"That young fellow knows all the politicians," said the clerk to one of the hotel proprietors. "He can't be so countrified as he looks."
After dinner, Jack returned to his room for a long look at the guide-book. He went through it rapidly to the last leaf, and then threw it down, remarking:
"I never was so tired! I'll take a walk around and see Albany a little more; and I'll not be sorry when the boat goes. I'd like to see Mary and the rest for an hour or two. I think they'd like to see me coming in, too."
Jack sauntered on through street after street, getting a clearer idea of what a city was.
He walked so far that he had some difficulty in returning to the hotel, but finally he found it without asking directions.
Soon after, Jack brought down his satchel, said good-bye to the very polite clerk, and walked out.
He had learned the way to the steamboat-wharf; and he had already taken one brief look at the river and the railway bridge.
"There's the 'Columbia,'" he said, aloud, as he turned a street corner and came in sight of her. "What a boat! Why, if her nose was at the Main Street corner, by the Washington Hotel, her rudder would be half-way across the Cocahutchie!"
He walked the wharf, staring at her from end to end, before he went on board. He had put Mr. Magruder's note into his pocket without reading it.
"I won't open it here," he had said then. "There's nothing in it but a ticket."
He found, however, that he must show the ticket at the gangway, and so he opened the envelope.
"Three tickets?" he said. "And two are in one piece. This one is for a stateroom. That's the bunk I'm to sleep in. Hulloo! Supper ticket! I have supper on board the steamer, do I? Well, I'm not sorry. I'll have to hurry, too. It's about time for her to start."
Jack went on board, and soon was hunting for his stateroom, almost bewildered by the rushing crowd in the great saloon.
He had his key, and knew the number, but it seemed that there were about a thousand of the little doors.
"One hundred and seventy-six is mine," he said; "and I'm going to put away my satchel and go on deck and see the river. Here it is at last. Why, it's a kind of little bedroom! It's as good as a floating hotel. Now I'm all right."
Suddenly he was aware, with a great thrill of pleasure, that the Columbia was in motion. He left his satchel in a corner, locked the door of the stateroom behind him, and set out to find his way to the deck. He went down-stairs and up-stairs, ran against people, and was run against by them; and it occurred to him that all the passengers were hunting for something they could not find.
"Looking for staterooms, I guess," he remarked aloud; but he himself should not have been staring behind him, for at that moment he felt the whack of a collision, and a pair of heavy arms grasped him.
"What you looks vor yourself, poy? You knocks my breath out! You find somebody you looks vor—eh?"
The tremendous man who held him was not tall, but very heavy, and had a broad face and long black beard and shaggy gray eyebrows.
"Beg pardon!" exclaimed Jack, with a glance at a lady holding one of the man's long arms, and at two other ladies following them.
"You vas got your stateroom?" asked his round-faced captor good-humoredly.
"Oh, yes!" said Jack. "I've got one."
"You haf luck. Dell you vot, poy, it ees a beeg schvindle. Dey say 'passage feefty cent,' und you comes aboard, und you find it is choost so. Dot's von passage. Den it ees von dollar more to go in to supper, und von dollar to eat some tings, und von dollar to come out of supper, und some more dollars to go to sleep, und maybe dey sharges you more dollars to vake up in de morning. Dot is not all. Dey haf no more shtateroom left, und ve all got to zeet up all night. Eh? How you like dot, poy?"
Jack replied as politely as he knew how:
"Oh, you will find a stateroom. They can't be full."
"Dey ees full. Dey ees more as full. Dere vill be no room to sleep on de floor, und ve haf to shtand oop all night. How you likes dot, eh?"
The ladies looked genuinely distressed, and said a number of things to each other in some tongue that Jack did not understand. He had been proud enough of his stateroom up to that moment, but he felt his heart melting. Besides, he had intended to sit up a long while to see the river.
"I can fix it," he suddenly exclaimed. "Let the ladies take my stateroom. It's big enough."
"Poy!" said the German solemnly, "dot is vot you run into my arms for. My name is Guilderaufenberg. Dis lady ees Mrs. Guilderaufenberg. Dis ees Mees Hildebrand. She's Mees Poogmistchgski, and she is a Bolish lady vis my wife."
Jack caught all the names but the last, but he was not half sure about that. He bowed to each.
"Come with me; I'll show you the room," he said. "Then I'm going out on deck."
"Ve comes," said the wide German; and the three ladies all tried to express their thanks at the same time, as Jack led the way. Jack was proud of his success in actually finding his own door again.
"I puts um all een," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg; "den I valks mit you on deck. Dose vommens belifs you vas a fine poy. So you vas, ven I dells de troof."
They all talked a great deal, and Jack managed to reduce the Polish lady's name to Miss "Podgoomski," but he felt uneasily that he had left out a part of it. Mrs. Guilderaufenberg and the others were loaded up with more parcels and baggage than Jack had ever seen three women carry.
