For though Richard had taken the whole affair rather coolly he now
found that it had been more the excitement than aught else that had
kept him up, and he was beginning to feel the full force of a most
uncomfortable shaking up.

But this feeling, bordering upon nervous prostration, was not confined
to the boy alone. Every one of the passengers, most of whom had escaped
without a scratch, were decidedly ill at ease.

It was not long ere Richard thought to take a look through the train
for Mr. Joyce.

"He may have got aboard without my seeing him," he said to himself.

And leaving his baggage piled up in the seat, he made the tour from
one end to the other and back.

He was unsuccessful. It was as if the leather merchant had disappeared
for good.

"Hope he turns up," thought the boy. "If he doesn't what am I to do
with his baggage? I don't know where he lives and--Hold up."

He suddenly thought of Mr. Joyce's card, which that gentleman had given
him, but a hasty and then a thorough search convinced him that the bit
of pasteboard was no longer in his possession.

"Must have slipped out of my pocket in the smash-up," he thought.
"Well, I'll have to make the best of it, only I don't want to carry
off another person's property."

Richard did not know enough to leave the valise with the baggage master
or some of the other railroad officials. This was his first journey
of importance, and everything was new and strange to him. The next
station was quite a distance, and after thinking the matter over the
boy concluded to let the matter rest until they reached that point.

He still retained the guide-book the merchant had loaned him, and
presently he took it out and began to study it more carefully than
ever.

"Father used to live up in that neighborhood," he said to himself, as
certain familiar names of streets arose in his mind. "Sometime, after
I'm settled, I'll visit that district and learn if there are still any
people there who knew him. Who knows but what I might run across some
one who knew him during the war, and could witness his application?"

The idea was a rather pleasant one, and gave the boy a wide field for
meditation and hope. He determined not only to take a "run up," as he
had said, but also, when the opportunity offered, to make a thorough
canvass of the locality and get every bit of information obtainable.

"Ahoy, there! Mr. Dare. On board, too, eh?" exclaimed a voice, and
looking up Richard saw Doc Linyard's beaming face.

"Sit down," returned the boy.

The seat in front was vacant, and in a trice the old sailor had it
turned over and himself ensconced in the soft cushions, opposite
Richard.

"Might I ask where you're bound?" asked Doc Linyard, after another
long string of thanks for the services that had been rendered.

"I can't say any more than that I'm going to New York. I'm looking for
work, and I don't know where I'll settle. Perhaps I'll strike nothing
and have to go back home."

"What! A strong, healthy young fellow like you? Nonsense! Not if you
care to lend a willing hand."

"Oh, I'm anxious enough to do that."

"Then you'll pull through. Them as is anxious and willing always do.
I didn't have much to start on when I settled in the city. Only six
months' pay at sixteen dollars a month."

"How came you to leave the sea?" asked the boy, with considerable
curiosity, for Doc Linyard was the first regular sailor he had ever
known.

"Oh, you see I was wrecked a couple of times, and lost one leg; this,"
he tapped his left knee, "is only a cork one, you know, and then the
wife grew afeared, and said as how she wanted me ashore. But a tar
used to the rigging and sech don't take kindly to labor on land, so
instead of working for other people, I up and started the Watch Below."

"What is it--a boarding-house?"

"Not exactly, though we do occasionally take a fellow in. It's a
temperance lunch-room for sailors, with regular first-class ship grub;
lobscouse, plum-duff and sech. Most of the fellows know me, and hardly
a soul comes ashore but what drops in afore he leaves port."

"It must pay."

"I don't get fancy prices and only make a living. I'd like to ask you
down, only maybe it wouldn't be fine enough."

Doc Linyard had noticed Richard's neat appearance, and saw that the
boy was accustomed to having everything "nice."

"Oh, I should like to come very much," replied Richard, "that is if
I get the chance."

On and on rolled the train, and finally the town for which it was bound
was reached, and the passengers alighted and crowded the station.

It was announced that owing to the disaster no train would leave for
New York for two hours. This left a long time on Richard's hands, and
he hardly knew what to do.

Immediately on the arrival Doc Linyard had gone off to hunt up a friend
he fancied lived in the place. Not far from the station was a little
park containing a number of benches, and walking over to it Richard
sat down.

The lunch his mother had given him came in handy now, and he did full
justice to it.

He wished the old sailor was with him to share the repast. He had taken
a fancy to the tar, and loved to listen to his hearty voice and open
speech.

After the lunch was disposed of, Richard took a short stroll through
the town. He did not go far, for he had the two valises with him, and
they were heavy.

Presently he returned to the station, and it was not long before the
train could be seen approaching in the distance. Along with a number
of others, Richard started to walk over to the right track.

As he did so two men, who looked like railroad officials, approached
him.

"Say, young fellow," sang out one of the men. "Hold up; we want to
speak to you."

"What is it?" asked Richard.

"Whose baggage have you got there?"

"My own and another man's."

"What man?" asked the other official.

"A gentleman I met on the train."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to find him."

By this time the train had rolled into the station. Not wishing to
miss it, Richard began to move on.

Both officials made a dive for him, and one of them caught him by the
shoulder.

"Not so fast, my fine fellow?" he exclaimed.

"Why, what--what do you want?" asked Richard, with a rising color.

"We want you to give an account of yourself," was the reply. "Where
did you get that valise?"




CHAPTER VII.

THE END OF THE JOURNEY.


Despite the knowledge that he was doing no wrong, Richard's heart sank
when he heard the railroad official call him back.

