself. Still it seemed the best thing to do and would harm no one save himself.
“My name’s George Anderson,” he said boldly. “Where I came from is none of your affair.”
“Afraid to tell, eh? Well, the judge will soon have it out of you.”
It was quite cold now, and Ned, standing half dressed as he was in the room, began to shiver. He put on his clothes.
“Guess that’s a wise thing to do,” the proprietor of the lodging house remarked. “You’ll get a ride in the hurry-up wagon soon.”
The words struck a chill of terror to Ned’s heart. Must he spend the rest of the night in a cell? The man’s manner showed no relenting. He either believed Ned had robbed him or was insisting on the charge for some reason of his own.
“Are you in earnest about this?” asked Ned, as he put on his hat and overcoat.
“You can make up your mind to that,” was the man’s answer. “It’ll be the jail for yours, in a little while, if you don’t give me back my money. It isn’t too late. I can fix it with the cop if you’ll give up. Why look here, kid, they’ll search you and find it on you. You haven’t had time to hide it, and, besides, there’s no place in this room. You must have it on you. Give it up and save trouble.”
“I haven’t your money,” Ned said boldly. “Those bills you took from under the pillow weremine. You can search me now if you want to. That is all the money I have except a little change in my overcoat pocket,” and he showed the man.
“That don’t go with me. I’m sure you robbed me. I’ll not search you or you’d say I was up to some game, and nobody ever said but what Jim Cassidy was honest, though he does keep a cheap lodging house. No, sir, the cop’ll search you.”
Ned knew the officer would find nothing—except the stock certificate. There was the trouble. Ned thought every officer in New York had a description of it and was looking for the boy who carried it. No, he couldn’t allow himself to be searched.
“It’s cold!” exclaimed Cassidy suddenly, as he shivered in his long nightrobe. “I’m goin’ to get dressed. Better not try to run or I’ll nab you. I’ll be in the next room.”
He went into his own apartment and Ned could hear him putting on his clothes. By the grunts and puffs that ensued he judged Cassidy was having hard work, as he was a large man, and putting on a shirt was no easy matter.
Then a daring plan came into Ned’s mind. In spite of the excitement caused by the proprietor’s entrance into his room and the loud talking that followed the accusation, none of the other lodgershad gotten up. Even sending the porter for a policeman had not excited any curiosity.
Ned resolved to make his escape if possible. He thought he could slip past Cassidy’s door and down the stairs before Bill would return with a policeman. He got upon the bed and looked over the partition into Cassidy’s room. The proprietor was putting on his shoes and had his back to the door. There was a light at the far end of the corridor, illuminating it dimly.
Ned took off his own shoes, and, carrying them in his hand stepped to the door of his room. He stole softly into the corridor and was about to slip past Cassidy’s room when the door of the apartment opposite his opened just a crack and a hoarse voice whispered:
“Hey, cully! If youse wants t’ make a git-away, go de other way an’ down de back stairs. Youse kin slip around through de alley an’ inter de street ’fore de cop comes. I heard what youse said and ye sounds honest, an’ dat’s more’n ye kin say fer a lot in dis joint. Quick, some one’s comin’ up de front stairs!”
Then, before Ned could thank his unknown friend, the door was shut. Ned could hear Cassidy getting up from the chair on which he hadseated himself to lace his shoes. There was not a moment to spare.
Making no sound in his stocking feet, Ned hurried down the dark corridor, away from the front of the building. He had to trust almost entirely to feeling, as the gleam from the single lamp farther toward the front stairs did not penetrate thus far. He did not even know where the rear flight was, but trusted to luck to find them. With his hand stretched out in front of him, to avoid running into any obstructions he went on as fast as he could. Suddenly he turned a corner in the passage and saw a dim light. Then he observed a flight of stairs leading downward. He listened a moment. Behind him he could hear the tramp of heavy feet, and guessed that Bill had returned with the policeman.
Ned hurried down the stairs. He stopped only long enough, when he reached the bottom, to put his shoes on, but did not lace them. He only tucked the ends of the strings into the tops so they would not dangle and trip him if he had to run. Then Ned stepped from the hallway into the dark and deserted street. Once more, though entirely innocent, he had been obliged to flee from officers of the law.
“It’s getting to be a habit with me,” he said grimly, as he hurried along.