"Dey dakes care of dot shtateroom," said his friend. "Ve goes on deck. I bitty anypoddy vot dries to get dot shtateroom avay from Mrs. Guilderaufenberg and Mees Hildebrand and Mees Pod——ski;" but again Jack had failed to hear that Polish lady's name.
Jack already felt well acquainted with Mr. Guilderaufenberg.
The broad and bearded German knew all about steamboats, and found his way out upon the forward deck without any difficulty. Jack had lost his way entirely in his first hunting for that spot, and he was glad to find himself under the awning and gazing down the river.
"Ve only shtays here a leetle vile," said his friend. "Den ve goes and takes de ladies down to eat some supper. Vas you hongry?"
Jack was not really hungry for anything but the Hudson, but he said he would gladly join the supper-party.
"I never saw the Hudson before," he said. "I'd rather sit up than not."
"I seet up all de vay to New York and not care," said his friend. "I seet up a great deal. My vife, dot ees Mrs. Guilderaufenberg, she keep a beeg boarding-house in Vashington. Dot ees de ceety to lif in! Vas you ever in Vashington? No?"
"Never was anywhere," said Jack. "Never was in New York—"
"Yon nefer vas dere? Den you petter goes mit me und Mrs. Guilderaufenberg. Dot ees goot. So! You nefer vas in Vashington. You nefer vas in New York. So! Den you nefer vas in Lonton? I vas dere. You lose youself in Lonton so easy. I lose myself twice vile I vas dere."
"You weren't lost long, I know," said Jack, laughing at the droll shake of the German's head.
"No, I vas find. I vas shoost going to advertise myself ven I finds a street I remember. Den I gets to my hotel. You nefer vas dere? Und you nefer vas in Vashington. You come some day. Dot ees de ceety, mit de Capitol und de great men! Und you vas nefer in Paris, nor in Berlin, nor in Vienna, nor in Amsterdam? No? I haf all of dem seen, und dose oder cities. I dravel, but dere ees doo much boleece, so I comes to dis country, vere dere ees few boleece."
Jack was startled for a moment. The bland, good-humored face of his German acquaintance had suddenly changed. His white teeth showed through his mushtaches, and his beard seemed to wave and curl as he spoke of the police. For one moment Jack thought of Deacon Abram and Mrs. McNamara, of the dark room and the ropes and the window.
"He may not have done anything," he said to himself, aloud, "any more than I did; and they were after me."
"Dot ees not so!" Mr. Guilderaufenberg growled. "I dell dem de troof too mosh. Den I vas a volf, a vild peest, dot mus' be hoonted, und dey hoonted me; put I got avay. I vas in St. Beetersburg, vonce, vile dey hoont somevere else. Den I vas in Constantinople, mit de Turks—"
Jack's brain was in a whirl. He had read about all of those cities, and here was a man who had really been in them. It was even more wonderful than talking with the Governor or looking at the Hudson.
But in a moment his new friend's face assumed a quieter expression.
"Come along," he said. "De ladies ees ready by dees time. Ve goes. Den I dells you some dings you nefer hear."
He seemed to know all about the Columbia, for he led Jack straight to the stateroom door, through all the crowds of passengers.
"I might not have found it in less than an hour," said Jack to himself. "They're waiting for us. I can't talk with them much."
But he found out that Mrs. Guilderaufenberg spoke English with but little accent, Miss Hildebrand only knocked over a letter here and there, and the Polish lady's fluent English astonished him so much that he complimented her upon it.
"Dot ees so," remarked Mr. Guilderaufenberg. "She talks dem all so vell dey say she vas born dere. Dell you vat, my poy, ven you talks Bolish or Russian, den you vas exercise your tongue so you shpeaks all de oder lankwitches easy."
The ladies were in good humor, and disposed to laugh at anything, especially after they reached the supper-room; and Mrs. Guilderaufenberg at once took a strong interest in Jack because he had never been anywhere.
For convenience, perhaps, the ladies frequently spoke to one another in German, but Jack, without understanding a word of it, listened earnestly to what they were saying.
They often, however, talked in English, and to him, and he learned that they had been making a summer-vacation trip through Canada, and were now on their way home. It was evident that Mr. Guilderaufenberg was a man who did not lack money, and that none of the others were poor. Besides hearing them, Jack was busy in looking around the long, glittering supper-room of the Columbia, noticing how many different kinds of people there were in it. They seemed to be of all nations, ages, colors, and kinds, and Jack would not have missed the sight for anything.
"I'm beginning to see the world," he said to himself, and then he had to reply to Mrs. Guilderaufenberg for about the twentieth time:
"Oh, not at all. You're welcome to the stateroom. I'd rather sit up and look at the river than go to bed."
"Den, Mr. Ogden," she said, "you comes to Vashington, and you comes to my house. I can den repay your kindness. You vill see senators, congressmen, generals, fine men—great men, in Vashington."
After supper the party found seats under the awning forward, and for a while Jack's eyes were so busy with the beauties of the Hudson that his ears heard little.
