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The Ben, The Luggage Boy; or, Among the Wharves, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 17. Ben Forms A Resolution |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. BEN FORMS A RESOLUTION "Does this car go up Madison Avenue?" asked Charles, after they had taken their seats. "No," said Ben, "it goes up Fourth Avenue; but that's only one block away from Madison. We'll get out at Thirtieth Street." "I'm glad you're with me; I might have a hard time finding the place if I were alone." "Are you going to stay in the city long?" asked Ben. "Yes, I am going to school here. Father is going to move here soon. Until he comes I shall stay with my Cousin Mary." Ben felt quite sure that this must be his older sister, but did not like to ask. "Is she married?" "Yes, it is the sister of my Cousin Ben. About two years ago she married a New York gentleman. He is a broker, and has an office in Wall Street. I suppose he's rich." "What's his name?" asked Ben. "Maybe I've seen his office." "It is Abercrombie,--James Abercrombie. Did you ever hear that name?" "No," answered Ben, "I can't say as I have. He aint the broker that does my business." "Have you much business for a broker?" asked Charles, laughing. "I do a smashin' business in Erie and New York Central," answered Ben. "You are in the same business as the railroads," said Charles. "How is that?" "You are both baggage-smashers." "That's so; only I don't charge so much for smashin' baggage as they do." They were on Centre Street now, and a stone building with massive stone columns came in view on the west side of the street. "What building is that?" asked Charles. "That's a hotel, where they lodge people free gratis." Charles looked at his companion for information. "It's the Tombs," said Ben. "It aint so popular, though, as the hotels where they charge higher." "No, I suppose not. It looks gloomy enough." "It aint very cheerful," said Ben. "I never put up there, but that's what people say that have enjoyed that privilege." "Where is the Bowery?" "We'll soon be in it. We turn off Centre Street a little farther up." Charles was interested in all that he saw. The broad avenue which is known as the Bowery, with its long line of shops on either side, and the liberal display of goods on the sidewalk, attracted his attention, and he had numerous questions to ask, most of which Ben was able to answer. He had not knocked about the streets of New York six years for nothing. His business had carried him to all parts of the city, and he had acquired a large amount of local information, a part of which he retailed now to his cousin as they rode side by side in the horse-cars. At length they reached Thirtieth Street, and here they got out. At the distance of one block they found Madison Avenue. Examining the numbers, they readily found the house of which they were in search. It was a handsome four-story house, with a brown-stone front. "This must be Mr. Abercrombie's house," said Charles. "I didn't think Cousin Mary lived in such a nice place." Ben surveyed the house with mingled emotions. He could not help contrasting his own forlorn, neglected condition with the position of his sister. She lived in an elegant home, enjoying, no doubt, all the advantages which money could procure; while he, her only brother, walked about the streets in rags, sleeping in any out-of-the-way corner. But he could blame no one for it. It had been his own choice, and until this morning he had been well enough contented with it. But all at once a glimpse had been given him of what might have been his lot had he been less influenced by pride and waywardness, and by the light of this new prospect he saw how little hope there was of achieving any decent position in society if he remained in his present occupation. But what could he do? Should he declare himself at once to his cousin, and his sister? Pride would not permit him to do it. He was not willing to let them see him in his ragged and dirty state. He determined to work and save up money, until he could purchase a suit as handsome as that which his cousin wore. Then he would not be ashamed to present himself, so far as his outward appearance went. He knew very well that he was ignorant; but he must trust to the future to remedy that deficiency. It would be a work of time, as he well knew. Meanwhile he had his cousin's assurance that he would be glad to meet him again, and renew the old, affectionate intimacy which formerly existed between them. While these thoughts were passing through Ben's mind, as I have said, they reached the house. "Have you had any breakfast?" asked Charles as they ascended the steps. "Not yet," answered Ben. "It isn't fashionable to take breakfast early." "Then you must come in. My cousin will give you some breakfast." Ben hesitated; but finally decided to accept the invitation. He had two reasons for this. Partly because it would give him an opportunity to see his sister; and, secondly, because it would save him the expense of buying his breakfast elsewhere, and that was a consideration, now