When Sam left Henry, somehow he felt in lower spirits than before. He had become attached to his roommate in spite of the difference in character between them, and Henry's reproaches seemed to throw a new light upon his conduct. He felt it the more because he was about to leave him.
"I did treat him mean," he admitted to himself, his conscience touched, for the first time, perhaps, in years. "I'm glad they wouldn't let me have any of his money at the bank. I won't act so mean again."
It is not to be supposed that this repentant mood lasted long. As Sam neared the wharf from which the Fall River line of steamers left for Boston, his thoughts were on the journey he was about to take, and his spirits rose.
The steamer was moored alongside the wharf, perhaps halfway down. There was a confused mass of trunks, bales and baggage of various kinds on the pier waiting to be stowed away on board. It was early, but a few passengers were already on board, and others were passing over the gang plank at intervals. Sam thought he would go on board, too, and look about a little. He had never been on board one of these steamers, and was curious to see the accommodations. He went upstairs, and found himself in a long and elegantly furnished saloon, with lines of staterooms on either side. Three passengers were seated on sofas or in armchairs. Two were engaged in reading an afternoon paper, and the third, a girl of about fifteen, had her attention absorbed by a bird cage containing a canary.
She looked up as Sam passed, and asked pleasantly: "Is it almost time for the boat to start, sir?"
It was the first time Sam had been addressed as "sir," and he felt flattered.
"I guess not," he said. "There's only a few people on board. I don't think it'll start for an hour."
"I wish it would go soon," said the girl. "I am in a hurry to get home."
"Do you live in Boston?" asked Sam.
"Yes; I've been to visit my uncle in Brooklyn, and now I'm going back. Are you going to Boston, too?"
"Yes," answered Sam.
"Do you live there?"
"No; I never was there."
"I suppose you've got relations there?" said the young lady, in an inquiring tone.
"No; I'm going on to see if I can't get a place."
The young girl surveyed him with interest.
"Do you have to earn your own living?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You are young to do that."
"Oh, I've had to earn my living ever since I was eleven or twelve."
"You don't mean it. Why, what did you do?"
"I was clerk in a store on Pearl Street," said Sam, who did not care to mention his previous experience as a bootblack and newsboy.
"Well, I hope you'll get a good place. I've got a brother almost as old as you, but he'd never think he could earn his own living; his name is Frank."
"What's his last name?" asked Sam, bluntly.
"Stockton—I am Julia Stockton."
"My name is Sam Barker," said Sam, thinking such confidence ought to be requited.
"I've got a cousin Sam," Julia remarked, "but I never knew any one of the name of Barker before."
"Is that your bird?" inquired Sam, by way of prolonging the conversation.
"Yes; he sings sweetly, sometimes, but I guess he's frightened now. I'm glad he's with me, it isn't quite so lonely. I never traveled alone before. Are you used to traveling alone, Mr. Barker?"
"I never traveled much," answered Sam, trying to look dignified, on first being addressed as Mr. Barker; "but I don't mind being alone."
"That's because you're a boy. Boys can take care of themselves better than girls. Do you know what time we get to Boston?"
"No, I don't; but I'll inquire," said Sam. "Shall I find you here?"
"Oh, yes, I'll be here."
Sam went down below, and noticed that some were already procuring tickets at the captain's office. It struck him that he might as well obtain his. Accordingly he joined the line, and when his turn came inquired for a ticket.
"Fall River or Boston?" asked the man in charge.
"Boston."
"Five dollars."
"That's pretty steep," thought Sam. "I shall have only twenty dollars left."
A ticket was handed him, with 159 on it.
"What's that for?" asked Sam.
"It's the number of your berth."
"When will we get to Boston?"
"Between six and seven in the morning."
As Sam turned away he was accosted by a newsboy: "Papers, sir?"
An idea struck Sam. He would get a picture paper for his new acquaintance. It was probably the first mark of attention he had ever paid to a girl, but the idea pleased him, and he bought a Harper's Weekly, and carried it upstairs.
He found Miss Julia Stockton sitting where he had left her. She smiled pleasantly when she saw Sam.