The moonlight was very bright and clear, and showed the shores plainly. Jack found his memory of the guidebook was excellent. The villages and towns along the shores were so many collections of twinkling, changing glimmers, and between them lay long reaches of moonshine and shadow.
"I'd like to write home about it," thought Jack, "but I couldn't begin to tell 'em how it looks."
Jack was not sorry when the three ladies said good-night. He had never before been so long upon his careful good behavior in one evening, and it made him feel constrained, till he almost wished he was back in Crofield.
"Mr. Guilderaufenberg," he said as soon as they were alone, "this is the first big river I ever saw."
"So?" said the German. "Den I beats you. I see goot many rifers, ven I drafels. Dell you vat, poy; verefer dere vas big rifers, anyvere, dere vas mosh fighting. Some leetle rifer do choost as vell, sometimes, but de beeg rifers vas alvays battlefields."
"Not the Hudson?" said Jack inquiringly.
"You ees American poy," said the German; "you should know de heestory of your country. Up to Vest Point, de Hudson vas full of fights. All along shore, too. I vas on de Mississippi, and it is fights all de vay down to his mout'. So mit some oder American rifers, but de vorst of all is the Potomac, by Vashington. Eet ees not so fine as de Hudson, but eet is battle-grounds all along shore. I vas on de Danube, and eet ees vorse for fights dan de Potomac. I see so many oder rifers, all ofer, eferyvere, but de fighting rifer of de vorld is de Rhine. It is so fine as de Hudson, and eet ees even better looking by day.—Ve gets into de Caatskeel Mountains now. Look at dem by dis moonlight, and you ees like on de Rhine. You see de Rhine some day, and ven you comes to Vashington you see de Potomac."
On, on, steamed the Columbia, with what almost seemed a slow motion, it was so ponderous, dignified, and stately, while the moonlit heights and hollows rolled by on either hand. On, at the same time, went Mr. Guilderaufenberg with his stories of rivers and cities and countries that he had seen, and of battles fought along rivers and across them. Then, suddenly, the gruff voice grew deep and savage, like the growl of an angry bear, and he exclaimed:
"I haf seen some men, too, of de kind I run avay from—"
"Policemen?" said Jack.
"Yah; dat is de name I gif dem," growled the angry German. "De Tsar of Russia, I vas see him, and he vas noding but a chief of boleece. De old Kaiser of Germany, he vas a goot man, but he vas too mosh chief of boleece. So vas de Emperor of Austria; I vas see him. So vas de Sultan of Turkey, but he vas more a humpug dan anyting else. Dere ees leetle boleece in Turkey. I see de Emperor Napoleon before he toomble down. He vas noding but a boleeceman. I vas so vild glad ven he comes down. De leetle kings, I care not so mosh for. You comes to Vashington, and I show you some leetle kings—" and Mr. Guilderaufenberg grew good-humored and began to laugh.
"What kind of kings?" asked Jack.
"Leetle congressman dot is choost come de first time, und leetle beeg man choost put into office. Dey got ofer it bretty soon, und de fun is gone."
There was a long silence after that. The broad German sat in an arm-chair, and pretty soon he slipped forward a little with his knees very near the network below the rail of the Columbia. Then Jack heard a snore, and knew that his traveler friend was sound asleep.
"I wish I had a chair to sleep on, instead of this campstool," thought Jack. "I'll have a look all around the boat and come back."
It took a long while to see the boat, and the first thing he discovered was that a great many people had failed to secure staterooms or berths. They sat in chairs, and they lounged on sofas, and they were curled up on the floor; for the Columbia had received a flood of tourists who were going home, and a large part of the passengers of another boat that had been detained on account of an accident at Albany; so the steamer was decidedly overcrowded.
"There are more people aboard," thought Jack, "than would make two such villages as Crofield, unless you should count in the farms and farmers. I'm glad I came, if it's only to know what a steamboat is. I haven't spent a cent of my nine dollars yet, either."
Here and there he wandered, until he came out at the stern, and had a look at the foaming wake of the boat, and at the river and the heights behind, and at the grand spectacle of another great steamboat, full of lights, on her way up the river. He had seen any number of smaller boats, and of white-sailed sloops and schooners, and now, along the eastern bank, he heard and saw the whizzing rush of several railway trains.
"I'd rather be here," he thought. "The people there can't see half so much as I can."
Not one of them, moreover, had been traveling all over the world with Mr. Guilderaufenberg, and hearing and about kings and their "police."
Getting back to his old place was easier, now that he began to understand the plan of the Columbia; but, when Jack returned, his camp-stool was gone, and he had to sit down on the bare deck or to stand up. He did both, by turns, and he was beginning to feel very weary of sight-seeing, and to wish that he were sound asleep, or that to-morrow had come.
"It's a warm night," he said to himself, "and it isn't so very dark, even now the moon has gone down. Why—it's getting lighter! Is it morning? Can we be so near the city as that?"