What happened back in the lodging house he did not know and he cared less. That his flight would seem a confession of guilt he was sure; but what did it matter?
It was cold and dark and cheerless in the streets. He was a night wanderer, with no place to go, and, as far as he knew, not a friend in the big city.
“I guess I’ll have to walk the streets all night,” poor Ned thought. “I haven’t much money left.” He felt in the pocket of his overcoat, and counted the change. There was less than a dollar.
“Have to take fifteen cent beds after this,” he remarked to himself. “As for eating I guess I’ll have to cut that out altogether.”
He walked through several thoroughfares. Not a soul did he meet save once as he passed a policeman the officer stared at him suspiciously. But Ned still had his good clothes with him, and his overcoat though crumpled from being used as a bed-spread, made him look decent enough to pass muster in the neighborhood where he was.
“I think I’ll find another lodging house and get a bed,” he said to himself. “I must get a little rest if I am to look for work to-morrow.”
He had no difficulty in finding a place, for there were many such nearby. He got a fifteen cent bed, in a room where scores of other men and youths were sleeping. His entrance excited no comment, and, in fact, few were awake to notice his arrival.
Ned was so tired he fell asleep with most of his clothes on. He had little fear of being robbed for he had little left to take. He got a frugal breakfast the next morning and started out to search for work.
But New York seemed to be overflowing with men and boys on the same errand. Every place where Ned applied, either from seeing a sign “Boy Wanted,” or by getting the address from a newspaper he bought, had been taken or else he would not fill the bill. All day long he tramped, spending a few cents for some buns and coffee at a lunch stand. At night, tired and discouraged, he went back to the lodging house where he had last stayed, and again got a fifteen cent bed.
“To-morrow’s Thursday,” thought Ned, as he crawled under his overcoat, which he once more used as a blanket. “I wonder if the boys arrived to-day? What could they have thought when they saw the house closed? Oh, I wish I could find them. If this keeps on I’ll have topawn my overcoat for something to eat, and it looks as if it would snow to-morrow. What a pickle I’m in!”
Then, in spite of his troubles he fell asleep, for he was very tired.
The telegram from Ned’s father, which the three chums received that Wednesday evening, telling them their friend was not at his home in Darewell, was a great shock to them.
“Why,” remarked Bart, as he picked up the message he had dropped, “it hardly seems possible. I wonder where in the world he can be. He starts for home but he never arrives.”
“Are we sure he started for home?” asked Frank.
“Why of course,” Fenn answered. “Didn’t the telegram from Mrs. Kenfield say so?”
“She would hardly know,” Frank went on. “Ned’s train for Darewell wouldn’t leave until four o’clock. The timetable shows that. According to what the woman who lives next door to Mrs. Kenfield told us, Ned’s aunt started away before noon. Her train must have left about that time, so Ned couldn’t have gotten away from New York, if he left at all, until after his aunt hadstarted for Chicago. Consequently though she may have seen him leave the depot where she was, with the intention of going back to Darewell, that’s no proof that he really went back home.”
“That’s so,” admitted Bart, struck with the force of Frank’s reasoning. “But where then can he be?”
“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” said Fenn.
“How are we going to do it?” Bart inquired.
“I think Ned’s right here in New York,” Frank went on. “Now look at it. His aunt goes away unexpectedly and closes the house up. It would seem natural for Ned to go back home, but we find out he has not. He doesn’t know any one else in this part of the country, or he would have told us. Consequently he has not gone to any other city. Therefore he must be in New York.”
“But why would he stay here?” insisted Bart.
“Probably for the same reason we’re going to, in order to see the sights.”
“Then why didn’t he send some word home to let his father know?” Bart asked. “Mr. Wilding wouldn’t be starting for New York if he knew Ned was safe here. Ned hasn’t communicated with his father, that’s sure.”
“I forgot about that,” Frank admitted. “That makes it look different.”
“Maybe something has happened to him,” suggested Fenn.
“Don’t look for trouble, Stumpy,” remarked Bart. “It’s bad enough as it is.”
“However I still think Ned is in New York,” Frank went on. “He may be sick or he may have been hurt, which would prevent him communicating with us, or with his father. But that he’s in this city I’m sure. Now the thing for us to do is to find him.”
“But how?” asked Fenn.