"I bought you a picture paper," he said, feeling a little awkward. "I thought you might like to read it."
"Oh, thank you. You are very kind. Did you find out when we would reach Boston?"
"Yes, Miss Julia. We shall get there between six and seven in the morning."
"That's pretty early. I hope papa will be at the depot waiting."
"At the depot? Does the boat go into a depot?" asked Sam.
Julia laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Did you think we went all the way by boat?"
"Yes, I thought so."
"We go the last fifty miles by cars—that is, from Fall River."
"All the better," said Sam. "That will give us a little variety."
Meanwhile, the passengers were pouring in, and the cabin was getting full.
"I guess I'll go out on deck," said Sam; "I want to see the boat start."
"I should like to, ever so much."
"Come with me, then. I'll take care of you," said Sam, manfully. "Let me carry your cage. It's too heavy for you."
So the two went out on deck together.
The reader who has followed Sam's fortunes closely may wonder how a boy so shabbily dressed as Sam, could be treated as an equal by a young lady of good family. This leads me to explain that about a month before Sam had been presented with a neat suit of clothes, originally made for a nephew of his employer, but which had proved too small. Thus it happened that, with the exception of his hat, which was rather the worse for wear, our hero presented quite a respectable appearance.
Julia Stockton remained outside with Sam till the boat rounded the Battery, and for three-quarters of an hour longer. Sam was very well qualified to answer her numerous questions about the different places they passed.
"What is that island?" asked Julia.
"That is Blackwell's Island," answered Sam.
"Is that where the penitentiary is?" she inquired, with interest.
"Yes, it is that long stone building."
"How gloomy it is!" said Julia, with a shudder. "How can people be so wicked as to need to go to such a place?"
Sam winced. He knew very well that he had done things, or, at any rate, planned them, which would have entitled him to a place in the prison they were now passing.
"How ashamed I should be if I were ever sent there, and Julia should know it!" he thought.
"What makes you look so sober?" asked Julia.
"I was pitying the poor people who are confined there."
"It must be horrid, but I suppose it can't be helped. I don't see how anybody can want to steal."
Sam thought he could understand. It was not so long since he himself had tried to appropriate the property of another; but he only determined that this should not happen again. He could not consent to forfeit the good opinion of Julia Stockton, and the class to which she belonged. A new ambition began to stir in Sam's soul—the ambition to lead a thoroughly respectable life, and to rise to some creditable position.
"I will turn over a new leaf, I really will," he said to himself. "I'll be a very different boy from what I have been."
They remained outside a while longer, till the steamer had passed through the channel into the broader waters of the Sound, and then re-entered the cabin. The gong for supper had already sounded.
"Won't you go down to supper?" asked Sam.
"Yes, I think I will. You will come, too?"
"Yes, I will go, too," answered Sam, feeling complimented by the invitation.
As they were approaching the stairs, Julia dropped a scarf from her neck. It was picked up by a gentleman, who handed it to Sam, with the remark, "Your sister has dropped her scarf."
"He takes you for my sister," said Sam, turning to Julia with evident pleasure.
"I am afraid you wouldn't own me for a sister," said Julia, smiling coquettishly.
"I should be proud to have such a sister," said Sam, earnestly.
"Would you, really?"
"Yes, I would."
"I am afraid you only say so to compliment me."
"I mean it; but I am sure you would not want me for a brother."
"I don't know," said Julia, with a roguish glance. "Do you always behave well?"
"I am afraid I don't always."
"Nor I either," returned Julia, in a burst of confidence. "I used to play tricks on my governess sometimes."
"I don't think that is so very wicked," said Sam. "Won't you tell me about some of them?"
"After supper I will; but I wouldn't like to have anybody else hear."
They sat down to the table side by side, and made a satisfactory repast. Sam tried to pay for Julia's, but here the young lady was firm. She insisted on paying her own bill, as indeed propriety required.
When the supper was over, they returned to the saloon.
A stateroom had been engaged for Julia, but Sam did not feel justified in paying a dollar extra for such a luxury, when he was already entitled to a comfortable berth.
"Do you know when we reach Fall River?" asked the young lady.