There was a growing rose-tint upon a few clouds in the western sky, as the sun began to look at them from below the range of heights, eastward, but the sun had not yet risen.
Jack was all but breathless. He walked as far forward as he could go, and forgot all about being sleepy or tired.
"There," he said, after a little, "those must be the Palisades."
Out came his guide-book, and he tried to fit names to the places along shore.
"More sailing-vessels," he said, "and there goes another train. We must be almost there."
He was right, and he was all one tingle of excitement as the Columbia swept steadily on down the widening river.
There came a pressure of a hand upon his shoulder.
"Goot-morning, my poy. De city ees coming. How you feels?"
"First-rate," said Jack. "It won't be long, now, will it?"
"You wait a leetle. I sleep some. It vas a goot varm night. De varmest night I efer had vas in Egypt, and de coldest vas in Moscow. De shtove it went out, and ve vas cold, I dell you, dill dot shtove vas kindle up again! Dere vas dwenty-two peoples in dot room, and dot safe us. Ye keep von another varm. Dot ees de trouble mit Russia. De finest vedder in all the vorlt is een America,—and dere ees more vedder of all kinds."
On, on, and now Jack's blood tingled more sharply, to his very fingers and toes, for they swept beyond Spuyten Duyvil Creek, which his friend pointed out, and the city began to make its appearance.
"It's on both sides," said Jack. "No, that's New Jersey"—and he read the names on that side from his guidebook.
Masts, wharves, buildings, and beyond them spires, and—and Jack grew dizzy trying to think of that endless wilderness of streets and houses. He heard what Mr. Guilderaufenberg said about the islands in the harbor, the forts, the ferries, and yet he did not hear it plainly, because it was too much to take in all at once.
"Now I brings de ladies," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, "an' ve eats breakfast, ven ve all gets to de Hotel Dantzic. Come!"
Jack took one long, sweeping look at the city, so grand and so beautiful under the newly risen sun, and followed.
At that same hour a dark-haired girl sat by an open window in the village of Mertonville. She had arisen and dressed herself, early as it was, and she held in her hand a postal-card, which had arrived for her from Albany the night before.
"By this time," she said, "Jack is in the city. Oh, how I wish I were with him!"
She was silent after that, but she had hardly said it before one of two small boys, who had been pounding one another with pillows in a very small bedroom in Crofield, suddenly threw his pillow at the other, and exclaimed:
"I s'pose Jack's there by this time, Jimmy!"
Jack Ogden stood like a boy in a dream, as the "Columbia" swept gracefully into her dock and was made fast. Her swing about was helped by the outgoing tide, that foamed and swirled around the projecting piers.
A hurrying crowd of people was thronging out of the "Columbia," but Jack's German friend did not join them.
"De ceety vill not roon avay," he said, calmly. "You comes mit me."
They went to the cabin for the ladies, and Jack noticed how much baggage the rest were carrying. He took a satchel from Miss Hildebrand, and then the Polish lady, with a grateful smile, allowed him to take another.
"Dose crowds ees gone," remarked Mr. Guilderaufenberg. "Ve haf our chances now."
Afterward, Jack had a confused memory of walking over a wide gang-plank that led into a babel. Miss Hildebrand held him by his left arm while the two other ladies went with Mr. Guilderaufenberg. They came out into a street, between two files of men who shook their whips, shouted, and pointed at a line of carriages. Miss Hildebrand told Jack that they could reach their hotel sooner by the elevated railway.
"He look pale," she thought, considerately. "He did not sleep all night. He never before travel on a steamboat!"
Jack meanwhile had a new sensation.
"This is the city!" he was saying to himself. "I'm really here. There are no crowds, because it's Sunday,—but then!"
After walking a few minutes they came to a corner, where Mr. Guilderaufenberg turned and said to Jack:
"Dees ees Proadvay. Dere ees no oder street in de vorlt dat ees so long. Look dees vay und den look dat vay! So! Eh? Dot ees Proadvay. Dere ees no oder city in de vorlt vere a beeg street keep Soonday!"
It was indeed a wonderful street to the boy from Crofield, and he felt the wonder of it; and he felt the wonder of the Sunday quiet and of the closed places of business.
"There's a policeman," he remarked to Mr. Guilderaufenberg.
"So!" said the German, smiling; "but he ees a beople's boleeceman. Eef he vas a king's boleeceman, I vas not here. I roon avay, or I vas lock up. Jack, ven you haf dodge some king's boleecemen, like me, you vish you vas American, choost like me now, und vas safe!"
"I believe I should," said Jack, politely; but his head was not still for an instant. His eyes and his thoughts were busily at work. He had expected to see tall and splendid buildings, and had even dreamed of them. How he had longed and hoped and planned to get to this very place! He had seen pictures of the city, but the reality was nevertheless a delightful surprise.
Miss Hildebrand pointed out Trinity Church, and afterward St. Paul's.
"Maybe I'll go to one of those big churches, to-day," said Jack.
"Oh, no," said Miss Hildebrand. "You find plenty churches up-town. Not come back so far."