He did not think how easy it might be to prove himself innocent of all
wrong-doing. It was bad enough to be suspected. Besides, he had not
been the only one to hear the harsh words that had been spoken, and
in a moment a crowd had collected.

"I was in the wreck, and this valise belongs to a friend of mine,"
replied Richard, as soon as he could collect his thoughts.

"What is your name?" asked the official who still held him by the arm.

Richard told him.

"And who was your friend?"

"His name is--is--"

And here, being greatly confused, Richard could not remember the leather
merchant's name.

"Come, answer me," continued the man sharply.

"His name is--is--I've forgotten it!" stammered the boy in confusion.

"Humph! A very plausible excuse I _must_ say," sneered the man.

"It's the truth. I met the gentleman on the train. He introduced
himself, and we had quite a chat. Then he asked me to look after his
baggage while he went into the smoking-car, and while he was gone the
accident happened."

"Where is the man now?" asked the first official.

"I don't know. I've been trying to find him."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" exclaimed the other. "There isn't
a soul missing from that wreck!"

"I can't help it," replied Richard stoutly, for he was recovering from
the shock he had received. "What I'm telling you is a fact."

"What's the matter here?" broke in a hearty voice; and Doc Linyard
elbowed his way through the crowd. "What's wrong with the young
gentleman?"

"What business is that of yours?" returned the man sharply.

"Not much may be, but if there's trouble for him I want to know it.
He saved my life down in the smash-up, and I intend to stand by him,"
returned the old tar decidedly.

"They think I'm trying to steal this valise," explained Richard.

"_What!_" roared Doc Linyard. "Confound you for a pair of landlubbers!
Don't you know an honest figurehead when you see it? Look at him! 'Pears
to me he looks more straightforward than those as accuses him."

Both officials were taken back by the tar's aggressive manner.

"Better be careful," continued the sailor. "You don't know who this
young gentleman is, and before long you'll be laying up a heap of
trouble for yourselves."

"We have to be on our guard," said the first official in a milder tone.

"The young man will have to leave the valise here, at least," added
the other.

"I'm willing to do that," said Richard. "But I'm no thief," he continued
as they walked over to the baggage-room.

"Yes, but that man's name--" began one of the men.

"Was Joyce--Timothy Joyce!" cried the boy. "I knew I would remember
it sooner or later."

The official took a piece of chalk and scratched the name upon the
bottom of the valise.

"That one is yours?"

"Yes; here is my name on the bottom," and Richard showed it.

"All right. You can go. If Mr. Joyce calls he can get his property,
otherwise it will be forwarded to the main baggage office in New York."

"Hold up! Not so fast," put in Doc Linyard. "Just give him a receipt
for that valise."

"Oh, that's all right," replied the man, turning red.

"Maybe so. But I don't see as how he ought to trust you any more than
you trusted him," went on the tar bluntly.

"That's fair," put in an old man, who had stood watching the
proceedings. "'What's sauce for the goose is the sauce for the gander.'"

With very bad grace the official wrote down something on a pad, tore
the page off and thrust it at Richard.

"I hope you're satisfied," he snapped to Doc Linyard; and taking up
Mr. Joyce's valise he entered an inner room, slamming the door behind
him.

"Good riddance to him," muttered the old tar. "A few brass buttons on
his coat has turned his head."

The train had fortunately been delayed, but it was now moving from the
station. Richard and Doc Linyard made a rush for it, and succeeded in
boarding the last car.

"Hope we're done with adventures," remarked the old tar, when they
were seated. "I'd rather have things quiet and easy."

"I must thank you," said Richard heartily. "I don't know what I would
have done if you hadn't come up just when you did."

"Shoo--'tain't nothing, Mr. Dare, alongside of what you did for me,"
replied the sailor. "But I've had a run of bad luck since I left New
York two days ago," he added meditatively.

"Yes?" questioned the boy with some curiosity. "How so?"

"Well, it's this way," began Doc Linyard, crossing his good leg over
the cork one: "My wife got a letter from England last week, saying as
how an uncle had died, leaving his property to her and her brother,
Tom Clover. In the letter she was asked to see her brother and fix the
matter up with him. They wrote they didn't have his address, and so
left it to her."

"I should think that would be all right," remarked Richard, as the old
tar paused.

"It would be, only for one thing--we don't know where Tom is. He used
to live in New York, but moved away, we don't know where. A party told
me he thought he had got work in a place called Fairwood, but I've
just come from there."

"And you didn't find him?"

"No; he had never been in the place. I have an idea he is again
somewhere in New York."

"Didn't he used to call on you?"

"Sometimes; but he was a bit queer, and there was times he didn't show
up for months and months. He's pretty old, and couldn't get around
very well."

"Is the property valuable?"

"It's worth over eight hundred pounds--four thousand dollars."

"It's a fortune!" exclaimed Richard.

"'Twould be to Betty and me," returned the sailor. "We never had over
a hundred dollars in cash in our lives."

"It's a pity you can't find him," said the boy. "What are you going
to do? Get your wife's share, and let the other rest?"

"No; that's the worst of it. By the provisions of the will the property
can't be divided very well except by the consent of both heirs."

"In that case I think I'd commence a pretty good search for Mr.--your
wife's brother. It's worth spending quite a few dollars to find him."

"Just my reckoning. But New York is a big place to find any one in."

"Perhaps your brother-in-law will drop in on you when you least expect
him."

"Hope he does."