“There are dozens of ways. We must communicate with the police and ask their help.”
“Ned wouldn’t like that,” interposed Bart. “He’s not a criminal.”
“Of course not,” Frank answered. “But the police have to help find lots of persons who are not criminals. If Ned’s in trouble we want to know it as soon as possible so we can help him.”
“Then the sooner we start the better,” suggested Bart. “Where ought we to begin?”
“Let’s ask the agent here at the station where Ned’s train came in,” Frank said. “Perhaps he may have noticed him.”
“Not likely,” replied Bart. “Too many passengers coming and going.”
They made some inquiries, but, as Bart hadsaid, there were too many arrivals and departures for the agent to have taken particular note of a boy among a thousand others.
“That settles one end of it,” remarked Fenn, as they were about to leave the depot. “Let’s arrange to stop at some hotel. We’re going to be here several days, very likely.”
“So we are,” Frank replied. “Hold on! Wait a minute! I’ve just thought of something.”
“What?” asked Bart.
“The baggage room. We can find out if there are any trunks from Darewell, besides our own, that have not been called for. Besides I know Ned’s when I see it.”
They hurried to the baggage agent and told him what they wanted. He soon ascertained from his records that four trunks had come in from Darewell in the last few days. Three were those of the three chums, which had arrived that noon.
“I’ve got one other,” the agent said. “It came in Monday, and there are storage charges on it now.”
“Can we look at it?” asked Frank.
The agent showed it to them.
“That’s Ned’s trunk!” cried Frank. “We’re on the track. He hasn’t left New York, that’ssure. Has any one called for that trunk?” he asked the agent.
“No, but I wish they would. It’s in the way here.”
“Could you let us know in case any one does call?” Frank went on, giving his reasons for the request. “We’ll pay you for your trouble.”
“I s’pose I could. Where’ll you be?”
“We ought to stop at some hotel near here,” Frank suggested. “Then we can come here quickly if we get a message.”
“Do you know of a good hotel near here?” asked Bart of the agent.
“There’s the Imperial a few blocks up the street. It’s not especially good, but it’s respectable. I guess you could stop there.”
“That will do,” Frank said. “We’ll get rooms there. We will send for our trunks, and you can telephone us in case that other one is called for.”
He gave the man a couple of dollars to pay for his trouble, and for any telephone messages he might have to send, and then the three chums went to the same hotel where Ned had stopped.
The same clerk was on duty who had been there when Ned registered, and he seemed rather surprised at the three well dressed youths who entered.Usually the Imperial, in spite of its name, did not attract such a class of patrons. The boys bargained for three connecting rooms, and, as they had plenty of money were given good apartments on the second floor.
“Register,” the clerk said, swinging the book around to them.
As Bart took the pen to write his name, he looked at the book and gave a start.
“I thought first that was Ned’s writing,” he said as he looked where his chum, but a few hours before had written “Thomas Seldon.”
“Friend of yours?” asked the clerk quickly.
“I thought first it looked like the writing of a chum of mine,” Bart replied. “But it’s different I see.”
“Guess that chap doesn’t travel in your company,” the clerk went on, as the other boys put down their names.
“Why?”
“Oh, he’s a crook I guess,” and he told of the discovery of Ned’s escape down the rope. “He hasn’t done anything as far as we can learn,” the clerk went on, “but his getting out that way showed there was something wrong, though he was honest enough to leave a dollar for his room, which he didn’t occupy. However, the policewould like to get him just to see why he was in such a hurry to get away.
“Funny thing, too,” the clerk continued. “He left his valise behind him. He must have lowered it out of the window by the rope, or else he threw it out. Anyway, just before we found out that he had gone, our chef went out in the back yard for a breath of air. He saw the valise lying on the ground, but didn’t take notice of the rope. He brought the satchel in and gave it to me. I was talking to a detective at the desk, one who comes in here every once in a while to see if there are any suspicious characters. I was telling him about this Seldon lad, just as the cook handed me the grip. I recognized it as the one the boy had when he came in, and got suspicious. We went to his room, but he had skipped. We’ve got the valise yet, but haven’t opened it. The police may in a few days.”
The boys slept soundly that night. They awoke in the morning to find a heavy snow storm in progress. They spent the day going from one place to another, following the advice they got at the office of the chief of police. But all to no purpose. There was no trace of Ned. They were out almost all day in the storm, which continued to get worse as night approached.
