Three People Part 3

"No, we ain't exactly," said Tode. "But it wouldn't take long to get aboard if that is what you want, particularly if you've got a fire in there."

And he peered curiously in at the drowsy pa.s.sengers. It was just at this point that Mr. Hastings threw his furry cloak away from him, and settled among his other wraps for a night's rest. The action caught Tode's eye.

"My! ain't that fellow comfortable?" chuckled he to himself. "Got a wolf there that he don't appear to need. If he'd lend it to me I wouldn't mind keeping him company for a spell. S'pose I try it?"

And suiting the action to the word he pushed open the door, and walked boldly forward among the sleepy people, halted at the stove, and while the delicious sense of warmth crept slowly over him he kept one eye on Mr. Hastings until he felt sure, just as the train got fairly into motion, that the gentleman had fairly commenced his nap, then he slid himself into the empty seat, and used his hands and his wits in so disposing of the "wolf" that it would cover his cuddled up body completely, and at the same time look like nothing but an innocent cloak thrown carelessly on the seat; and he chuckled as distinctly as he dared when he heard the conductor's voice calling "tickets" to the sleepy people, and presently the door opened, and shut with a slam, and the silence that followed showed that he considered his business with that car finished.

"He didn't ask Wolfie for his ticket," giggled Tode. "I reckon he don't know he's alive, no more don't the man that thinks he owns him. I say now, what if he gets a cold streak, and wants to borrow Wolfie for himself after a spell? Poh!" he added after a minute, "it's easy enough to get out the way I came in; but it will be time enough to do it when I _have_ to. I ain't going to keep doing it all night. I vote for _one_ good warm nap, I do--so here goes."

And Tode went straightway to the land of dreams. The night wore on, the restless traveler near the stove dozed and wakened and attended to the dampers, thereby all unknowingly contributing his mite to Tode's warm journey. The train halted now and again at a station, and a few sleepy people stumbled off, and a few wide-awake ones came on, but still seats were comparatively plenty and no one disturbed the fur cloak. In the course of time Tode's sleep grew less sound; he twisted around as much as his limits would allow, and punched an imaginary bed-fellow with his elbow, muttering meanwhile:

"Keep still now. Which of you is joggling?"

The joggling continued, and at last the boy twisted and punched himself awake and into a sitting posture, and finally the look of unmixed astonishment with which he took in his surroundings, gave way to one of unmistakable fun.

"Here's a go!" he at last informed himself. "I've come a journey and no mistake; made a night of it sure as I live. Lucky I waked up first of this crowd. If somebody had sat down on Wolfie now by mistake, there might have been trouble. Guess I'll look about me."

He shook himself free from the cloak and sauntered out on the platform.

The gray dawn was just glimmering over the frozen earth, the world looked snowy and icy and desolate. On swept the train, and not a familiar object met his eye. Did Tode feel dreary and homesick, lost in the whizzing strangeness, sorry he had come? Did he want to shrink away from sight and sound? Did he feel that he would give anything in the world to be landed at that moment somewhere near Broadway in Albany? Not a bit of it! Nothing of the sort entered his brain. _He_ feel homesick!

Why his home was anywhere and nowhere. Since that day, years ago, when his mother died, he had had less of a home than even before. Sometimes he slept on the cellar floor with his father, but oftener in the street, in a stable, or curled in a barrel when he had the good fortune to find one--_anywhere_; but never in all his life had he spent such a comfortable night as this last had been. But his father? Oh dear, you don't know what fathers can become to their children, if you think he missed him. Please remember his last act had been to kick his son out of a cellar into the snow; but Tode bore him no ill-will for this or any other attention. Oh no, nor good-will either. Why, his father was simply less than nothing to him. So this morning, without an idea as to what he was going to do next, he stood and watched himself being whirled into New York, with no feeling save one of extreme satisfaction at the success of his last night's plan, and alert only to keep out of the reach of the conductor. The car door slammed behind him, and he turned quickly, as two gentlemen came out. One of them eyed him closely, and finally addressed him.

"Who are you with, my lad?"

Tode chuckled inwardly at this question, but added promptly enough,

"A man in there," nodding his head toward the car which contained Mr.

Hastings.

"Humph! the man must be crazy to let his servant travel in such a suit as that in this bitter weather."

This remark was addressed to his companion as the two pa.s.sed into the next car. Tode chuckled outright this time; he had a new idea.