The two continued the conversation for a long time. The more Richard
saw of Doc Linyard, the better he liked the bluff old tar, and, to
tell the truth, the latter was fully as much taken by Richard's open
manner.

It was not long before Richard poured out his own tale in all its
details. He found a strong sympathizer in the sailor, who expressed
a sincere wish that the pension due the Dare family might be speedily
forthcoming.

"Somewhat of a like claim to mine," he remarked. "We are both looking
for other people to help us out."

"And I trust we both succeed," added Richard earnestly. "In fact we
_must_ succeed," he continued, with sudden energy.

"Right you are!" was the reply. "We're bound to get the proper bearings
some time."

Before they reached their journey's end they were fast friends.

"Jersey City!"

It was the brakeman's cry, and an instant later the train rolled into
the vast and gloomy depot, and every one was scrambling up and making
for the door.

In a moment they were upon the platform, amid a surging, pushing mass
of people.

"Which way?" asked Richard, somewhat confused by the unusual bustle.

"This way," replied the sailor. "Just follow me."

"West Shore this side! Checks for baggage! Brooklyn Annex to the right!"
and several similar calls filled the boy's ears. 

He kept close to the tar, who led the way to the slip where a Cortlandt
Street boat was in waiting, and, dodging several trucks and express
wagons, they hurried down the bridge and went on board.

The gentlemen's cabin was so full of tobacco smoke that it nearly
stifled Richard, and he was not sorry when Doc Linyard led the way
straight through to the forward deck.

It was a pleasant day, and the lowering sun cast long shadows over the
water, and lit up the spires and stone piles of the great metropolis
that lay beyond, tipped with gold, typical of Richard's high hopes.

Swiftly the ferryboat crossed the North River, crowded with boats.
Then it ran into the slip--there was the rattle of the ratchets as the
line wheels spun around, and finally the gates were opened.

Richard had reached New York at last.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE "WATCH BELOW."


"Gracious, what a busy place!"

This was the thought that ran through Richard's mind as he stepped
from the ferryhouse to West Street, in New York City.

Doc Linyard had managed to get the boy off the boat as soon as the
landing was made, but now, as they waited for a chance to cross the
slippery thoroughfare that runs parallel to the water's edge, the crowd
surged around them until to Richard there seemed to be a perfect jam.

"Hack, sir? Astor House? Coupe, madam? This way for a cab!"

In a moment they were safe upon the other side of the street.

"Made up your mind which way to steer?" asked Doc Linyard.

"Not exactly," replied Richard. "This is the way to Broadway, I
suppose," he went on, pointing up Cortlandt Street.

"Yes; but what do you intend to do up there?"

"I thought I'd take a look around. I imagine I can't do much in the
way of finding work at this time in the evening."

"No; you'd best wait till morning. Then get a _World_ and a _Herald_,
and look over the want advertisements. I reckon that's the best way of
striking a position."

"Thank you, I'll try that plan. Good-by." And Richard held out his
hand.

"Won't you come down to my place afore we part?" interposed Doc Linyard.
"It's only a few steps from here."

Richard demurred. From the description he had been given of the place
he knew money was to be spent there, and he had no cash to spare.

"I--I--guess not," he faltered.

"Why not?"

"I--well, to tell the truth, I haven't much to spend."

The old tar slapped the boy heartily on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about that!" he cried. "I'm no land-shark. This trip
shan't cost you a cent. Come on."

And Richard followed. To a new-comer West Street is certainly a curious
sight. Saloons predominate, but between them are located tiny eating
houses, cheap clothing shops, meat stalls, bargain "counters," and
lodging-places, only about one in ten of the latter being fit for
occupancy.

"Here we are!" exclaimed the sailor presently.

They stepped up to a small restaurant, considerably neater than its
neighbors. Its exterior was painted light blue, and over the door in
big, black letters, hung the sign:

  THE WATCH BELOW, DOC LINYARD, _Boatswain_.

And to the right of the door, near a figurehead representing a gorgeous
mermaid, were added the words:

  _Messmates Always Welcome_.

The doors were wide open, and the two entered.

Several men sat at various tables, eating and drinking, and behind a
counter that did the double duty of a pie-stand and a cashier's desk
sat a tall, old man with grizzled white hair.

"Well, pop!" exclaimed Doc Linyard, as he stepped up.

"Hello, my boy! Back again," returned the older man. "Did you find
'em?" he added, in an anxious tone.

"No."

The old man shook his head ominously.

"Too bad, too bad," he murmured.

But he was evidently too old to take a very strong interest in the
matter.

"Never mind, it will all come outright in the end," was the son's
reassuring reply. "Where is Betty?"

"In the kitchen."

"This is my father," went on Doc Linyard to Richard. "Pop, here is a
chum as I picked up on the road. His name is Mr. Dare, and he saved
my life."

"Saved your life?" queried the old man doubtfully.

As he spoke a door in the rear opened, and a buxom woman of thirty
tripped out. She came straight up to the sailor and gave him a hearty
kiss.

"No luck, Betty," said Linyard soberly.

"No?"

"Not a bit. Couldn't locate 'em nohow."

"It's too bad, Doc."

"And he says his life was saved by this chap," put in the old man, who
had been gazing at Richard ever since the assertion had been made.

"Yes; we've both had strange adventures in the last twelve hours."

This bold praise made Richard blush.

"Oh, I didn't do as much as all that," he exclaimed. "I only helped
him out of the car, just as I would have helped any one."

"No sech thing, he did lots."

And sitting down near the counter, Doc Linyard gave a graphic account
of all that had transpired.