"I shall know where these are, any way," Jack replied.
After a short walk they came to City Hall Square.
"There!" Jack exclaimed. "I know this place! It's just like the pictures in my guide-book. There's the Post-office, the City Hall,—everything!"
"Come," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, beginning to cross the street. "Ve must go ofer und take de elevated railvay."
"Come along, Meester Jack Ogden," added Mrs. Guilderaufenberg.
"There are enough people here now," said Jack, as they walked along—"Sunday or no Sunday!"
"Of course," said Miss Hildebrand, pointing with a hand that lifted a small satchel. "That's the elevated railway station over there, across both streets. There, too, is where you go to the suspension bridge to Brooklyn, over the East River. You see, when we go by. You see to-morrow. Not much, now. I am so hungry!"
"I want to see everything," said Jack; "but I'm hungry, too. Why, we're going upstairs!"
In a minute more Jack was sitting by an open window of an elevated railway car. This was another entirely new experience, and Jack found it hard to rid himself of the notion that possibly the whole long-legged railway might tumble down or the train suddenly shoot off from the track and drop into the street.
"Dees ees bretty moch American," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, as Jack stared out at the third-story windows of the buildings. "You nefer vas here before? So! Den you nefer feels again choost like now. You ees fery moch a poy. I dell you, dere is not soch railvays in Europe; I vonce feel like you now. Dot vas ven I first come here. It vas not Soonday; it vas a day for de flags. I dell you vat it ees: ven dot American feels goot, he hang out hees flag. Shtars und shtripes—I like dot flag! I look at some boleece, und den I like dot flag again, for dey vas not hoont, hoont, hoont, for poor Fritz von Guilderaufenberg, for dot he talk too moch!"
"It's pretty quiet all along. All the stores seem to be closed," said Jack, looking down at the street below.
"Eet ees so shtill!" remarked Mr. Guilderaufenberg. "I drafel de vorlt ofer und I find not dees Soonday. In Europe, it vas not dere to keep. I dell you, ven dere ees no more Soonday, den dere ees no more America! So! Choost you remember dot, my poy, from a man dot vas hoonted all ofer Europe!"
Jack was quite ready to believe Mr. Guilderaufenberg. He had been used to even greater quiet, in Crofield, for after all there seemed to be a great deal going on.
The train they were in made frequent stops, and it did not seem long to Jack before Mrs. Guilderaufenberg and the other ladies got up and began to gather their parcels and satchels. Jack was ready when his friends led the way to the door.
"I'll be glad to get off," he thought. "I am afraid Aunt Melinda would say I was traveling on Sunday."
The conductor threw open the car door and shouted, and Mr. Guilderaufenberg hurried forward exclaiming: "Come! Dees ees our station!"
Jack had taken even more than his share of the luggage; and now his arm was once more grasped by Miss Hildebrand.
"I'll take good care of her," he said to himself, as she pushed along out of the cars. "All I need to do is to follow the rest."
He did not understand what she said to the others in German, but it was: "I'll bring Mr. Ogden. He will know how to look out for himself, very soon."
She meant to see him safely to the Hotel Dantzic, that morning; and the next thing Jack knew he was going down a long flight of stairs, to the sidewalk, while Miss Hildebrand was explaining that part of the city they were in. Even while she was talking, and while he was looking in all directions, she wheeled him suddenly to the left, and they came to a halt.
"Hotel Dantzic," read Jack aloud, from the sign. "It's a tall building; but it's very thin."
The ladies went into the waiting-room, while Jack followed Mr. Guilderaufenberg into the office. The German was welcomed by the proprietor as if he were an old acquaintance.
A moment afterward, Mr. Guilderaufenberg turned away from the desk and said to Jack:
"My poy, I haf a room for you. Eet ees high oop, but eet ees goot; und you bays only feefty cent a day. You bay for von veek, now. You puys vot you eats vere you blease in de ceety."
The three dollars and a half paid for the first week made the first break in Jack's capital of nine dollars.
"Any way," he thought, when he paid it, "I have found a place to sleep in. Money'll go fast in the city, and I must look out. I'll put my baggage in my room and then come down to breakfast."
"You breakfast mit us dees time," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, kindly. "Den you not see us more, maybe, till you comes to Vashington."
Jack got his key and the number of his room and was making his way to the foot of a stairway when a very polite man said to him:
"This way, sir. This way to the elevator. Seventh floor, sir."
Jack had heard and read of elevators, but it was startling to ride in one for the first time. It was all but full when he got in, and after it started, his first thought was:
"How it's loaded! What if the rope should break!"
It stopped to let a man out, and started and stopped again and again, but it seemed only a few long, breathless moments before the man in charge of it said; "Seventh, sir!"
The moment Jack was in his room he exclaimed:
"Isn't this grand, though? It's only about twice as big as that stateroom on the steamboat. I can feel at home here."
It was a pleasant little room, and Jack began at once to make ready for breakfast.