"That's the talk," he informed himself. "I'm his servant; just it prezackly--much obliged. I hadn't thought of that arrangement before, but I like the plan first rate. Maybe Wolfie and I will get another night or so together by the means."

So now he had two items of business on hand, dodging the conductor and keeping an eye on his traveling companion. The first he managed to accomplish by dint of always pa.s.sing out at one end of the car just as that official was entering at the other, aided in his scheme by the fact that it was not yet light, and also that they were fairly in the city.

But the last was an extremely difficult matter. A dozen times, as he breathlessly pushed and elbowed his way through the hurrying crowd, did he think that he had hopelessly lost sight of his guide, and as often did he catch another glimpse of him and push on. At last a car, not too full for Mr. Hastings to crowd himself into, rewarded his signal, and Tode plunged after him as far as the platform. There he halted. There were many pa.s.sengers and much fare to collect, so our young scamp had enjoyed quite a ride before his turn came.

"Fare," said the conductor at last, briefly and sharply, right at his elbow.

"Yes, sir," answered Tode as promptly. "Only it's pretty cold and windy."

"Pay your fare," shouted the conductor.

"Oh bless me--yes, to be sure."

And Tode fumbled in both pockets, drawing out bits of strings and b.a.l.l.s of paper and ends of candles, everything but pennies; then looked up with an innocent face.

"Why, as true as you live, I haven't got a cent."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Why riding, to be sure. It's enough sight nicer than walking this windy day. Your driver stopped for everybody that held up his hand. I saw him, so when I was invited kind of, how did I know I'd have to pay?"

The demure, innocent, childlike air with which Tode rattled off this story can not be described. The conductor laughed.

"You're either _very_ green or VERY old," he said at last. "And I'm not sure which. Where do you want to go?"

"Oh I ain't a bit particular. You needn't go out of your way on my account. I'll ride right along with you, and look at the sights."

Which accommodating spirit seemed greatly to amuse the other platform riders; and as the car stopped at that moment for pa.s.sengers, the conductor turned away with a laugh, and left Tode to enjoy his ride in peace.

On they went, and in spite of driving snow and sleet, Tode managed to make the acquaintance of the driver, and get considerable amus.e.m.e.nt out of his trip, when he suddenly broke off in the midst of a sentence, and cleared the steps with a bound. Mr. Hastings had left the car and crossed the street. Then commenced another chase, around the corner, down one block, up another, on and on, until Tode, panting and breathless, brought up at last before a grand hotel, inside which Mr.

Hastings vanished. Tode pushed boldly forward, s.h.i.+ed behind a fat gentleman who ran against them in the hall, and remained hidden long enough to overhear the following conversation:

"Why, Mr. Hastings! How do you do? When did you arrive?"

"By the morning train, sir. All full here?"

"Well, comfortably so. Make room for you without a doubt. Stop here?"

"Yes, sir. Always do."

"Remain long?"

"No, return on Friday. Waiter, this way, sir."

Tode drew a long breath of relief, and dodged out.

"Well," said he, with a satisfied air, "I'm thankful to say I've got that man landed at last where he'll be likely to stay for some time.

He's Mr. Hastings, is he? It's convenient to know who one belongs to.

Now I must trudge off and do a little business on my own account, seeing we 'return on Friday.' First let's take a look at the name of this place where I've decided to leave him, and this street is--yes, I see. _Now_ I'm all right--trust me for finding my way here again. Don't you be one mite worried, Brother Hastings, I'll be around in time."

And Tode disappeared around a corner, whistling merrily.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER IV.

BRAIN-WORK.

What Tode _didn't_ do during those three days' tarry in New York could be told almost better than what he did. No country novice visiting the great city for the first time could have begun to crowd in the sights and scenes that revealed themselves to Tode's eager, wide-open eyes, in the same s.p.a.ce of time.

The boy had the advantage of most such, in that he had not much to eat, and nowhere to eat it; also that he was in the habit of sleeping nowhere in particular, consequently these matters took up very little of his time. However he fared well, better than usual. He carried a package for an over-loaded man for a short distance, thereby earning ten cents, which he immediately expended in peanuts, and became peanut merchant for the time being. So by dint of changing his business ten or a dozen times, and being always on the alert, and understanding pretty thoroughly the art of economy, he managed his lodging and three meals a day, and was richer by twenty-five cents on the morning when he prepared to take his departure than he was when he arrived in the city, a fact of which few people who have been spending several days in New York can boast.