"I thank you very much," said Mrs. Linyard, when her husband had
finished. "I know Doc won't forget what you did, and neither will I."
She gave the boy's hand a tight squeeze. "Won't you have some supper
with us?"

Richard hesitated. He always was backward in accepting favors.

"Come don't say no," urged Doc Linyard. "By the anchor, it's little
enough."

Mrs. Linyard led the way to a cozy nook near the end of the restaurant,
and gave them two seats at a small table covered with a snowy white
cloth,--a table that was generally reserved for officers, or "upper
class" patrons.

"So you've had no luck?" she said to her husband, as she began to
bustle around with the tableware. "It's queer. What can have become
of Tom?"

"Blessed if I know."

"We may lose that money, all through him," sighed Mrs. Linyard.

"It would be a shame," put in Richard. "Your husband has told me of
the matter. I wish I could help you."

The sailor laughed good-naturedly. His disposition was too easy to
worry much over the situation.

"Reckon as how you'll have your hands full on your own account, finding
work and all that," he returned.

"I suppose I will. Still I would like to help you."

Mrs. Linyard provided a warm and bountiful supper, and both enjoyed
every dish that was set before them.

"I mustn't lose too much time," went on the boy, as he was finishing.
"I must at least find a boarding-house. I don't want to spend the night
in the streets."

"No fear of that," said the old tar hastily. "Betty, another cup of
that good coffee, please. Tell you what I'll do if you're willing.
This place isn't as grand as a hotel, but Betty's beds are as clean
as any of 'em, and if you will you're welcome to stay all night."

"Thank you, I'll do so gladly," replied Richard quickly, for the
proposition took a load from his mind. "I'll pay you whatever--"

"Avast there! What do you think I am, to take money from you for that?
No, thanky, I'm no land shark."

"I know you're not," replied Richard quickly, for he saw that the
sailor's feelings had been hurt, "but I would like to do something in
return."

"No need of that. Tell you what you can do though," continued Doc
Linyard, after a moment's reflection.

"Well?"

"Write me out an advertisement for the newspapers. My eddication ain't
none of the best, and my hand's more used to a marline spike than it
is to a pen."

"Willingly. What do you want to advertise?"

"I want to put a notice in for my brother-in-law. I'll give you all
the particulars."

"Very well. Have you pen, ink and paper?"

"Yes; Betty, will you bring 'em?"

Mrs. Linyard nodded.

A few minutes later the dishes were cleared away, and Richard prepared
to write out the advertisement.




CHAPTER IX.

LOCKED OUT.


During Richard's and Doc Linyard's meal the Watch Below had been
gradually filling up, principally with sailors, the majority of whom
were short, heavy-set men, who clapped each other on the back and
carried on their conversation in a sea lingo that was nearly
unintelligible to Richard.

One thing, however, impressed the boy. All the patrons seemed of a
better class than most sailors are, and he was glad to notice that
drunkenness and profanity were entirely absent. Once in a while some
one would let fall some coarse remark, but he was quickly choked off
by the others out of respect for "Doc's Betty," who hurried around
with a shining face, waiting on one and exchanging a pleasant word
with another.

Every one was on familar terms with the proprietor. They were glad to
see him back to the "fo'castle," but those who knew were sorry his
mission had been unsuccessful.

"They all know me and wishes me well," remarked the sailor to Richard.
"It's something to be proud of--around on this here globe forty-five
years and not an enemy in the world."

"How long were you a sailor?"

"Almost thirty years. I shipped as cabin boy on a South America brig
when I was fifteen. I'd be at it yet if, as I told you, Betty hadn't
anchored me ashore."

"It's long time. Some time I'd like to hear of some of the places you
visited. But I'd better get at that advertisement."

"No hurry--the newspaper office is only a few blocks from here."

"But you want this advertisement to go in tomorrow, don't you?"

"They take 'em up to ten o'clock, and maybe later."

Presently the crowd began to thin out, and by nine o'clock only half-a-
dozen customers remained. Mrs. Linyard and the old man waited upon
these, and Doc Linyard drew up to the table and motioned Richard to
go ahead.

"Here is the paper I'm going to put the notice in," he said. "Guess
you better follow the style of the other advertisements."

"I will," replied Richard. "What is your brother-in-law's full name?"

"Thomas Clover. He has no middle name."

"And his address?"

"He came from Brighton, England, and lived here, in a number of places
on the east side."

"The east side?"

"Yes; he lived somewhere on Cherry Hill last."

"And what is your wife's name?"

"Only Betty. That stands for Elizabeth, I suppose, but she was never
anything else to me or anybody else."

"Better let it go at that, then," returned Richard. "Now what is the
name of the estate to be divided?"

The old sailor told him.

"And say we want to hear from them at once," he added.

Richard went to work earnestly. Several attempts to get the
advertisement into proper shape were failures. Finally he produced the
following:

INFORMATION WANTED IMMEDIATELY of THOMAS CLOVER or his heirs, formerly
of Brighton, England, but when last heard of lived in Cherry Street,
this city. He is an heir of the PELEG SABINE estate which awaits
settlement. Address DOC LINYARD, THE WATCH BELOW, West Street, New
York.

"How will that do?" asked the boy.

"First-rate?" cried Linyard. "Only don't put my address on it. I want
the answer to come through a box in the newspaper office. I don't want
to be bothered by lawyers and detectives looking for a job on the
case."

"I see," said Richard, and crossing out the address he substituted the
words:

"Doc, box ---, this office."