"About half-past four in the morning, and the cars start by five."
"That's awful early!" exclaimed Julia, in dismay. "How shall I wake up in time?"
"The gong will sound," answered Sam; "but if that don't wake you, I'll pound on your door."
"I wish you would. What should I do if I were left?"
"You could wait for the next train."
"But I should not have you to go with me, Sam—Mr. Barker, I mean."
"I wish you would call me Sam. I like it better than Mr. Barker."
"Then I will," said Julia, frankly. "It does seem stiff to call you Mr. Barker."
"If you should be too late for the first train, I will wait, too," said Sam, answering what she had said before.
"Will you? I should like that; but won't it put you out?"
"Oh, no," said Sam, laughing; "there isn't any very important business to call me early to Boston. I had just as lieve wait as not."
"But you won't have to. I am sure the gong will wake me up. But you'll come to the door, and go into the cars with me."
"Oh, yes, I'll be on hand."
"Then, good-night, Sam. I hope you'll have a good sleep."
"I shall sleep like a top; I always do. Good-night, Julia."
So they parted.
"He seems to be a real nice boy, and very polite," thought Julia. "I should feel very lonely without him."
"She's a tiptop girl," thought Sam. "I never saw one I liked so well before."
Sam had never had a sister, and his acquaintance with girls had been exceedingly limited. This was necessarily the case in the rough street life he had led in New York. Julia was a new revelation to him. He was quite too young to be in love, but he certainly liked Julia very much, and thought how pleasant it would be to have such a sister.
"She says she's got a brother," thought Sam. "I wonder what sort of a boy he is, and whether he will like me? I suppose I never shall see him though, or Julia either, after we get to Boston."
This thought was rather disheartening, and made Sam feel sober. But he brightened up at the thought that he should be in the same city, and should, therefore, have some chance of meeting his pretty traveling acquaintance.
The berth Sam was to occupy was on one side of the dining-room. The tables were now cleared, and there was nothing to prevent his retiring. He took off his shoes and his coat, and, without undressing himself any further, got into the berth. It was not long before he was asleep. He did not wake until morning, and then not voluntarily. On opening his eyes he saw one of the attendants on the boat at his bedside.
"You must sleep pretty sound," said the attendant.
"Did you wake me up?" asked Sam.
"Yes; but I had hard work to do it."
"Is it time to get up?"
"I should think it was. Didn't you hear the gong?"
"No."
"It sounded loud enough. Well, you'd better hurry, or you'll be too late for the cars."
This roused Sam. He thought of Julia, and jumped out of the birth. He quickly put on his coat and shoes, and went up two flights of stairs to the saloon, on either side of which were the staterooms.
He went to Julia's—No. 11—near the forward end of the boat, and found the door shut.
He knocked, but was not immediately answered.
"Julia must have overslept herself, too," he thought.
He knocked again, and presently he heard her ask, in the tone of one just waking up, "Who's there?"
"It's I—it's Sam," he answered. "Are you dressed?"
"No. What time is it?"
"It's very late. Didn't you hear the gong?"
"No; is it morning?"
"The cars are almost ready to start."
"Oh, dear; what shall I do?" exclaimed Julia, in dismay.
"Dress as quick as you can, and we may be in time."
After the lapse of five minutes the door opened, and the young lady appeared.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," she said, excusing herself. "Shall we be in time?"
"We'll go down and see," said Sam.
They went below, and out over the gangway, but were only just in time to see the long train speeding on its way.
"We are left!" said Julia, mournfully.
"Well," said Sam, philosophically, "it can't be helped, can it?"
"Shall we have to stay here all day?" inquired the young lady, alarmed.
"Oh, no; there is another train at half-past six, but it is a slower train than this."
"When will it reach Boston?"
"At nine o'clock. I asked the steward just now. It won't make very much difference. We'll get to the city pretty early."
"Father will be down to the depot, and when he doesn't see me he'll think I am not coming. Then how am I to get home?"
"I'll be with you," said Sam, valiantly. "I'll see that you get home all right."
"Will you?" said Julia, brightly. "Then I don't mind so much. How stupid I was not to wake up!"