“There’s one thing we forgot,” said Frank, as they prepared to go back to the hotel for the night.
“What?” asked Fenn.
“We should have let Mr. Wilding know where we are stopping. You know he said he was coming to New York. We must send him a wire. If he has left Darewell, the bank will know his address here, and forward it to us.”
This plan, Frank’s chums decided, was a wise one. They turned toward a telegraph office which they had noticed near their hotel. As they were going down a dark side street Bart, who was in advance, stumbled over something and fell into a snow drift.
“Hurt yourself?” asked Frank.
“No. It was like falling into a feather bed, only it’s cold.”
Just then something like a groan sounded from the object Bart had stumbled over.
“What’s that?” asked Fenn.
The three boys bent over the object.
“It’s a boy!” cried Frank. “He’s almost frozen to death. Come on, fellows! We must carry him to some shelter.”
“Better take him to our hotel,” suggested Bart.
They picked up the boy, who was lying in a drift of snow on the sidewalk, and hurried on with him. Feeble moans came from between the unknown’s white lips.
When Ned awakened Thursday morning in the lodging house and, on looking from the window saw that it was snowing, his unpleasant position came forcibly to him.
“This is nice,” he reflected as he put on his shoes. “It’s as cold as Greenland out of doors, and I’m down to—let’s see what my cash capital is, anyhow.”
He fumbled in the change pocket of his overcoat, and found a few coins.
“Thirty cents,” he murmured as he looked at them. “There’s enough for three five-cent meals, and enough to pay for a bed to-night. I’ll need the bed too, if this storm keeps up.”
He finished dressing and went to the window to look out. It was anything but a pleasant day on which to look for work. The wind had blown the snow into big drifts, and the white flakes were still falling. It was cold too, as he could tell by the draught that came in around the window.
“Come now, everybody clear out!” called a voice, and one of the porters of the lodging house appeared with a pail and broom. “Got to clean up the place. Fifteen cents doesn’t mean you fellers can make a hotel of this place and hang around all day. Clear out!”
“Can’t we stay until it stops snowin’?” asked one of the men, who were crowded around the big stove in the sleeping room.
“You kin if you pay for another night’s lodging,” was the answer. “What do you think this is, the Salvation Army or the Y. M. C. A.? If you want free graft go there. You has to pay for what you gits here. Clear out!”
There was no help for it. Those who hoped to remain in away from the storm, where it was at least warm, though not very inviting, were doomed to disappointment. A few, who had the money, paid for another night’s lodging, which gave them the privilege of remaining in during the day.
Ned had half a notion to do this, but he reflected he might find a place to work which would be so far from the lodging house that he could not conveniently return. So he decided to save his money until he could find out what the day might hold for him.
With scores of other unfortunates he left thewarm room and went out into the cold. He was glad he was well clothed and that he still had his overcoat. How long he could keep it, before he would have to pawn it for food, he did not know. He almost decided to go back to the hotel where he had first stayed and see if they knew anything about his valise. That had ten dollars in it. Then the thought of the detective deterred him.
“If I had the four dollars the lodging house proprietor stole from me I’d think I was rich,” he murmured. “But I wouldn’t dare go back after it. He’d have me arrested sure! Though I may have to submit to that to get a warm place to sleep and something to eat, if I don’t get work soon,” he added.
It was very cold. As soon as Ned got out into the street, where he could feel the full sweep of the wind he shivered though his overcoat was a thick one. The snow was blown into his face with stinging force.
“As long as it doesn’t make any difference which way I go I may as well have the wind at my back,” he reasoned as he turned and walked in the opposite direction. “That’s more comfortable, at any rate,” he continued. “Now I must get something to eat, if it’s only a cup of coffee.”
He walked on until he saw a restaurant. Inthe window was a big gas stove on which a man, in a white uniform and cap, was browning some buckwheat cakes. They looked so good they made Ned’s mouth fairly water.
“I’m going to have some,” he decided. “It will take fifteen cents, if I get coffee with them, but it’s worth it. I’ll make this meal do for dinner too. But supper—”
Ned did not dare carry his thoughts further. All he knew was that he was very hungry, and at least he had money enough to pay for a simple meal. Supper must take care of itself.
