Two Boys and a Fortune Part 23

There was n.o.body around of whom to inquire except a tramp or two asleep on one of the benches, and he did not wish to go near them. He turned away from the river and walked off through Battery Park till he saw a policeman.

The latter directed him how to go, looking at him pretty sharply. Rex hurried off, but presently stopped under a lamp post to glance at his watch. It was a quarter to two. There was no need to hurry.

But he was afraid to walk slow. It was very quiet along the water front at this time of night. He did not want to be "held up" again and lose his watch and what little money he had left.

Here was a man coming toward him now. But he was drunk. Rex was not afraid of him. He was only filled with a shame that sent the color to his cheeks.

Why was Dudley Harrington any better than this reeling sailor? And Harrington had been his ideal.

He reached the ferry just as a boat went out. He fell asleep while waiting for the next one. He was awakened by one of the attendants.

The company evidently did not intend to allow the ferry rooms to be turned into a free lodging house.

The ticket office was not open on the New York side, so Rex just paid his ferriage. On reaching Jersey City he found that there was to be no train till 6:20 a. m.

He could not sleep in the waiting room. He walked out in the streets of the city a little distance, but was so tired he could scarcely drag one foot after the other. He was so sleepy, too, that his eyes kept closing every minute.

Then he was afraid of meeting a footpad. He did not know where to go.

To hire a room at a hotel would take all his money. And yet he could not walk the streets all night.

Ah, he was being well punished for all his sins! And where had been the "good time" for which he had been willing to commit them?

He thought of Roy asleep in his comfortable bed at home. When should he (Rex) ever be able to feel as cosy in mind as this twin brother of his must? For even if he did succeed in getting home without something terrible befalling him, there remained his confession to make.

For he must tell everything. He had made up his mind to that.

But this was in the future. Meantime the present must be provided for.

He turned and walked back to the ferry.

If he could only lie down somewhere, he thought.

There was a boat just starting out. He paid his three cents and went aboard. He fell asleep almost as soon as he touched the seat. A man came through when they reached New York, woke him up and made him get off.

But he was reckless now. He walked out to the street, but immediately turned about again, paid another ferriage and walked on the boat, where he instantly fell asleep once more.

And he kept this up till half-past five, when it began to grow light.

Then he went ash.o.r.e to the station in Jersey City and bought some fruit, which he ate for his breakfast.

By that time the ticket office was open and he went up to the agent and asked how far he could ride for fifty cents.

The man looked at him closely for a minute.

"Which way?" he inquired then.

"I want to go to Philadelphia," Rex answered frankly. All his pride had gone now. "I've only got fifty cents to spend on the ride, though.

I want to get as close to it as I can."

The agent named a town and pa.s.sed out a ticket.

When the cars were opened Rex lost no time in settling himself in a seat. He put his ticket in his hat and went to sleep at once.

The result was that he was carried past his stopping place, and the station at which he was set off was a few miles nearer Philadelphia than he had hoped to get. But the brakeman told him that the Quaker City was still fifty miles away.

CHAPTER XX

THE CRISIS

"Fifty miles!"

Rex repeated these words to himself as he stood on the platform of the station and looked after the swiftly vanis.h.i.+ng cars.

How soon that train would cover them! It seemed such a simple thing to stay on board and be carried there, so cruel to be left behind simply for the lack of a little more money.

It was still quite early in the morning. People were coming down to take the train to the city. They had all been in their beds and had a good night's sleep doubtless. They were much better fitted for a long tramp than was he, who had not been to bed at all.

But he must set off at once. He asked the baggage man to tell him the road to Philadelphia.

"Sure, there it is, in front of you," replied the other, pointing to the gleaming steel rails.

"No, no; I mean the carriage road," returned Rex.

The man looked surprised, but gave him directions how to find it, and presently Rex was tramping down its dusty length.

"But I can never get there by to-night, nor by to-morrow night either," he kept saying to himself. "And I shall have to eat, and my money will not hold out till then."

Again he thought of telegraphing-- this time to Sydney. But where should he stay while he was waiting for the answer? Then he remembered how ill Syd still looked, and he recalled the doctor's inquiry that afternoon in the office as to whether he had had a shock.

No; he must leave telegraphing as the very last resort of all.

He trudged on, and presently saw a tramp coming towards him.

"Good morning," said the fellow, halting where he came up. "What time is it, boss?"

Rex had just looked at his watch, so without taking it out he told the time.

The man took a step closer to him, but just then a cloud of dust appeared in the road, and a buggy came into view. The tramp moved on without a word.

This incident did not tend to make Rex any more comfortable in mind.

And now his body was beginning to rebel.

His stomach felt light, his heart heavy, and his limbs appeared to be weighted with lead. Coming to a spot where trees grew by the roadside he halted and stretched himself on the gra.s.s to rest.

He was no longer sleepy, but so tired. He felt that he was going to be ill.

The thought terrified him. Sick out here on the highway, only a few cents in his pockets, and not a friend anywhere about!

It was growing hot and he was getting hungry. His breakfast had been a very light one. The last regular meal he had eaten was on the Chicago Limited. How long ago that seemed now!

He took out his money and counted it over. There was but sixteen cents left. He felt that he could eat that much worth for his very next meal.