"I didn't wake up either. One of the men woke me up. I ran up as quick as I could, but it was too late."
"I got very tired yesterday," said Julia, apologetically. "That was what made me sleep so sound. When did you say the next train went?"
"At six-thirty."
"What shall we do till then?"
"You can lie down if you want to, and I will call you in time."
"I don't dare to," said Julia. "Besides, I don't feel sleepy now."
They decided to sit down and while away the time, and were not at a loss for topics of conversation. At half-past six they had taken their places in the cars, in the full anticipation of a pleasant journey.
At nine o'clock the train entered the Old Colony depot. As they entered, Julia began to show signs of uneasiness.
"I am afraid there will be no one here to meet me," she said.
"Then I'll see you safe home," said Sam, rather hoping that it would be necessary for him to do so.
They got out of the cars and walked slowly along, Julia scanning every face anxiously, in the hope of seeing her father or brother. But she could see no familiar face.
"They must have been at the first train, and gone home," she said, in disappointment.
"Have a carriage, sir?" asked the hackman.
"I guess you'd better take one," said Sam.
"Will you ride, too? I should be afraid to go alone."
"Yes, I will go, too," answered Sam.
"Any baggage?" asked the hackman.
"I've got a trunk," said Julia; "I got it checked."
"Give me the check, and I'll see to it."
"Shall I?" asked Julia, appealing to Sam.
"Yes, it'll be all right. How much will you charge?"
"Where do you want to be carried?"
"No.—-, Mount Vernon Street," answered Julia.
"I guess that's about right," said Sam, agreeably surprised with the smallness of the charge in comparison with the extortionate demands of New York hackmen. He considered it only gallant to offer to pay the hack fare, and was glad it would not be too heavy a tax on his scanty resources.
The trunk was soon secured, and Sam and Julia entered the hack.
"It seems so good to be in dear old Boston again," said Julia, with a young girl's warmth of feeling.
"I suppose it does," said Sam, "but I never was here. I don't think the streets are as wide as they are in New York."
"Oh, we've got some wide streets," said. Julia, jealous of the fair fame of her native city. "This isn't the best part of Boston, by any means. Wait till you see the common."
"Shall we pass it?"
"I don't know," said Julia; "I guess we shall."
They did, in fact, go through a side street to Tremont, and drove alongside of the common.
"What do you think of that?" asked Julia, triumphantly.
"Is that the common?"
"Yes; isn't it pretty?"
"It's small," answered Sam. "Is it the biggest park you have got?"
"Isn't it big enough?" retorted Julia.
"It's nothing to Central Park."
"Perhaps it isn't quite as large," admitted Julia, reluctantly; "but it's got bigger trees, and then there's the frog pond. There isn't any frog pond in Central Park."
"There's a lake there."
"And then there's the Old Elm, too," continued Julia, "It was standing hundreds of years before America was discovered."
"I don't see how that can be known," said Sam, shrewdly. "Who said so?"
"It's an Indian tradition, I suppose."
"Where is it? I should like to see it."
It was pointed out; but it's appearance neither contradicted nor confirmed Julia's assertion in regard to its antiquity.
"What is that big building on the hill?" asked Sam.
"Oh, that's the State House. You can go up to the dome and see the view from there. It's grand."
"Isn't Bunker Hill monument round here somewhere?" asked Sam.
"It over in Charlestown, only about two miles off."
"I must go over there some time. I knew a boy that went up there."
"What was his name?"
The boy referred to by Sam was a bootblack named Terry O'Brien—a name which Sam conveniently forgot when questioned by Julia, as he was anxious to have her think that he had moved in good society in New York.
Mount Vernon Street was now close at hand. The hack stopped before a nice-looking swell-front house, such as used to be in favor with Bostonians, and Julia exclaimed, joyfully: "There's mother looking out of the window!"
Sam descended and helped Julia out.
"Now mind," said Julia, "you're coming in. I want to introduce you to mother."
She took out her purse to pay the driver.
"Let me attend to that," said Sam.
"No," said Julia, decidedly, "mother wouldn't like to have me. The carriage was got on my account, and I ought to pay for it."