“Maybe I can get a night’s lodging at some free place, and save the rest of my money for supper and breakfast to-morrow,” Ned thought to himself as he entered the restaurant.
He ordered a plate of the cakes and some coffee, and could hardly wait until the girl had placed them on the table in front of him. He got a small pitcher of what passed for maple syrup, and there was a plate of butter from which all at the table helped themselves.
Ned finished the cakes in short order. The coffee was hot if nothing else, but Ned was surprised at the small place in his big appetite which the cakes filled. He almost felt like ordering more but decided it would be rash to reduce his capitalto five cents. As it was now, when he had paid for his breakfast, he would have fifteen cents left out of the thirty.
With the pasteboard check which the girl had left at his plate, in his hand, Ned approached the cashier’s desk in the front part of the restaurant. His fingers went into the change pocket of his overcoat, searching for the money. He could feel nothing but the lining. A blank look came over his face. He was sure he had put the money back into that pocket as he finished counting it when he sat on the edge of his bed. Yet it was not there. Hurriedly he felt in all his other pockets.
Meanwhile several customers behind him were impatiently waiting to pay their checks.
“One side,” said the cashier in a gruff tone, as he saw Ned fumbling through his pockets. “What’s the matter with you? Left your memory home?”
“I think I’ve lost my money,” Ned answered, his voice trembling a little.
“Then you’ve got another think coming,” the clerk said in an ugly tone. “I’ve heard that story before.”
“What story?” asked Ned.
“About forgetting your money. Left it in the bank I s’pose, or home on the pianer, or you’vegot to have a check cashed. What is it, speak quick, I’ve got no time to fool.”
While he was talking, the man was busy making change for other customers who walked past Ned.
“Do you mean that you think I’m trying to cheat you?” asked the boy.
“I don’t mean anything if you pay for what you’ve eaten. If you don’t pay—well—there’s a cop just around the corner, and we’ve had your same kind in here before.”
By this time Ned stood alone in front of the desk, as the line of waiting men had passed out.
“I had my money when I came in here,” said the boy. “Or at least I think I did. I had it a little while before, I’m sure, for I counted it. There was thirty cents—”
“That’s what you look like now,” the cashier interrupted, with a coarse laugh at his joke. “It’ll be thirty days for yours if you don’t settle up.”
“But I haven’t got the money,” replied poor Ned.
“Then you shouldn’t have eaten anything. Do you think we’re feedin’ beggars here?”
“I thought I had the money when I ordered the cakes,” Ned replied, staring helplessly at the fifteen cent check in his hand.
“Say, young feller, that’s too thin. It don’t go here any more. I’ve been stung too often with that yarn. You’ll pay for your grub or you’ll be arrested, see? Have you got the money; yes or no?”
“I haven’t—but if—”
“Yes, if we let you go you’ll stop in on your way from the bank and give us a check! No you don’t! A fellow gave me that song and dance last week. Jim, call the cop,” and the cashier nodded to one of the men waiters.
“Are you going to have me arrested?” exclaimed Ned.
“That’s what I am. It’s a criminal offense to order a meal, eat it, and not pay for it.”
Ned did not know what to do.
Stumbling through the snow drifts the three chums bore the half-unconscious boy they had picked up in the snow bank. They went as quickly as they could, for they knew the need of haste in the case of a person who had been exposed to the cold and storm.
“I wonder who he is?” said Fenn.
“Whoever he is he’s pretty nearly dead,” replied Frank. “I hope we’re not too late.”
As they struggled into the lobby of the hotel with their burden, the night clerk gazed curiously at them.
“What the matter?” he asked.
“Boy almost frozen,” replied Bart. “Send for a doctor!”
“Who’s going to pay him?” the clerk inquired.
“We will!” Bart replied, somewhat indignantly.
“That’s all right, needn’t get mad about it,” the clerk exclaimed. “You’ll find there’s a lot ofgrafting in New York, and we have to be careful. Here, I’ll help you with him.”
“Take him up to my room,” Frank suggested, as the clerk came from behind the desk and assisted in supporting the boy, who was now unconscious. “Mine is the largest apartment,” Frank went on, “I can bunk in with one of you fellows.”
“Telephone for Dr. Smithers,” the clerk called to a helper as they placed the boy in the elevator. “He’s just around the corner.”
