Ben, the Luggage Boy: or, Among the Wharves. Horatio Alger Jr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Where to go, – that was the question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      "Thank you," said Ben.

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

      He opened the door and entered.

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

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

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

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

      "Yes, sir. Coffee or tea?"

      "Coffee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Ben now addressed himself with a hearty appetite to the dinner. The plate was dingy, and the meat neither very abundant nor very tender. Still it can hardly be expected that for fifteen cents a large plate of sirloin can be furnished. Ben was not in a mood to be critical. At home he would have turned up his nose at such a repast, but hunger is very well adapted to cure one of fastidiousness. He ate rapidly, and felt that he had seldom eaten anything so good. He was sorry there was no more bread, the supply being exceedingly limited. As for the coffee he was able to drink it, though he did not enjoy it so well. It tasted as if there was not more than a teaspoonful of milk in the infusion, while the flavor of the beverage differed strangely from the coffee he had been accustomed to get at home.

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

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

      Ben looked over the bill of fare, not that he expected to get anything for the two cents that still remained to him, but because he wanted to notice the prices of different articles. His eye rested rather longingly on "Apple Dumplings." He was very fond of this dish, and his appetite was so far from being satisfied that he felt that he could have easily disposed of a plate. But the price was ten cents, and of course it was entirely beyond his means.

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

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

      Where should he go now?

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

      CHAPTER V.

      A BEER-GARDEN IN THE BOWERY

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

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