The hackman was paid, and Julia and Sam walked up the front steps.
"Mamma," said Julia, after the first greeting was over, "this young gentleman is Mr. Sam Barker, who has been very polite to me."
"I am much indebted to you, Mr. Barker," said Mrs. Stockton, cordially extending her hand, "for your kindness to my daughter."
"Oh, it's nothing," said Sam, embarrassed. "I didn't do anything."
"I met him on the boat, mamma, and he saw me on the train, and when there was nobody to meet me he came home with me in the hack."
"Your father was at the depot on the arrival of the first train," said Mrs. Stockton. "As you did not come then, he concluded you did not start yesterday afternoon. He was surprised that you did not telegraph him."
"I did come, mamma; but, would you believe it, I slept so sound I didn't hear the gong, nor Sam either. Did you, Sam?"
"We both slept pretty sound," said Sam.
"Well, Julia, I am glad you got through without accident. Have you had any breakfast?"
"Not a mouthful, mamma. I'm as hungry as a bear."
"I will have some sent up at once. Mr. Barker, I hope you will join my daughter at breakfast."
"Thank you," said Sam, not without satisfaction, for he certainly did feel frightfully hungry.
A substantial breakfast was brought up, and, unromantic as it may seem, both Sam and Julia made great havoc among the eatables.
"I don't think I ever felt so hungry in the whole course of my life," said Julia. "Did you, Sam?"
"I never did, either," said Sam, with his mouth full.
"My dear," said Mrs. Stockton, "Mr. Barker will think you very familiar. It is not the custom to use a gentleman's first name on such short acquaintance."
"I feel as if I had known Sam ever so long. He asked me to call him by his first name."
Mrs. Stockton smiled. Considering Sam's youth, she did not think it necessary to press the matter.
"Is this your first visit to Boston, Mr. Barker?" she inquired.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I hope you will like it."
"I think I shall, ma'am."
"Are you a New Yorker?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I know something of New York. In what part of the city do you live?"
Sam was rather embarrassed. He did not like to mention the unfashionable street where he had lodged.
"I boarded downtown," he answered, indefinitely; "to be near my business."
"You are young to have been in business."
"I was a clerk in a Pearl Street store," said Sam.
"Are you visiting Boston on business?"
"Yes, ma'am. I shall try to find a place here."
"I hope you may succeed."
"Thank you, ma'am."
By this time breakfast was over, and Sam rose.
"I think I'll be going," he said.
Julia did not seek to detain him. The fact was, that after her absence there were quite a number of things she wanted to do, among others to unpack her trunk.
"What hotel are you going to stop at?" she inquired.
"I haven't made up my mind," answered Sam, embarrassed. He well knew that it would be very foolish for him to engage board at a first-class hotel.
"Parker's is a good hotel," suggested Julia. "It's on School Street, not far from here."
"I would recommend a boarding-house," said Mrs. Stockton. "The Parker House is expensive, and, if Mr. Barker is going to stay for some time he may wish to get along more economically."
"I think I shall," said Sam.
"Be sure and call again," said Julia, extending her hand.
"We shall be glad to see you again, Mr. Barker," said Mrs. Stockton, cordially. "Mr. Stockton will wish to thank you for your attention to Julia."
Sam thanked her, and went out into the street. He had enjoyed a good breakfast, and been cordially received by a lady who evidently stood high socially; and these circumstances contributed to put him in good spirits.
"I like Boston," he thought. "The people take more notice of a fellow than they do in New York."
Sam was generalizing upon his very limited experience, and perhaps might be led hereafter to change his views.
"Julia spoke of Parker's Hotel," he said to himself. "I guess I'll inquire where it is, and take a look at it."
"Where is Parker's Hotel?" he asked of a boy who overtook him near the State House.
"It's on School Street. I'm going as far as Tremont Street myself, and you can come along with me," answered the boy.
"Thank you," said Sam. "I am a stranger in Boston, and don't know my way."
"Are you going to stop at Parker's?"
"I don't think I shall; I am afraid they will charge too much."
"It's pretty high-priced," said his new acquaintance.
