“You are a pauper and you know it.”
Frank was not a quarrelsome boy, but this repeated insult was too much for him. He seized Tom by the collar, and tripping him up left him on the ground howling with rage. As valor was not his strong point, he resolved to be revenged upon Frank vicariously. He was unable to report the case to his father till the next morning, as the deacon did not return from a neighboring village, whither he had gone on business, till late, but the result of his communication was a call at Mr. Pomeroy’s from the deacon at nine o’clock the next morning. Had he found Frank, it was his intention, at Tom’s request, to take him at once to the poorhouse. But he was too late. Our hero was already on his way to New York.
CHAPTER VI
FRANK GETS A PLACE
“So this is New York,” said Frank to himself, as he emerged from the railway station and looked about him with interest and curiosity.
“Black yer boots? Shine?” asked a bootblack, seeing our hero standing still.
Frank looked at his shoes. They were dirty, without doubt, but he would not have felt disposed to be so extravagant, considering his limited resources, had he not felt it necessary to obtain some information about the city.
“Yes,” he said, “you may black them.”
The boy was on his knees instantly and at work.
“How much do you make in a day?” asked Frank.
“When it’s a good day I make a dollar.”
“That’s pretty good,” said Frank.
“Can you show me the way to Broadway?”
“Go straight ahead.”
Our hero paid for his shine and started in the direction indicated.
Frank’s plans, so far as he had any, were to get into a store. He knew that Broadway was the principal business street in the city, and this was about all he did know about it.
He reached the great thoroughfare in a few minutes, and was fortunate enough to find on the window of the corner store the sign:
“A Boy Wanted.”
He entered at once, and going up to the counter, addressed a young man, who was putting up goods.
“Do you want a boy?”
“I believe the boss wants one; I don’t. Go out to that desk.”
Frank found the desk, and propounded the same question to a sandy-whiskered man, who looked up from his writing.
“You’re prompt,” he said. “That notice was only put out two minutes ago.”
“I only saw it one minute ago.”
“So you want the place, do you?”
“I should like it.”
“Do you know your way about the city?”
“No, sir, but I could soon find out.”
“That won’t do. I shall have plenty of applications from boys who live in the city and are familiar with the streets.”
Frank left the store rather discomfited.
He soon came to another store where there was a similar notice of “A Boy Wanted.” It was a dry goods store.
“Do you live with your parents?” was asked.
“My parents are dead,” said Frank, sadly.
“Very sorry, but we can’t take you.”
“Why not, sir?”
“In case you took anything we should make your parents responsible.”
“I shouldn’t take anything,” said Frank, indignantly.
“You might; I can’t take you.”
Our hero left this store a little disheartened by his second rebuff.
He made several more fruitless applications, but did not lose courage wholly. He was gaining an appetite, however. It is not surprising therefore, that his attention was drawn to the bills of a restaurant on the opposite side of the street. He crossed over, and standing outside, began to examine them to see what was the scale of prices. While in this position he was suddenly aroused by a slap on the back.
Turning he met the gaze of a young man of about thirty, who was smiling quite cordially.
“Why, Frank, my boy, how are you?” he said, offering his hand.
“Pretty well, thank you,” said our hero bewildered, for he had no recollection of the man who had called him by name.
The other smiled a little more broadly, and thought:
“It was a lucky guess; his name is Frank.”