"Guess I'll take a walk over to the newspaper office at once," said
the old tar, when the boy had finished. "Reckon as how pop and the
mistress can get along for a while. I suppose you'd like to come along."

"Indeed I would. I'd like to see as much of the city as I can before
I get to work."

"There's lots of strange sights, no doubt, to new eyes like yours.
You'll find lots that's bright and a heap more that's dark and dismal
enough."

A moment later they set out. Passing up Liberty Street, they turned
into Greenwich and walked along to Fulton.

The Elevated Road, with its noise, was a surprise to the boy, but he
was not allowed time to notice it long, for the sailor hurried him up
Fulton Street, to St. Paul's Church, and then they stood on Broadway.
"What a busy--an awfully busy--street!" was Richard's comment.

"It's rather dull now," said Doc Linyard. "Just wait till day-time.
The wagons and people are enough to drive a man wild. That's the
postoffice over there," he continued, as he pointed to the stone
structure that stands as a wedge, separating Broadway from Park Row
and the Bowery.

"Come ahead. Here we are on Newspaper Row, as lots call it. This was
the _Herald_ building before that paper moved uptown. It used to
be Barnum's Museum years ago. Way down at the head of Frankfort Street
is the _World_, and nearly all the rest of the great dailies are
strung along between the two. Here we are."

As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the outer office of a
newspaper about midway down the Row.

It was a lively place, a constant stream of people coming in and going
out, and the hum of many voices--the whole putting Richard in mind of
some huge machine, grinding out its stipulated work.

Along one side of the counting room was a row of small windows, each
labeled with its department name.

Stepping up to that marked "Advertisements," the old sailor handed in
the one Richard had written out.

The clerk examined it. Then he wrote in the number of a box, and put
down several private marks in the corner.

"Pay at the next desk," he said, handing the paper back.

"How much will it be?" asked Linyard.

"Ninety cents."

At the next window the man in charge put the advertisement on file
along with numerous others. Then he took the money the tar handed over,
and in return filled out a printed order entitling the bearer to receive
all letters bearing the address advertised, for ten days.

"It will go in to-morrow?" asked the tar.

"Certainly."

"Suppose we take a walk up the Bowery," suggested the sailor, when
they were once more outside. "It's early yet."

Richard readily consented. He had often heard his father speak of the
street--how beautiful it had been years ago, and how trade had taken
hold of it, and the boy was curious to see what it was like.

The thoroughfare was a revelation to him, just as it is to every one
seeing it for the first time. The shops huddled together, their
show-windows littered with articles of every description, the
second-hand establishments, the pawnbrokers, the peddlers and
street-stand merchants, who offered everything from shoelaces to
collars, books and trick novelties, were all decidedly new to him.

One stand in particular attracted his attention. It was laden with
choice books, at remarkably low prices. There was a well-bound history
of the United States for forty-five cents, and a beautiful edition of
Shakspere, with steel engravings, for the small price of one dollar.

"Selling 'em off cheap," cried the vender, putting several volumes in
Richard's hands. "Take 'em right along. You'll miss the opportunity
of a lifetime if you don't."

"They are very nice," replied the boy. "But I guess I won't take any
to-night."

"You'd better. They may be all gone by to-morrow. This is only a job
lot, and dirt cheap."

"No, I guess not," and Richard put the books reluctantly back on the
stand.

"Give you a special discount of ten per cent," persisted the dealer.

"No; I haven't the money."

"Oh! Well, come around to-morrow. I'll lay the books aside for you."

"No, don't do that. I may not be back," and without waiting for further
words, Richard hurried off.

Meanwhile Doc Linyard, all unconscious of what was transpiring, had
gone on ahead, and when Richard looked around for him, the old sailor
was nowhere to be seen.

Rather startled, the boy hurried along to catch up. But under the
Elevated Railroad and down by the Brooklyn Bridge all was confusion
and jam, and in a moment Richard realized that he had lost his friend.

He hurried along several blocks, and then just as rapidly retraced his
steps. But it was useless. Doc Linyard had disappeared in the crowd
and was not to be found.

"Now I'm in a pretty pickle," thought Richard. "I suppose there is
nothing to do but get back to the Watch Below."

But that was easier said than done. The boy did not like to make too
many inquiries, and so started off on his own account.

He paid dearly for the experiment. A wrong turn or two, and lo! it
took Richard an hour to get back to West Street and to the restaurant.

And arrived here, an awkward state of affairs confronted the boy. The
Watch Below was closed for the night. All was dark, and not a soul was
in sight!




CHAPTER X.

THE FIRST NIGHT IN NEW YORK.


For an instant a feeling of intense loneliness swept over Richard's
heart as he stood on the dark and silent pavement. He had firmly counted
upon spending the night at the Watch Below, and now to find that place
closed up caused his heart to sink within him. He reproached himself
bitterly for having allowed his curiosity and love of books to make
him forgetful of his situation.

"How am I ever to get along in this world unless I watch out?" he said
to himself dismally. "I suppose it will do no good to knock on the
door. By the way the place is located, the sleeping-room must be
upstairs in the rear, and I might pound till doomsday without any one
hearing me."

Nevertheless, he rapped loudly upon the door, not once, but several
times, and so hard that he drew the attention of the policeman on that
beat.

"Phat are you trying to do?" asked the officer as he came up.

"I want to get in;" and Richard related the particulars of his plight.

"You'll have a job, me b'y," was the reply. "Mrs. Betty slapes like
a log."