"Do you know what they charge for a room?"
"A dollar and a half and two dollars a day—that is, for the common rooms."
"That's too much for me."
"Then you've got your meals to pay for besides."
"I shall try to find a boarding-house," said Sam. "Do you know of any?"
"There's an acquaintance of mine, a clerk, who boards on Harrison Avenue."
"Where is that?".
"Not far from Washington Street—up near the Boston and Albany depot."
"Is it near the depot where I came in from New York?"
"How did you come?"
"By the Fall River line."
"Then it isn't far away. I'll give you the number if you want it."
"I wish you would."
"Here's Tremont Street," said the guide, "and that is the Parker House."
"Thank you," said Sam.
He went into the hotel, and, ascending a short staircase, found himself in the office. On one side was a writing-room, on the other a reading-room.
"It looks like a good hotel," thought Sam. "I should like it if I could afford to stay here."
Sam went into the reading-room, and saw lying on a chair a file of a New York paper. It seemed in this strange place like a familiar friend. He was reading the local news, when some one addressed him in a nasal voice: "I say, yeou, do yeou live round here?"
Looking up, Sam's glance rested on a young man, of rustic dress and manners, which made him seem quite out of place in a fashionable hotel.
"No," answered Sam. "I am a stranger in Boston. I came from New York."
"You don't say! It's an all-fired big city, isn't it?" said the countryman.
"It is very large," said Sam, patronizingly.
"I live in the country," said the other—quite needlessly, so Sam thought—"up in New Hampshire. I've come down here to get a job."
"So have I," responded Sam, with new interest in his companion.
"Are you boardin' here?" asked the countryman.
"No; I am going to try to find a boarding-place. The prices are too steep here."
"Let me go with you," said the young man, eagerly.
Sam thought, on the whole, it would be pleasanter to have company, and accepted this proposal.
They bought a copy of the Boston Herald and picked out a list of boarding-houses which appeared to come within their means. Among these were two on Harrison Avenue. One of these was the very house which had already been mentioned to Sam by his boy acquaintance of the morning.
"Do you know your way round the city?" asked Sam of his companion.
"A little," said the other.
"Do you know how to go to Harrison Avenue?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Is it far?"
"Not very far. We can walk easy enough."
"That's all right, then. Let us go."
The two set out on their expedition, walking up Washington Street as far as Essex, and, turning there, soon entered Harrison Avenue. They beguiled the time on the way by conversation.
"What, was you calc'latin' to find to do?" asked the countryman.
"I was clerk in a store in New York," said Sam; "I'd like to get into a store here."
"So should I."
Sam privately thought him too countrified in appearance for the position he desired, but did not say so.
"Have you had any experience?" he asked, curiously.
"Oh, yes; I used to drive the wagon for a grocery store, to hum."
Sam privately doubted whether this experience would be of any particular value to his new acquaintance. However, he had not much faith in his own qualifications, and this concerned him more.
"What's your name?" inquired Sam.
"Abner Blodgett," was the reply. "What's yours?"
"Sam Barker."
"You don't say! There's a doctor in our town by the name of Barker; any relation?"
"I guess not. I never heard of a doctor in our family."
Presently they reached the number indicated. Sam rang the bell.
"You are looking for a boarding-place," he explained. "We saw your advertisement in the Herald."
"Walk in," said the servant. "I'll tell Mrs. Campbell."
Mrs. Campbell presently appeared; a shrewd-looking Scotch lady, but kindly in expression.
"You are looking for a boarding place, gentlemen?" she inquired.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I have one single room and one double one. For the single room I have eight dollars a week; for the double one fourteen, that is, seven dollars for each gentleman. Do you two gentlemen wish to room together?"
"Yes," answered Blodgett, immediately; "if you are willing," he added aside, to Sam.
"Let us look at the rooms," said Sam, "and then we can tell better."
"Walk up this way, gentlemen," said Mrs. Campbell.
She led the way first to the double room. It was a square room, the second floor back, and looked quite neat and comfortable. Sam liked the appearance of it, and so apparently did Abner Blodgett.