that he had a special object for saving money. "Is Mrs. Abercrombie at home?" asked Charles of the servant who answered his summons. "Yes, sir; who shall I say is here?" "Her cousin, Charles Montrose." "Will you walk into the parlor?" said the servant, opening a door at the side of the hall. She looked doubtfully at Ben, who had also entered the house. "Sit down here, Ben," said Charles, indicating a chair on one side of the hat-stand. "I'll stop here till Mrs. Abercrombie comes down," he said. Soon a light step was heard on the stairs, and Mrs. Abercrombie descended the staircase. She is the same that we last saw in the modest house in the Pennsylvania village; but the lapse of time has softened her manners, and the influence of a husband and a home have improved her. But otherwise she has not greatly changed in her looks. Ben, who examined her face eagerly, recognized her at once. Yes, it was his sister Mary that stood before him. He would have known her anywhere. But there was a special mark by which he remembered her. There was a dent in her cheek just below the temple, the existence of which he could account for. In a fit of boyish passion, occasioned by her teasing him, he had flung a stick of wood at her head, and this had led to the mark. "Where did you come from, Charles?" she said, giving her hand cordially to her young cousin. "From Boston, Cousin Mary." "Have you just arrived, and where is your father? You did not come on alone, did you?" "No, father is with me, or rather he came on with me, but he had some errands down town, and stopped to attend to them. He will be here soon." "How did you find the way alone?" "I was not alone. There is my guide. By the way, I told him to stay, and you would give him some breakfast." "Certainly, he can go down in the basement, and the servants will give him something." Mrs. Abercrombie looked at Ben as she spoke; but on her part there was no sign of recognition. This was not strange. A boy changes greatly between ten and sixteen years of age, and when to this natural change is added the great change in Ben's dress, it will not be wondered at that his sister saw in him only an ordinary street boy. Ben was relieved to find that he was not known. He had felt afraid that something in his looks might remind his sister of her lost brother; but the indifferent look which she turned upon him proved that he had no ground for this fear. "You have not breakfasted, I suppose, Charles." said his cousin. "You wouldn't think so, if you knew what an appetite I have," he answered, laughing. "We will do our best to spoil it," said Mrs. Abercrombie. She rang the bell, and ordered breakfast to be served. "We are a little late this morning," she said. "Mr. Abercrombie is in Philadelphia on business; so you won't see him till to-morrow." When the servant appeared, Mrs. Abercrombie directed her to take Ben downstairs, and give him something to eat. "Don't go away till I see you, Ben," said Charles, lingering a little. "All right," said Ben. He followed the servant down the stairs leading to the basement. On the way, he had a glimpse through the half-open door of the breakfast-table, at which his sister and his cousin were shortly to sit down. "Some time, perhaps, I shall be invited in there," he said to himself. But at present he had no such wish. He knew that in his ragged garb he would be out of place in the handsome breakfast-room, and he preferred to wait until his appearance was improved. He had no fault to find with the servants, who brought him a bountiful supply of beefsteak and bread and butter, and a cup of excellent coffee. Ben had been up long enough to have quite an appetite. Besides, the quality of the breakfast was considerably superior to those which he was accustomed to take in the cheap restaurants which he frequented, and he did full justice to the food that was spread before him. When he had satisfied his appetite, he had a few minutes to wait before Charles came down to speak to him. "Well, Ben, I hope you had a good breakfast," he said. "Tip-top," answered Ben. "And I hope also that you had an appetite equal to mine." "My appetite don't often give out," said Ben; "but it aint so good now as it was when I came in." "Now we have a little business to attend to. How much shall I pay you for smashing my baggage?" Charles asked, with a laugh. "Whatever you like." "Well, here's fifty cents for your services, and six cents for your car-fare back." "Thank you," said Ben. "Besides this, Mrs. Abercrombie has a note, which she wants carried down town to her husband's office in Wall Street. She will give you fifty cents more, if you will agree to deliver it there at once, as it is of importance." "All right," said Ben. "I'll do it." "Here is the note. I suppose you had better start with it at once. Good-morning." "Good-morning," said Ben, as he held his cousin's proffered hand a moment in his own. "Maybe I'll see you again some time." "I hope so," said Charles, kindly. A minute later Ben was on his way to take a Fourth Avenue car down town. _ |
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