They waited for several minutes in silence. But nobody appeared and
no sound came from within.

"Phat are you going to do?" asked the policeman finally.

"I don't know, I'm sure. My valise is inside with my money. I've only
got twenty cents in change in my pocket."

"There's a lodging-house in Washington Street where you can get a bed
for that," went on the officer. "But it's not over clean."

"I don't want to go where it's dirty," replied the boy, shuddering.

And for a brief instant a vision of his own neat and tidy cot at home
floated through his mind.

"Well, oi dunno; you can't stay out here."

While trying to plan what to do a man turned the corner and came toward
them. By the walk Richard recognized Doc Linyard, and with a cry of
joy he ran up to the old tar.

"Ahoy! so here you are?" exclaimed the sailor, his face beaming with
satisfaction. "A nice chase you've led me! Where did you go to?"

"Nowhere. I stopped to look at some books and then I couldn't find you
again," replied Richard. "I'm so glad you've come. They've gone to
bed."

"All below decks, eh? Well, it's time. I've spent an hour looking for
you over on the Bowery. How are you, Mulligan?" the last to the
policeman, who nodded pleasantly.

Producing a key, Doc Linyard opened the restaurant door. Then he handed
the policeman a cigar as a reward for the trouble the officer had
taken, and he and Richard entered.

The old sailor locked the door carefully behind them and lit a hand
lamp that his thoughtful wife had placed upon the front counter.

"I thought such places as this kept lights all night," observed Richard,
as they walked back.

"Most of 'em do,--them as has gas. But the insurance companies think
oil dangerous, so we do without."

Doc Linyard preceded the boy up a narrow stairway to a small room on
the third floor.

"Here you are," he exclaimed, as he set the lamp down on a table.
"Betty got it all fixed for you. There's your valise and the bed's
waiting for you. Take my advice and don't get up too early, not afore
seven o'clock any way,--and pleasant dreams to you."

"Thank you; the same to you," replied Richard sincerely.

It was a cozy apartment, and the boy had not been in it over five
minutes before he felt perfectly at home. Before retiring he sat down
to write the promised letter home.

He had no ink; but paper and envelopes had been brought along, and in
half an hour his lead pencil had filled several sheets with a very
creditable account of what had transpired.

This done he undressed and retired, not, however, before thanking God
for his kind care, and asking for His help and guidance during whatever
was to follow.

Despite the varied fortunes of his trip, the boy's sleep was a sound
one, and it lacked but a few minutes to seven when he awoke in the
morning.

A basin of clean water stood on a stand at the foot of the bed, and
after a plunge into this, he dressed, combed his hair, and went below.

Of course the restaurant was already comfortably filled, and as a
matter of fact, had been for over an hour.

"Hello, my hearty! on deck I see," called out Doc Linyard. "I hope you
slept well in your strange bunk." "First rate," was Richard's reply.
"And longer than I expected, too. Guess I'll start right out to look
for work.

"Not afore you've had some breakfast. Sit down, and I'll fetch you
some coffee and biscuits. Here's the morning papers; you can look 'em
over--the Male Help Wanted column. Reckon you'll find something worth
trying for."

Finding remonstrances of no avail, Richard sat down and allowed himself
to be helped to a morning repast.

While eating he looked over the paper, and found quite a number of
places worth hunting up. By the aid of the map Mr. Joyce had loaned
him he sorted out the addresses in regular order, and put them down
in his note-book.

"Here is that newspaper office order," said the sailor, as Richard was
about to leave. "If you're around in that neighborhood in the afternoon
just see if there are any answers. One might have come already."

"I will," replied Richard. "Can I leave my valise here?"

"Certainly; I want you to make yourself at home here until you find
a better place."

"Thank you. But I must pay you--"

"Not a cent. You helped me, and I'm going to do my duty by you. I'm
no land shark."

And the old sailor shook his head in a way that showed he meant every
word he said.

BOY WANTED, bright and active; to help feed. Norris Printing Co., Water
St., near Wall.

Such was the wording of the first advertisement on Richard's list.

He knew Wall Street ran from Broadway opposite Trinity Church, towards
the East River, and he was not long in reaching that famous money mart,
where millions of dollars change hands each day between the hours of
10 A.M. and 3 P.M. The grand approaches to many of the buildings made
him feel timid, and he could not help but wonder if the place to which
he was going was also so magnificent.

But Water Street, crooked, ill paved and dirty, was a decided contrast
to its neighbor. Storage and warehouses abounded; and the numerous
trucks backed up to receive or deliver goods necessitated walking more
in the street than on the sidewalk.

The building occupied by the Norris Printing Co. was at length reached.
The office was on the second floor, and climbing up a flight of worn
and grimy steps, Richard knocked at the door.

"Come in," said a voice from inside, and he entered.

"I understand you want a boy to help feed," he began, addressing a man
who sat at a desk piled with books and printed sheets.

"Apply to Mr. Nelson, in the basement," was the brief reply.

"Yes, sir."

The stairs to the lowest floor were even narrower than the others had
been. It led to a pressroom that seemed to be one mass of motion and
noise.

Mr. Nelson proved to be a pleasant man of perhaps fifty.

"Had any experience?" he asked, after Richard had announced his errand.

"No, sir; but I think I can learn as quickly as anybody."

"Perhaps; but we couldn't pay you so much while you were learning."

"How much would you start me at--if I worked real hard?"

Mr. Nelson hesitated.

"We'll give you two dollars a week to begin," he said. "When you can
do as much as the rest we'll raise you to three or four."