The lad was put to bed in Frank’s room, and the clerk, who seemed a little sorry, for his question about payment, brought in some rubber hot-water bags which were placed about the silent form under the coverlet.
“We must thaw him out,” he said. “That’s the best treatment I know of.”
In a little while the doctor arrived. He said the clerk had done the right thing and he ordered some hot broth prepared.
“Alice ought to be here,” remarked Bart. “This would be just in her line.”
“Wonder who he is?” asked Frank, as the three boys were in Bart’s room, for the doctor, and one of the women servants of the hotel, who had volunteered for a nurse, were busy trying to restore the boy to consciousness.
“Probably some poor homeless wanderer,” replied Fenn. “Tough luck, to be without a home on a night like this.”
“I only hope Ned isn’t in any such plight,” spoke Bart.
“Why should he be?” asked Fenn. “He had plenty of money when he left home.”
“You can never tell what will happen in New York,” replied Fenn with a wise look, which, though he did not appreciate it, was quite a truthful remark.
In about an hour Dr. Smithers came out. He seemed well pleased with what he had accomplished.
“I think we’ll pull him through,” he said, rubbing his hands. “It was a close call. If you had been five minutes later he would probably have been past human aid.”
“Could he tell you anything of himself, doctor?” asked Frank.
“Oh, no. He has not yet fully recovered consciousness. But he will be pretty well in the morning, unless something unforeseen sets in. In the meanwhile he must be kept perfectly quiet. On no account must he be disturbed. One of the chambermaids will watch him during the night. Iventured to engage her as a sort of emergency nurse.”
“That’s right,” spoke Bart. “You can send the bill to me, doctor, and we’ll pay for the nurse.”
“I’m sure that’s very good of you,” Dr. Smithers went on, “to take so much interest in a boy you never saw before, as I understand it.”
“Can’t tell but we might want the same kind of help ourselves, some day,” Frank remarked.
“That’s so,” the physician agreed. “Well, now I believe I’ll go. He’ll get along all right I think, and I’ll look in on him in the morning.”
Frank and Bart arranged to occupy the latter’s bed that night, as it was a large one. As Frank went into his room, where the rescued boy was, to get some clean clothing for the morning, he saw the lad lying asleep, with the woman watching at the head of the bed. The gas was turned low, but a gleam from it struck on the cheek of the sleeper. As Frank passed close by the bed he looked down on the patient, and, as he did so, he started. For there, on the right cheek of the boy, was a small, but vivid red scar. Frank pointed to it, before he knew what he was doing. The nurse, seeing his gesture, looked up in alarm.
“That mark!” whispered Frank. “Is it a cut? Did he fall and hurt himself?”
“It’s an old scar,” the woman replied in a whisper. “I noticed it when I was giving him some medicine a while ago. Why?”
“Nothing much; I thought it might be a cut,” Frank replied as he hurried quietly from the room. He found Bart and Fenn discussing the finding of the boy. “Fellows,” began Frank suddenly as he entered, “do you remember Mrs. Perry?”
“You mean the woman whose place we stayed at over night out of the blizzard?” asked Bart.
“That’s it. Do you remember what she told us about her son William who was lost?”
“Sure,” answered Bart.
“Didn’t she say he had a scar or something on his face?”
“A red scar on his right cheek,” replied Bart. “Why?”
“He’s in there!” declared Frank.
“Are you dreaming?” asked Bart incredulously.
Then Frank told his chums what he had seen.
“Of course there may be other boys besides William Perry with red scars on their right cheeks,” he added, “but I’m sure this is the son of the widow, in the cabin in the woods. We can find out in the morning.”
“Why not now?” asked Fenn.
“Doctor said he mustn’t be disturbed,” Frank replied. “We’ll have to wait.”
In the morning the boy was much better. The doctor paid an early visit and pronounced him out of danger, but advised that he be kept in bed a day or so.
“Now you chaps who rescued him had better go in and tell him all about it,” the physician said as he came from the room. “He’s all excited with curiosity as to how he got here.”
The boys paid the doctor, who said he would not have to call again unless the patient had a relapse, and then they went into the room where the lad was. He was sitting up in bed alone, for the chambermaid had gone.
“Are you the boys who saved me?” was the first question he asked.