He was brushing his hair when he went to the window, and as he looked out he actually dropped the brush in his surprise.
"Where's my guide-book?" he said. "I know where I am, though. That must be the East River. Away off there is Long Island. Looks as if it was all city. Maybe that is Brooklyn,—I don't know. Isn't this a high house? I can look down on all the other roofs. Jingo!"
He hurried through his toilet, meanwhile taking swift glances out of the window. When he went out to the elevator, he said to himself:
"I'll go down by the stairs some day, just to see how it seems. A storm would whistle like anything, round the top of this building!"
When he got down, Mr. Guilderaufenberg was waiting for him, and the party of ladies went in to breakfast, in a restaurant which occupied nearly all of the lower floor of the hotel.
"I understand," said Jack, good-humoredly, in reply to an explanation from Miss Hildebrand. "You pay for just what you order, and no more, and they charge high for everything but bread. I'm beginning to learn something of city ways."
During all that morning, anybody who knew Jack Ogden would have had to look at him twice, he had been so quiet and sedate; but the old, self-confident look gradually returned during breakfast.
"Ve see you again at supper," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, as they arose. "Den ve goes to Vashington. You valks out und looks about. You easy finds your vay back. Goot-bye till den."
Jack shook hands with his friends, and walked out into the street.
"Well, here I am!" he thought. "This is the city. I'm all alone in it, too, and I must find my own way. I can do it, though. I'm glad it's Sunday, so that I needn't go straight to work."
At that moment, the nine o'clock bells were ringing in two wooden steeples in the village of Crofield; but the bell of the third steeple was silent, down among the splinters of what had been the pulpit of its own meeting-house. The village was very still, but there was something peculiar in the quiet in the Ogden homestead. Even the children went about as if they missed something or were listening for somebody they expected.
There were nine o'clock bells, also, in Mertonville, and there was a ring at the door-bell of the house of Mr. Murdoch, the editor.
"Why, Elder Holloway!" exclaimed Mrs. Murdoch, when she opened the door. "Please to walk in."
"Thank you, Mrs. Murdoch, but I can't," he said, speaking as if hurried, "Please tell Miss Ogden there's a class of sixteen girls in our Sunday school, and the teacher's gone; and I've taken the liberty of promising for her that she'll take charge of it."
"I'll call her," said Mrs. Murdoch.
"No, no," replied the elder. "Just tell her it's a nice class, and that the girls expect her to come, and we'll be ever go much obliged to her. Good-morning!"—and he was gone.
"Oh, Mrs. Murdoch!" exclaimed Mary, when the elder's message was given. "I can't! I don't know them! I suppose I ought; but I'd have said no, if I had seen him."
The elder had thought of that, perhaps, and had provided against any refusal by retreating. As he went away he said to himself:
"She can do it, I know; if she does, it'll help me carry out my plan."
He looked, just then, as if it were a very good plan, but he did not reveal it.
Mary Ogden persuaded Mrs. Murdoch to take her to another church that morning, so that she need not meet any of her new class.
"I hope Jack will go to church in the city," she said; and her mother said the same thing to Aunt Melinda over in Crofield.
Jack could not have given any reason why his feet turned westward, but he went slowly along for several blocks, while he stared at the rows of buildings, at the sidewalks, at the pavements, and at everything else, great and small. He was actually leaving the world in which he had been brought up—the Crofield world—and taking a first stroll around in a world of quite another sort. He met some people on the streets, but not many.
"They're all getting ready for church," he thought, and his next thought was expressed aloud.
"Whew! what street's this, I wonder?"
He had passed row after row of fine buildings, but suddenly he had turned into a wide avenue which seemed a street of palaces. Forward he went, faster and faster, staring eagerly at one after another of those elegant mansions of stone, of marble, or of brick.
"See here, Johnny," he suddenly heard in a sharp voice close to him, "what number do you want?"
"Hallo," said Jack, halting and turning. "What street's this?"
He was looking up into the good-natured face of a tall man in a neat blue uniform.
"What are you looking for?" began the policeman again. But, without waiting for Jack's answer, he went on, "Oh, I see! You're a greeny lookin' at Fifth Avenue. Mind where you're going, or you'll run into somebody!"
"Is this Fifth Avenue?" Jack asked. "I wish I knew who owned these houses."
"You do, do you?" laughed the man in blue. "Well, I can tell you some of them. That house belongs to—" and the policeman went on giving name after name, and pointing out the finest houses.
Some of the names were familiar to Jack. He had read about these men in newspapers, and it was pleasant to see where they lived.
"See that house?" asked the policeman, pointing at one of the finest residences. "Well, the man that owns it came to New York as poor as you, maybe poorer. Not quite so green, of course! But you'll soon get over that. See that big house yonder, on the corner? Well, the cash for that was gathered by a chap who began as a deck-hand. Most of the big guns came up from nearly nothing. Now you walk along and look out; but mind you don't run over anybody."
"Much obliged," said Jack, and as he walked on, he kept his eyes open, but his thoughts were busy with what the policeman had told him.