Richard's hopes fell. Even four dollars a week would barely keep him,
much less allow of money being sent home.

"I'm afraid I can't accept it," he said. "I must support myself and
I can't do it on two dollars a week."

"It's all we can allow," replied Mr. Nelson, and he turned away to his
work.

In a moment Richard was on the street again. The setback chilled his
ardor, but only for an instant, and then he hurried on to the next
place.

It was a confectionery store, and entering, he purchased five cents'
worth of chewing gum, such as he knew his little sister would like.

"I understand you want a boy," he said to the proprietor, who happened
to be the one to wait on him.

"I hired one about an hour ago," was the reply. "Are you looking for
a place?"

"Yes, sir."

The man gave Richard a sharp glance.

"You look like a bright sort of a chap," he said. "Suppose you leave
me your address? The other boy may not suit."

So Richard put down his name and the address of the Watch Below.

"I'm only stopping there temporarily," he explained, "and may leave,
but I'll drop around again in a day or two if I don't strike anything
else."

"Do; I don't like the other boy much. I only took him because a friend
asked me to."

"What do you pay?"

"Four dollars a week, and I might make it five if you would be willing
to help on the wagon as well as in the store."

"I certainly would," replied Richard promptly. "I'm willing to work
real hard at anything, providing it's honest."

"That's the way I like to hear a lad talk," said the confectioner
approvingly.

"Five dollars a week is certainly better than two," was Richard's
mental comment, as he hurried along. "Perhaps the next place will offer
something better still."

But the next place was already filled; and so were the three that
followed.

The seventh was on Vesey Street, the neighborhood that supplies half
the metropolis with tea and coffee. A boy was wanted to help fill
orders and deliver--a man's work--though Richard did not know it.

"We'll pay you seven dollars," was the merchant's reply, after the boy
had inquired after the place. "You will have to deliver principally,
and collect, of course."

"And when can I go to work?" asked Richard, overjoyed at an opening
that promised so well.

"Anytime. Right away if you like. But you'll have to furnish twenty-five
dollars security." This news put a damper on the boy's hopes.

"Twenty-five dollars security?" he repeated.

"Yes. You'll have more than that to collect"--which was not true--"and
of course you will be responsible, and must turn in the money for every
order taken out."

"I'd be sure to do that, or else return the goods."

"We don't take the goods back," was the firm reply. "Everything that
goes out has been ordered and is charged to the account of the one
taking the goods out."

"Who takes the orders?"

"Our canvassers."

"But the orders may not be good," suggested the boy. "People sometimes
change their minds, especially when they've been talked into buying."

"The orders are always good. Besides, if a person refuses to honor his
order all you've got to do is to turn round and sell the packages to
some one else. Come, what do you say? You'd better try it. It's a good
offer."

"I haven't got the money," was Richard's reply.

And for some reason he was glad of the fact.

"Better get it then and go to work," urged the merchant. "You can't
make seven dollars a week easier."

"I'll think it over," replied the boy.

There was something in the offer that did not strike him favorably,
and indeed it was a good thing that he was not in a position to accept
it.

The whole proposition was hardly above a common swindle, enough bogus
orders being put among the honest ones either to make the one
undertaking the job do a lot of peddling on his own account, or else
cause him to pay away half his salary on the goods left over.

Walking up Vesey Street, Richard found himself directly opposite the
post-office. By the clock on St. Paul's he saw that it was long after
noon.

Rather disheartened at his non-success after spending a whole morning
in the search for work, he rounded the Astor House corner and crossed
Broadway.

"Newspaper Row," as Doc Linyard had appropriately called it, was just
across the opposite street, and the boy made up his mind to visit the
office where the advertisement had been left, and see if there were
any letters as yet for the old sailor.

The doors of the post-office were open on both sides, and, curious to
see how the building looked inside, Richard started to go through
instead of going around.

The many departments upon the ground floor were a study to him, and
the signs--Domestic Mails, Foreign Mails, Letters for New York City,
Letters for Outgoing Mails--all this was in strong contrast to the
little three by four box that held all the mail of the village at home.

And the many private boxes! He guessed there must be ten thousand of
them. Every second a new-comer walked up to open one.

Presently a familiar figure stepped up to one directly in front of
Richard, and taking out a handful of letters, closed the box and turned
to go away.

It was Mr. Timothy Joyce.




CHAPTER XI.

ROBBED.


Richard was highly delighted to see his fellow passenger once again,
and running up he grasped the gentleman by the shoulder.

"Mr. Joyce!"

"Why, hello! Where did you come from?" exclaimed the leather merchant,
thrusting the letters into his pocket and taking hold of the boy's
extended hand, "I hope you weren't hurt."

"No, sir," replied Richard, "only shaken up. I trust you were as
fortunate."

"Not quite. My foot was caught under the seat and was wrenched pretty
badly, so much so that I had a man take me half a mile in a wheelbarrow
to a doctor's."

"I looked all over for you," continued the boy. "I saved your valise
and wanted to return it."

And Richard related the particulars of his adventures.

"Humph! those railroad chaps are too particular in some cases and not
half enough so in others," declared Mr. Joyce. "What is in the bag
doesn't amount to much, but I'm much obliged to you for taking the
trouble to save it. I'll send for it this afternoon."

"And here is your guide-book," went on Richard, handing out the volume.
"I'm thankful for the use of it. It's been a real help to me."

"Better keep it then," replied the merchant. "I'll make you a present
of it." He laughed, presumably at the smallness of the gift.