"Ain't it scrumptious, though?" he said, admiringly. "We ain't got many rooms like that to hum."
"I suppose you are from the country, sir?" said Mrs. Campbell, with a good-natured smile.
"Yes," said Blodgett, "I'm from New Hampshire; away up near Mount Washington."
"Let me see the single room," requested Sam.
The single room was shown; but it was, of course, much smaller, and the furniture was inferior.
"We'd better take the big room together," said Abner.
Sam hesitated a moment. He was not very particular, but he did not altogether fancy the appearance of Mr. Blodgett.
"How much do you charge for the large room for a single person?" he asked.
"I couldn't take less than eleven dollars," said the landlady.
It was, of course, impossible for Sam to pay any such sum, and he reluctantly agreed to occupy the room jointly with Mr. Blodgett.
"When will you move in?" asked Mrs. Campbell.
"To-day," said Sam.
"I must ask you to pay something in advance, to secure the room, gentlemen."
Sam had no luggage beyond a small bundle, and he answered at once, "I'll pay a week in advance."
"Thank you, sir."
Sam handed the landlady ten dollars and received in return three.
"I'll pay you to-morrow," said Blodgett. "I've got to get the money from my cousin."
"I'll wait till to-morrow to oblige you," said the landlady, "but no longer."
"Oh, I'll have the money then," said Abner, confidently.
"Will you be here to dinner, gentlemen?"
"When do you have dinner?"
"At six o'clock. We used to have it in the middle of the day, but it was inconvenient to some of our boarders, and we changed it."
"We have dinner to hum, where I live, at noon," said Abner.
"We have lunch at half-past twelve, if you choose to come."
"I guess we will," said Abner. "We'll go out and take a walk, Mr. Barker, and come back in time."
"Just as you say," answered Sam.
After a walk they returned to lunch. Sam was usually possessed of a good appetite, but he stared in astonishment when he saw Blodgett eat. That young man appeared to have fasted for a week, and ate accordingly.
"What's the matter with you, Mr. Barker? You don't eat nothin'," he said.
"I had a late breakfast," said Sam. "I guess you'll get your money's worth."
"I mean to. Seven dollars is an awful lot to pay for board. Up to hum they don't charge but three."
"Then I wish they'd open a branch boarding-house here."
"Suppose we go over to Bunker Hill?" said Sam, after lunch. "I want to see the monument."
"Just as you say," said Abner.
"We can ask the way."
"There's some cars go over that way, I've heerd," said Abner.
As they were walking down Washington Street a young man, rather flashily attired, stopped Blodgett, whom he appeared to recognize.
"What's in the wind now?" he asked. "Who have you got in tow?"
"It's my friend, Mr. Barker."
"How do you do, Mr. Barker?" said the young man, who appeared very much amused about something.
"How's your father, the deacon?" he inquired of Blodgett, and laughed again.
"Pretty smart," said Blodgett.
"Just give him my respects when you write, will you?"
"I won't forget,"
The new acquaintance winked, and went his way. Sam was rather surprised at his manner, and also at the fact of his countrified companion being apparently on intimate terms with a person so different in appearance.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That's a young man from our town," said Mr. Blodgett. "He's been living in Boston for five or six years. He's got a good place in Milk Street."
"What sort of a fellow is he?"
"You don't say nothin' about it," said Abner, looking about him as if fearing to be overheard; "but I'm afraid he's a fast young man."
"Shouldn't wonder," said Sam.
"I've heard that he plays cards!" added Abner, in a horrified whisper.
"Very likely," said Sam, amused.
He had had some suspicions of his companion, occasioned by the apparent good understanding between him and the young man they had met, but this remark dissipated them. He felt amused by the verdancy of Abner Blodgett, and anticipated a good deal of entertainment from his remarks.
They took the horse cars to Bunker Hill; Sam paid the fare both ways, as his companion did not expect to have any money till tomorrow. He did not relish lending, his own stock of money being so scanty; but Abner was so confident of being in funds the next day that he did not refuse. He was interested in the view from the summit of the monument, and spent an additional hour in exploring Charlestown. When the two got back to Boston they found the afternoon well advanced and the dinner hour near.