That was the very idea he had while he was in Crofield. That was what had made him long to break away from the village and find his way to the city. His imagination had busied itself with stories of poor boys,—as poor and green as he, scores of them,—born and brought up in country homes, who, refusing to stay at home and be nobodies, had become successful men. All the great buildings he saw seemed to tell the same story. Still he did say to himself once:
"Some of their fathers must have been rich enough to give them a good start. Some were born rich, too. I don't care for that, though. I don't know as I want so big a house. I am going to get along somehow. My chances are as good as some of these fellows had."
Just then he came to a halt, for right ahead of him were open grounds, and beyond were grass and trees. To the right and left were buildings.
"I know what this is!" exclaimed Jack. "It must be Central Park. Some day I'm going there, all over it. But I'll turn around now, and find a place to go to church. I've passed a dozen churches on the way."
When Jack turned away from the entrance to Central Park, he found much of the Sunday quiet gone. It was nearly half-past ten o'clock; the sidewalks were covered with people, and the street resounded with the rattle of carriage-wheels.
There was some uneasiness in the mind of the boy from Crofield. The policeman had impressed upon Jack the idea that he was not at home in the city, and that he did not seem at home there. He did not know one church from another, and part of his uneasiness was about how city people managed their churches. Perhaps they sold tickets, he thought; or perhaps you paid at the door; or possibly it didn't cost anything, as in Crofield.
"I'll ask," he decided, as he paused in front of what seemed to him a very imposing church. He stood still, for a moment, as the steady procession passed him, part of it going by, but much of it turning into the church.
"Mister—," he said bashfully to four well-dressed men in quick succession; but not one of them paused to answer him. Two did not so much as look at him, and the glances given him by the other two made his cheeks burn—he hardly knew why.
"There's a man I'll try," thought Jack. "I'm getting mad!" The man of whom Jack spoke came up the street. He seemed an unlikely subject. He was so straight he almost leaned backward; he was rather slender than thin; and was uncommonly well dressed. In fact, Jack said to himself: "He looks as if he had bought the meeting-house, and was not pleased with his bargain."
Proud, even haughty, as was the manner of the stranger, Jack stepped boldly forward and again said:
"Mister?"
"Well, my boy, what is it?"
The response came with a halt and almost a bow.
"If a fellow wished to go to this church, how would he get in?" asked Jack.
"Do you live in the city?" There was a frown of stern inquiry on the broad forehead; but the head was bending farther forward.
"No," said Jack, "I live in Crofield."
"Where's that?"
"Away up on the Cocahutchie River. I came here early this morning."
"What's your name?"
"John Ogden."
"Come with me, John Ogden. You may have a seat in my pew. Come."
Into the church and up the middle aisle Jack followed his leader, with a sense of awe almost stifling him; then, too, he felt drowned in the thunderous flood of music from the organ. He saw the man stop, open a pew-door, step back, smile and bow, and then wait until the boy from Crofield had passed in and taken his seat.
"He's a gentleman," thought Jack, hardly aware that he himself had bowed low as he went in, and that a smile of grim approval had followed him.
In the pew behind them sat another man, as haughty looking, but just now wearing the same kind of smile as he leaned forward and asked in an audible whisper:
"General, who's your friend?"
"Mr. John Ogden, of Crofield, away up on the Cookyhutchie River. I netted him at the door," was the reply, in the same tone.
"Good catch?" asked the other.
"Just as good as I was, Judge, forty years ago. I'll tell you how that was some day."
"Decidedly raw material, I should say."
"Well, so was I. I was no more knowing than he is. I remember what it is to be far away from home."
The hoarse, subdued whispers ceased; the two gentle men looked grim and severe again. Then there was a grand burst of music from the organ, the vast congregation stood up, and Jack rose with them.
He felt solemn enough, there was no doubt of that; but what he said to himself unconsciously took this shape:
"Jingo! If this isn't the greatest going to church I ever did! Hear that voice! The organ too—what music! Don't I wish Molly was here! I wish all the family were here."
The service went on and Jack listened attentively, in spite of a strong tendency in his eyes to wander among the pillars to the galleries, up into the lofty vault above him, or around among the pews full of people. He knew it was a good sermon and that the music was good, singing and all—especially when the congregation joined in "Old Hundred" and another old hymn that he knew. Still he had an increasing sense of being a very small fellow in a very large place. When he raised his head, after the benediction, he saw the owner of the pew turn toward him, bow low, and hold out his hand. Jack shook hands, of course.
"Good-morning, Mr. Ogden," said the gentleman gravely, with almost a frown on his face, but very politely, and then he turned and walked out of the pew. Jack also bowed as he shook hands, and said, "Good-morning. Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoyed the sermon."
"General," said the gentleman in the pew behind them, "pretty good for raw material. Keep an eye on him."
"No, I won't," said the general. "I've spoiled four or five in that very way."
