The farther he went, however, the clearer became his conviction that dollars paid to thieves seldom come back; and that an evening walk of more than three miles over the stone sidewalks of New York is a long stroll for a very tired and somewhat homesick country boy. He cared less and less, all the way, how strangely and how splendidly the gas-lights and the electric lights lit up the tall buildings.
"One light"s white," he said, "and the other"s yellowish, and that"s about all there is of it. Well, I"m not quite so green, for I know more than I did this morning!"
It was late for him when he reached the hotel, but it seemed to be early enough for everybody else. Many people were coming and going, and among them all he did not see a face that he knew or cared for.
The tired-out, homesick feeling grew upon him, and he walked very dolefully to the elevator. Up it went in a minute, and when he reached his room he threw his hat upon the table, and sat down to think over the long and eventful day.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Jack is homesick._]
"This is the toughest day"s work I ever did! I"d like to see the folks in Crofield and tell "em about it, though," he said.
He went to bed, intending to consider his plans for Monday, but he made one mistake. He happened to close his eyes.
The next thing he knew, there was a ray of warm sunshine striking his face from the open window, for he had slept soundly, and it was nearly seven o"clock on Monday morning.
Jack looked around his room, and then sprang out of bed.
"Hurrah for New York!" he said, cheerfully. "I know what to do now.
I"m glad I"m here! I"ll write a letter home, first thing, and then I"ll pitch in and go to work!"
He felt better. All the hopes he had cherished so long began to stir within him. He brushed his clothes thoroughly, and put on his best necktie; and then he walked out of that room with hardly a doubt that all the business in the great city was ready and waiting for him to come and take part in it. He went down the elevator, after a glance at the stairway and a shake of his head.
"Stairs are too slow," he thought. "I"ll try them some time when I am not so busy."
As he stepped out upon the lower floor he met Mr. Keifelheimer, the proprietor.
"You come in to preakfast mit me," he said. "I promise Mr.
Guilderaufenberg and de ladies, too, I keep an eye on you. Some letters in de box for you. You get dem ven you come out. Come mit me."
Jack was very glad to hear of his friends, what had become of them, and what they had said about him, and of course he was quite ready for breakfast. Mr. Keifelheimer talked, while they were eating, in the most friendly and protecting way. Jack felt that he could speak freely; and so he told the whole story of his adventures on Sunday,--Staten Island, Jimmy the Sneak, and all. Mr. Keifelheimer listened with deep interest, making appreciative remarks every now and then; but he seemed to be most deeply touched by the account of the eighty-cent dinner.
"Dot vas too much!" he said, at last. "It vas a schvindle! Dose Broadvay restaurants rob a man efery time. Now, I only charge you feefty-five cents for all dis beautiful breakfast; and you haf had de finest beefsteak and two cups of splendid coffee. So, you make money ven you eat mit me!"
Jack could but admit that the Hotel Dantzic price was lower than the other; but he paid it with an uneasy feeling that while he must have misunderstood Mr. Keifelheimer"s invitation it was impossible to say so.
"Get dose letter," said the kindly and thoughtful proprietor. "Den you write in de office. It is better dan go avay up to your room."
Jack thanked him and went for his mail, full of wonder as to how any letters could have come to him.
"A whole handful!" he said, in yet greater wonder, when the clerk handed them out. "Who could have known I was here?
Nine,--ten,--eleven,--twelve. A dozen!"
One after another Jack found the envelops full of nicely printed cards and circulars, telling him how and where to find different kinds of goods.
"That makes eight," he said; "and every one a sell. But,--jingo!"
It was a blue envelope, and when he opened it his fingers came upon a dollar bill.
"Mr. Guilderaufenberg"s a trump!" he exclaimed; and he added, gratefully, "I"d only about two dollars and a half left. He"s only written three lines."
They were kindly words, however, ending with:
I have not tell the ladies; but you should be pay for the stateroom.
I hope you have a good time.
F. VON GUILDERAUFENBERG.
The next envelope was white and square; and when it came open Jack found another dollar bill.
"She"s a real good woman!" he said, when he read his name and these words:
I say nothing to anybody; but you should have pay for your stateroom.
You was so kind. In haste,
GERTRUDE VON GUILDERAUFENBERG.
"I"ll go and see them some day," said Jack.
He had opened the eleventh envelope, which was square and pink, and out came another dollar bill. Jack read his own name again, followed by:
We go this minute. I have not told them. You should have pay for your stateroom. Thanks. You was so kind.
MARIE HILDEBRAND.
"Now, if she isn"t one of the most thoughtful women in the world!" said Jack; "and what"s this?"
Square, gray, with an ornamental seal, was the twelfth envelope, and out of it came a fourth dollar bill, and this note:
For the stateroom. I have told not the others. With thanks of
DOLISKA POD----SKI.
It was a fine, small, pointed, and wandering handwriting, and Jack in vain strove to make out the letters in the middle of the Polish lady"s name.
"I don"t care!" he said. "She"s kind, too. So are all the rest of them; and Mr. Guilderaufenberg"s one of the best fellows I ever met.
Now I"ve got over six dollars, and I can make some more right away."
He pocketed his money, and felt more confident than ever; and he walked out of the Hotel Dantzic just as his father, at home in Crofield, was reading to Mrs. Ogden and Aunt Melinda and the children the letter he had written in Albany, on Sat.u.r.day.
They all had their comments to make, but at the end of it the tall blacksmith said to his wife: