He was another disqualification. Ben left the store a little discouraged. He began to think that it would be harder work making a living than he had supposed. He would apply in two or three more stores, and, if unsuccessful, he must sell papers or black boots. Of the two he preferred selling papers. Blacking boots would soil his hands and his clothes, and, as it was possible that he might some day encounter some one from his native village, he did not like to have the report carried home that he had become a New York boot-black. He felt that his education and bringing up fitted him for something better than that. However, it was not necessary to decide this question until he had got through applying for a situation in a store.
He tried his luck again, and once was on the point of being engaged at three dollars per week, when a question as to his parents revealed the fact that he was without a guardian, and this decided the question against him.
"It's of no use," said Ben, despondently. "I might as well go back."
So he turned, and retraced his steps down Broadway. By the time he got to the City Hall Park he was quite tired. Seeing some vacant seats inside, he went in and sat down, resting his bundle on the seat beside him. He saw quite a number of street boys within the inclosure, most of them boot-blacks. As a rule, they bore the marks of their occupation not only on their clothes, but on their faces and hands as well. Some, who were a little more careful than the rest, were provided with a small square strip of carpeting, on which they kneeled when engaged in "shining up" a customer's boots. This formed a very good protection for the knees of their pantaloons. Two were even more luxurious, having chairs in which they seated their customers. Where this extra accommodation was supplied, however, a fee of ten cents was demanded, while the boot-blacks in general asked but five.
"Black your boots?" asked one boy of Ben, observing that our young adventurer's shoes were soiled.
"Yes," said Ben, "if you'll do it for nothing."
"I'll black your eye for nothing," said the other.
"Thank you," said Ben, "I won't trouble you."
Ben was rather interested in a scene which he witnessed shortly afterwards. A young man, whose appearance indicated that he was from the country, was waylaid by the boys, and finally submitted his boots to an operator.
"How much do you want?"
"Twenty-five cents," was the reply.
"Twenty-five cents!" exclaimed the customer, aghast. "You're jokin', aint you?"
"Reg'lar price, mister," was the reply.
"Why, I saw a boy blackin' boots down by the museum for ten cents."
"Maybe you did; but this is the City Hall Park. We're employed by the city, and we have to charge the reg'lar price."
"I wish I'd got my boots blacked down to the museum," said the victim, in a tone of disappointment, producing twenty-five cents, which was eagerly appropriated by the young extortioner.
"I say, Tommy, give us a treat, or we'll peach," said one of the boys.
Tom led the way to the ice-cream vender's establishment, where with reckless extravagance he ordered a penny ice-cream all round for the half-dozen boys in his company, even then making a handsome thing out of the extra pay he had obtained from his rustic patron.
By this time it was half-past two o'clock. So Ben learned from the City Hall clock. He was getting decidedly hungry. There were apple and cake stands just outside the railings, on which he could have regaled himself cheaply, but his appetite craved something more solid. There was a faint feeling, which nothing but meat could satisfy.
Ben had no idea how much a plate of meat would cost at a restaurant. He had but twenty-two cents, and whatever he got must come within that limit. Still he hoped that something could be obtained for this sum.
Where to go, – that was the question.
"Can you tell me a good place to get some dinner?" he asked of a boy, standing near him.
"Down on Nassau Street or Fulton Street," was the reply.
"Where is Fulton Street?" asked Ben, catching the last name.
"I'm goin' that way. You can go with me if you want to."
Ben readily accepted the companionship proffered, and was led past the museum, the site of which, as I have said, is now occupied by the Herald Building.
Turning down Fulton Street, Ben soon saw a restaurant, with bills of fare displayed outside.
"That's a good place," said his guide.
"Thank you," said Ben.
He scanned the bill in advance, ascertaining to his satisfaction that he could obtain a plate of roast beef for fifteen cents, and a cup of coffee for five. This would make but twenty cents, leaving him a balance of two cents.
He opened the door and entered.
There was a long table running through the centre of the apartment, from the door to the rear. On each side, against the sides of the room, were small tables intended for four persons each. There were but few eating, as the busy time at down-town restaurants usually extends from twelve to half-past one, or two o'clock, and it was now nearly three.
Ben entered and took a seat at one of the side tables, laying his bundle on a chair beside him.
A colored waiter came up, and stood awaiting his orders.
"Give me a plate of roast beef," said Ben.
"Yes, sir. Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee."
The waiter went to the lower end of the dining-room, and called out, "Roast beef."
After a brief delay, he returned with the article ordered, and a cup of coffee.
There were two potatoes with the meat, and a small piece of bread on the side of the plate. The coffee looked muddy, and not particularly inviting.
Ben was not accustomed to the ways of restaurants, and supposed that, as in shops, immediate payment was expected.
"Here's the money – twenty cents," he said, producing the sum named.
"Pay at the desk as you go out," said the waiter.
Ben looked up, and then for the first time noticed a man behind a counter in the front part of the room.
At the same time the waiter produced a green ticket, bearing "20 cents" printed upon it.
Ben now addressed himself with a hearty appetite to the dinner. The plate was dingy, and the meat neither very abundant nor very tender. Still it can hardly be expected that for fifteen cents a large plate of sirloin can be furnished. Ben was not in a mood to be critical. At home he would have turned up his nose at such a repast, but hunger is very well adapted to cure one of fastidiousness. He ate rapidly, and felt that he had seldom eaten anything so good. He was sorry there was no more bread, the supply being exceedingly limited. As for the coffee he was able to drink it, though he did not enjoy it so well. It tasted as if there was not more than a teaspoonful of milk in the infusion, while the flavor of the beverage differed strangely from the coffee he had been accustomed to get at home.
"It isn't very good," thought Ben; and he could not help wishing he had a cup of the good coffee his mother used to make at home.
"Have anything more?" asked the waiter, coming up to the table.
Ben looked over the bill of fare, not that he expected to get anything for the two cents that still remained to him, but because he wanted to notice the prices of different articles. His eye rested rather longingly on "Apple Dumplings." He was very fond of this dish, and his appetite was so far from being satisfied that he felt that he could have easily disposed of a plate. But the price was ten cents, and of course it was entirely beyond his means.
"Nothing more," said he, and rose from his seat.
He went up to the counter and settled his bill, and went out again into the street. He felt more comfortable than he had done, as one is very apt to feel after a good dinner,