"Thank you."

"Have you had any luck yet in your search for work?"

"No, sir. I could have had a job at several places, but the pay was
so small I couldn't afford to accept any of them."

"Yes, that's the trouble. Good openings are scarce, and very often one
must be known to get a place."

"And some want security," added the boy, relating his interview with
the tea-merchant.

"Don't have anything to do with that class of men," exclaimed Mr. Joyce
emphatically. "They won't give you a cent more than they are forced
to, and advancement in their service is out of the question."

"It didn't strike me very favorably."

"I am sorry that you are not better acquainted with city ways. You may
have to pay dearly for your experience, though I hope not."

"I'm going to keep my eyes open as widely as I can, sir."

"You'll have to." Mr. Joyce paused for a moment. "Can you come over
to my office this afternoon, about three o'clock?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe I'll be able to place you. I won't promise, but I'll do what
I can."

Richard's heart gave a bound. He had taken a strong liking to the
leather merchant, and the hearty manner of the latter, somewhat like
that of Doc Linyard, was certainly taking.

"Thank you, I'll be on hand," he replied quickly.

"Do; but remember I make no promises," returned Mr. Joyce. "I'm off
now. I must answer this mail and a pile of other letters that have
accumulated during my absence."

In a moment the merchant was lost to sight in the crowd.

"I'm glad that I met him," thought the boy. "It may be the luckiest
thing yet. I'm sure if he finds an opening for me it will be the right
thing to take hold of."

Under the turn of affairs Richard decided to get the sailor's letters,
if there were any, and return to the Watch Below at once. It was after
one o'clock, leaving him about an hour and a half before going to the
merchant's place of business.

"I must be prompt," he said to himself. "It will count, I'm sure."

Watching his chance among the score of street cars which pass the post-
office corner every minute, the boy dived through the crowd and reached
the opposite side of Park Bow.

The newspaper office was but a few steps away, and in a second he was
inside.

Quite a number of people were in the counting-room. They were mostly
of the poorer class, and were either looking over the want columns of
the papers on file or else waiting for answers to advertisements which
they had inserted.

Richard joined the line of the latter, and in due turn found himself
at the window, slip in hand.

The clerk glanced at the slip and then looked over some letters in a
certain box.

"Here you are," he said, and handed back the slip, accompanied by two
letters.

"Two answers!" exclaimed Richard as he moved away. "Doc Linyard is
certainly in luck. I must hurry back. He will be anxious, I know."

Richard put the slip in his vest-pocket. In doing so he pulled out two
one dollar bills which he had taken from his valise in the morning,
and folded the paper and money together.

As he shoved the roll into his pocket he did not notice that a hungry
pair of eyes, just outside of the swinging glass doors, were watching
his every action.

The hungry pair of eyes belonged to a boy of twelve, though he looked
older--a street urchin--dirty, ragged, with a pinched face and a
starved, ill-clad form. A look of sheer desperation came into these
eyes when their owner saw the money, and he trembled with excitement
as a certain bold and wicked thought came into his mind--a thought
born, not of a bad heart, but of--an empty stomach.

As Richard came out of the door the street boy shoved against him. The
doors were heavy, and for an instant Richard found his way blocked.
He pushed back the opposite door, and attempted to pass.

"Say, mister, dere's a big bug on your collar!" exclaimed the urchin,
pointing to Richard's neck.

Now, as I'm sure every one knows, to merely have such a thing mentioned
is to feel the insect in question. Such was the case with Richard, and
still holding the door with one hand he put the other up to his neck.

This was the would-be thief's chance. With a dexterity worthy of a
better cause the urchin transferred the slip, money and letters to his
own pocket. It was done in less than three seconds, and then he darted
back into the crowd upon the street.

Of course Richard found no bug, and he was considerably perplexed by
the urchin's actions, never dreaming of what had really occurred.

"I suppose that boy was fooling me," he thought. "Maybe it's one of
those silly jokes that become all the rage every now and then."

Richard walked to the corner of Ann Street. St. Paul's clock now pointed
to ten minutes to two, and he had no time to waste.

"Watch protectors, gents, only ten cents each! May some day save you
the loss of a valuable timepiece! Step right up now; only a dime!
Regular price fifty cents!"

It was a street vender who made this announcement. He stood upon the
curbstone, a small tray of his wares suspended from his shoulders.

"Here's just what you want, sir," he said, addressing Richard.

"Thank you; but I don't carry a watch," was the boy's polite reply.

"You will one of these days. Better have one."

"If I need one I'll call around," replied Richard briefly.

The idea of a safeguard caused him to feel in his pockets to see that
his belongings were still in his possession, first in
one--another--every one.

Then he realized what had happened. He had been robbed.




CHAPTER XII.

ON THE SEARCH.


Richard was dismayed and disheartened by the discovery which he had
just made. He went through his clothing a dozen times to convince
himself that he was not mistaken--that the slip, money and letters
were really gone. But it was assuredly a fact, and groaning in spirit,
he leaned up against a post, utterly overcome.

To tell the truth, however, much as he needed money, he did not think
of the bills that had been taken. His mind ran altogether on Doc
Linyard's property.

"What will he say when I tell him of it?" was Richard's mental comment.
"He won't want to trust me any more. Perhaps those letters were worth
hundreds of dollars. What a fool I've been! I ought to be sent back
to Mossvale at once. I'm not fit to stay in New York."

Then came the thought that possibly he had dropped the things, and he
hastily retraced his steps, scrutinizing every inch of the way as he
went.