The Young Outlaw Part 17

"Have a carriage, sir? Take you to any hotel."

One of them got hold of Sam by the arms, and attempted to lead him to his carriage.

"Hold on a minute, mister," said Sam, drawing back. "Where are you goin' to take me?"

"Anywhere you say. Astor House, St. Nicholas, or any other."

"Is it far?"

"About five miles," said the hackman, glibly.

"How much are you goin to charge?"

"Only three dollars."

"Three dollars!" repeated Sam, in amazement.

He had less than seven dollars now, and, though he was not particularly provident, he knew that it would never do to spend almost half his slender stock of money for cab-hire.

"Never mind," said he. "I'll walk."

"You can't; it's too far," said the hackman, eager for a fare.

"I'll try."

So Sam walked out of the depot, and walked away. He didn't know exactly where to go, and thought he would follow a man with a carpet-bag who appeared to know his way. This man unconsciously guided him to Broadway. Sam realized, from the stately character of the buildings, that he was in an important street, and, cutting loose from his guide, walked down towards the City Hall Park. It seemed to him like a dream; these beautiful warehouses, showy stores, and the moving throng, which never seemed to grow less, surprised him also. Though he knew in advance that New York must be very different from the little country town which, until now, had been his home, he was not prepared for so great a difference, and wandered on, his mouth and eyes wide open.

At last he reached the City Hall Park, and, catching sight of a bench on which one or two persons were already sitting, Sam, feeling tired with his walk, entered the Park, and sat down too.

"Black yer boots?" inquired a dirty-faced boy, with a box slung over his shoulders.

Sam looked at his shoes, begrimed with a long country walk, and hesitated.

"What do you ask?" he said.

"It's worth a quarter to black them shoes," said the boy, swinging them critically.

"Then I can't afford it,"

"Twenty cents."

"No," said Sam. "I've got to earn my own living, and I can't afford it. Is blackin' boots a good business?"

"Some days it is, but if it comes rainy, it isn't. I'll give you a bully s.h.i.+ne for ten cents."

"Will you show me afterwards where I can get some dinner cheap?" asked Sam, who was still hungry.

"Yes," said the boot-black. "I know a tip-top place."

"Is it far off?"

"Right round in Chatham street--only a minute's walk."

"All right. Go ahead. I'll give you ten cents."

Sam felt that he was paying his money not only for the actual service done, but for valuable information besides. On the whole, though he knew he must be economical, it seemed to him a paying investment.

"Did you come from the country?" asked the young knight of the blacking-brush, while he was vigorously brus.h.i.+ng the first shoe.

"Yes," said Sam. "I only got here just now."

"That's what I thought."

"Why?"

"Because you look like a greenhorn."

"Do you mean to insult me?" asked Sam, nettled.

"No," said the other; "only if you've never been here before of course you're green."

"I won't be long," said Sam, hastily.

"Course you won't, 'specially if you have me to show you round."

"Have you lived long in New York?" inquired Sam.

"I was born here," said the boy.

"Have you been long blackin' boots?"

"Ever since I was knee-high to a door-step."

"Then you make a living at it?"

"I don't starve. What made you leave the country?"

"I got tired of working on a farm."

"Did you have enough to eat?"

"Yes."

"And a good bed to sleep in?"

"Yes."

"Then you'd ought to have stayed there," said the boot-black.