by Alfred Elwes
CHAPTER VII.
ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK--A NIGHT IN A LODGING-HOUSE.
ON and on for the rest of the day walked Archie. His feet were sore,he was weak from hunger, and he was made miserable with being homesick.People who met him on the road turned around to look at the slender ladwith the pale face and the weary step, but he kept walking on, stoppingfor nothing, and noticing no one. At noon he picked some apples in anorchard, and these appeased his hunger. When evening drew near, however,he felt that he could go without food no longer, so he didn't hesitateto stop at a house and ask for food. "I know mother would give a boyfood if one should come to our door," he said to himself, "so I do notthink it wrong for me to ask for food here." He was fortunate enough tostrike a pleasant housewife, who took him in and made him sit down atthe kitchen table, which she covered with good things to eat. There wascold roast beef, some fried potatoes and a glass of good fresh milk. Andthen she gave him some apple pie, so that when he had finished Archiefelt better than for many a day. While he ate he told the good woman whyhe was going to New York, and her sympathy was enlisted at once. "Why,you poor lad," she exclaimed, "just to think of your being in the cityall alone. And what will your mother think?"
Archie couldn't imagine what his mother did think. He had remembered herevery minute during the last few days, and was anxious to write her,so he decided to ask the woman for some paper and a pencil. These weregladly given him, and he sat down and told his mother that he was almostto New York and that he had been having a splendid time. He was carefulnot to say anything about his experience with Farmer Tinch, or thenight he spent with the tramps. He knew these things would only make herunhappy, and it was just as well that she should think everything wassmooth sailing for him. His letter was filled with his enthusiasm andhis hope for the morrow, so that when good Mrs. Dunn received it shewas overjoyed, and hurried over to show it to the Widow Sullivan, whoenjoyed it thoroughly and said "I told you so." Poor Mrs. Dunn hadbeen having a very miserable time of it. She was hardly surprised thatmorning when she awoke and found Archie gone, but she was naturally muchworried for fear some accident would happen to him before he reached NewYork. Once there, she felt that she needn't worry much about him, for,strange to say, Mrs. Dunn had a firm belief in the ability of citypolicemen to take care of every one, and she knew that Archie would notbe allowed to suffer for want of food and a place to sleep. And when shereceived this letter, saying that Archie was nearly to New York, and hadeven been so successful as to earn some money, she felt more comfortablethan for some time, Of course she supposed that he would be home beforelong. She was positive that he wouldn't be able to get any work in thecity, and knew that as soon as his money gave out he would return. "It'sall for the best," she said to Mrs. Sullivan. "The habit of running awayfrom home was born in the boy. His father left home when he was no olderthan Archie, and no harm ever came to him. So I'm not going to worry,Mrs. Sullivan." And then Mrs. Dunn would go back to her home, and atsight of Archie's old hat or some of his football paraphernalia, wouldburst into tears.
The good woman who gave Archie his supper refused to let him start outagain on the road that night. She told him that he must remain withthem, for they had an extra bed up over the kitchen which was neverneeded, and that he might just as well sleep there as not. So for thefirst time in nearly a week Archie slept comfortably, and, as he heardthe familiar sounds in the kitchen below him in the morning, it was hardfor him to make up his mind that he was not at home, and that it was nothis mother who was grinding the coffee in the kitchen below. He heardthe ham frying in the skillet, and the rattle of the dishes as hishostess set the table, and then he dressed himself and hasteneddownstairs, feeling ready for a good day's walking.
When he had eaten his breakfast he started out again. The woman told himthat it was only about fifteen miles to New York, and that after hehad walked about six of them he could take a trolley-car and ride theremainder of the distance for five cents. So he thanked her for herkindness, and promised to let her know how he succeeded in the city,for the woman was much interested in his future. He felt almost sorryto leave the home-like place, but the prospect of reaching the city thisvery day was enough to make him anxious to be off. He covered the sixmiles to the trolley-car before eleven o'clock in the morning, and thenin an hour and a quarter more the trolley landed him in lower New York.
His sensations as he was whirled along the smooth pavements, pastbeautiful buildings and handsome residences, may be better imagined thandescribed. After looking forward to this day for so long, he was almostovercome at the realisation of his hopes, and took the utmost delight ineverything about him. When the car stopped at the terminus of the line,he got out and walked up the busiest street in the neighbourhood. Hehardly knew what to do first, but continued walking until he came to theNew York end of the great Brooklyn Bridge. Then he couldn't resist thedesire to walk across the bridge, and he started out upon the journey.Up the steps he walked, and soon he had climbed as far as the middleof the magnificent structure. There he stood for some time, lookingout over Governor's Island, nestled like a green egg in a nest of redbuildings, and past Staten Island to the open sea beyond It was allgrander, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before, andhe felt glad that he had come. Then in another direction he saw thenever-ending succession of buildings, some tall, some low ones, but allinhabited with swarms of people. "There are three million people in thisgreat city," he said to himself, "and over them in New Jersey, in thosecities I see, there are a million more, and I am one of four million."The thought was too much for the boy, and he continued his walk acrossthe bridge. Once across, he came back again, for Brooklyn was a strangeplace to him. In New York City he felt more at home, for he had at leastspent two days within its limits.
Once back in the busy streets, he decided to look about for a cheapplace to stay for the night. It was the middle of the afternoon now, andhe felt that he ought to make some preparation. He knew better than toapply at the police station for lodging, for he knew they would probablyturn him over to the famous Gerry Society, which would send him backhome before a day had passed, and then where would his ambitions be?
He remembered the place where he had stayed with Uncle Henry, buthe knew that this would be too high-priced for his pocketbook, so hestarted up the Bowery, where he expected to find some very cheap places.He didn't like the looks of the people he met in the street, buthis experiences on the way to New York had taught him not to be tooparticular about a little dirt. So when he came to a rickety buildingwith a sign up, "Beds, ten and fifteen cents," he immediately went upthe dark, filthy stairway, and found himself in a large room at the topwhich served as the "hotel" office. There were rows of chairs infront of the windows and along the walls, and in the chairs werethe queerest-looking lot of men he had ever seen. He didn't pay anyattention to them, though, but went up to the seedy individual behindthe desk, and asked him if he could get a bed for the night. "Sure,Mike," the man replied, and Archie signed his name in a dirty book withtorn pages. He paid the man ten cents, and asked if he could leave hisbundle while he went outside. "Sure, Mike," was again his answer, andthe man took his little bundle of necessities and threw them on thefloor behind the counter. When Archie had gone out, a fat man with ababy face came up and whispered to the clerk. "Anything in the bloke?"he inquired. "Nit," said the clerk, "don't yer see his baggage? Doesit look like there's anything in it?" And the mysterious conversationclosed, to be continued later in the evening.