“We pulled you out of the snow, but I guess the doctor did the real work of saving you, William Perry!” exclaimed Frank.
“What’s that?” almost shouted the boy in bed.
“Aren’t you William Perry? Doesn’t your mother live near Kirkville, and haven’t you two sisters, Mary and Jane?” Frank went on earnestly, for he had determined on a bold plan. “Your mother wants you to come home,” he added. “Your room is all ready for you. Shetold us to tell you to come back, no matter what had happened.”
“Have you seen my mother?” asked the boy, his eyes filling with tears. “Did she send you to find me?”
“Then you are William Perry!” exclaimed Bart. “You guessed it, Frank!”
“We saw your mother Thanksgiving day,” went on Frank. “We were able to help her. We found her cabin just in the nick of time, for we were caught in a blizzard. So we have only paid back, in a measure, what she did for us.”
“Yes, I am William Perry,” the boy admitted, and now he made no effort to conceal his tears. “It’s the first time I’ve used my name, though, in many months. My poor mother! Yes, I will go back to her. I’d go now, only—”
“Don’t let the money part worry you,” said Fenn eagerly. “We’ll lend you some.”
“I’ve made a big failure of it all,” William went on. “I ought not to go home.”
“The more reason why you should,” interrupted Frank.
Then the waif told them his story. He had started off to go to sea, in order to earn money for his mother. But he only got as far as Boston. Then, unable to stand the hard work he desertedthe ship. Fearing to go home, because he thought he might be arrested for leaving the vessel, he tried to find work. He did manage to get odd jobs here and there, and finally drifted to New York.
He found it was just as hard to earn a dollar there as it had been in Boston. He could barely get enough to buy himself food and he often went hungry. Finally he managed to get a permanent position, but he earned so little that he could only just live on it. He had slept in lodging houses, he said, and wore the poorest clothing he could buy.
“I was ashamed to go home without money,” he went on, “or I would have gone back long ago. I wanted to return with good clothes and gold jingling in my pocket, as I had read, in books, of boys doing. So I didn’t even write to let them know where I was. Poor mother!” and William sighed.
“I lost my position a month ago. Since then I have only managed to earn enough to live, and it was hard work at times. I hadn’t had anything to eat all day yesterday,” he went on, “and I was cold and weak. I was on my way to the river, thinking I could find a place on the wharves to sleep, when I stumbled and fell into the snowbank.When I was down it felt so warm there I decided to stay. I didn’t care what became of me.”
“But you do now, don’t you?” asked Frank.
“Do I?” asked the boy eagerly. “Say, will you lend me a stamp so I can write home to mother?”
“We’ll do better than that,” said Bart. “We’ll send her a telegram.”
When the message had been forwarded to Mrs. Perry, telling her of the unexpected finding of her wandering boy, the three chums told the waif their reason for being in New York.
“And you haven’t been able to find a trace of Ned, eh?” asked William, musingly.
“Not a trace,” replied Frank. “But don’t let our troubles worry you. You must get strong and hurry home to your mother.”
“Say, let me help you!” exclaimed William eagerly. “Maybe I can pay you back for your kindness. I know New York like a book. I’ve knocked all around it for the last six months. Maybe I can locate Ned for you. I know lots of places where fellows go when they’re down on their luck, as I was. Let me help. Mother won’t mind when I write and tell her I’m going to stay here a few days longer, when she knows what it’s for. I believe I can help you.”
“Perhaps you can,” said Fenn.
So it was arranged that William was to stay with the three chums at the hotel for a few days. He was not to venture out until the next day, however, as he was still weak.
“Will you be all right if we leave you alone here?” asked Frank a little later. “We want to go out and make some inquiries.”
“Sure. Go ahead,” replied William. “I’m so happy now I’ll not be lonesome.”
The three chums went to police headquarters to ask if any news concerning Ned had been received, but there was none for them. The sergeant behind the desk tried to cheer them up by remarking that “no news was good news.”
“We must find him pretty soon,” Bart declared. “If we don’t I’ll begin to believe something bad has happened.”
As they were walking along the Bowery, in the neighborhood of the cheap variety theaters, they were attracted by a flaming poster which announced the various performers who could be seen or heard. They paused and read it through. There were men who imitated monkeys, trained birds, strong men, women who sang, bands of musicians, and at the bottom of the poster was the announcement.