"Well, I believe you're right," said the judge, after a moment. "It's best for that kind of boy to fight his own battles. I had to."
"So did I," said the general, "and I was well pounded for a while."
Jack did not hear all of the conversation, but he had a clear idea that they were talking about him; and as he walked slowly out of the church, packed in among the crowd in the aisle, he had a very rosy face indeed.
Jack had in mind a thought that had often come to him in the church at Crofield, near the end of the sermon:—he was conscious that it was dinner-time.
Of course he thought, with a little homesickness, of the home dinner-table.
"I wish I could sit right down with them," he thought, "and tell them what Sunday is in the city. Then my dinner wouldn't cost me a cent there, either. No matter, I'm here, and now I can begin to make more money right away. I have five dollars and fifty cents left anyway."
Then he thought of the bill of fare at the Hotel Dantzic, and many of the prices on it, and remembered Mr. Guilderaufenberg's instructions about going to some cheaper place for his meals.
"I didn't tell him that I had only nine dollars," he said to himself, "but I'll follow his advice. He's a traveler."
Jack had been too proud to explain how little money he had, but his German friend had really done well by him in making him take the little room at the top of the Hotel Dantzic. He had said to his wife:
"Dot poy! Vell, I see him again some day. He got a place to shleep, anyhow, vile he looks around und see de ceety. No oder poy I efer meets know at de same time so moch and so leetle."
With every step from the church door Jack felt hungrier, but he did not turn his steps toward the Hotel Dantzic. He walked on down to the lower part of the city, on the lookout for hotels and restaurants. It was not long before he came to a hotel, and then he passed another and another; and he passed a number of places where the signs told him of dinners to be had within, but all looked too fine.
"They're for rich people," he said, shaking his head, "like the people in that church. What stacks of money they must have? That organ maybe cost more than all the meeting-houses in Crofield!"
After going a little farther Jack exclaimed;
"I don't care! I've just got to eat!"
He was getting farther and farther from the Hotel Dantzic, and suddenly his eyes were caught by a very taking sign, at the top of some neat steps leading down into a basement:
"DINNER. ROAST BEEF. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS."
"That'll do." said Jack eagerly. "I can stand that. Roost beef alone is forty cents at the Dantzic."
Down he went and found himself in a wide comfortable room, containing two long dining tables, and a number of small oblong tables, and some round tables, all as neat as wax. It was a very pleasant place, and a great many other hungry people were there already.
Jack sat down at one of the small tables, and a waiter came to him at once.
"Dinner sir? Yessir. Roast beef, sir? Yessir. Vegetables? Potatoes? Lima-beans? Sweet corn?"
"Yes, please," said Jack. "Beef, potatoes, beans, and corn?" and the waiter was gone.
It seemed to be a long time before the beef and vegetables came, but they were not long in disappearing after they were on the table.
The waiter had other people to serve, but he was an attentive fellow.
"Pie sir?" he said, naming five kinds without a pause.
"Custard-pie," said Jack.
"Coffee, sir? Yessir," and he darted away again.
"This beats the Hotel Dantzic all to pieces," remarked Jack, as he went on with his pie and coffee; but the waiter was scribbling something upon a slip of paper, and when it was done he put it down by Jack's plate.
"Jingo!" said Jack in a horrified tone, a moment later. "What's this? 'Roast beef, 25; potatoes, 10; Lima-beans, 10; corn, 10; bread, 5; coffee, 10; pie, 10: $0.80.' Eighty cents! Jingo! How like smoke it does cost to live in New York! This can't be one of the cheap places Mr. Guilderaufenberg meant."
Jack felt much chagrined, but he finished his pie and coffee bravely. "It's a sell," he said, "—but then it was a good dinner!"
He went to the cashier with an effort to act as if it was an old story to him. He gave the cashier a dollar, received his change, and turned away, as the man behind the counter remarked to a friend at his elbow:
"I knew it. He had the cash. His face was all right."
"Clothes will fool anybody," said the other man.
Jack heard it, and he looked at the men sitting at the tables.
"They're all wearing Sunday clothes," he thought, "but some are no better than mine. But there's a difference. I've noticed it all along."
So had others, for Jack had not seen one in that restaurant who had on at all such a suit of clothes as had been made for him by the Crofield tailor.
"Four dollars and seventy cents left," said Jack thoughtfully, as he went up into the street; and then he turned to go down-town without any reason for choosing that direction.
An hour later, Mr. Gilderaufenberg and his wife and their friends were standing near the front door of the Hotel Dantzic, talking with the proprietor. Around them lay their baggage, and in front of the door was a carriage. Evidently they were going away earlier than they had intended.
"Dot poy!" exclaimed the broad and bearded German. "He find us not here ven he come. You pe goot to dot poy, Mr. Keifelheimer."
"So!" said the hotel proprietor, and at once three other voices chimed in with good-bye messages to Jack Ogden. Mr. Keifelheimer responded:
"I see to him. He will come to Vashington to see you. So!"
Then they entered the carriage, and away they went.