Cast Upon the Breakers. Alger Horatio Jr.
than that of the boy I have selected.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“This boy may not prove satisfactory. Call in six days, just before his week expires, and if there is likely to be a vacancy I will let you know.”
“Thank you, sir. You are very kind.”
“I always sympathize with boys. I have two boys of my own.”
This conversation quite encouraged Rodney. It seemed to promise success in the future. If he had probably impressed one man, he might be equally fortunate with another.
It was about half past twelve when he passed through Nassau Street.
All at once his arm was grasped, and a cheery voice said, “Where are you going, Rodney?”
“Mr. Woods!” he exclaimed, with pleased recognition.
“Yes, it’s your old friend Woods.”
“You are not the only railroad friend I have met this morning.”
“Who was the other?”
“The gentleman who obligingly took care of my jewel box for a short time.”
“You don’t mean to say you have met him? Where did you come across him?”
“In front of the Astor House, almost two hours since.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“He spoke to me. You will be glad to hear that he has recovered his own casket of jewels.”
Adin Woods smiled.
“He must think you are easily imposed upon,” he said, “to believe any such story. Anything more?”
“He said his friends would be very much surprised to hear that he had been suspected of theft.”
“So he wanted to clear himself with you?”
“Yes; he asked where I was staying.”
“I hope you didn’t tell him.”
“I only said I was at a boarding house on West Fourteenth Street, but didn’t mention the number.”
“He thinks you have the casket with you, and that he may get possession of it. It is well that you stored it at Tiffany’s.”
“I think so. Now I have no anxiety about it. Do you think he will find out where we live?”
“Probably, as you gave him a clew. But, Rodney, it is about lunch time, and I confess I have an appetite. Come and lunch with me.”
“But I am afraid, Mr. Woods, I shall not be able to return the compliment.”
“There is no occasion for it. I feel in good humor this morning. I have sold one lot, and have hopes of disposing of another. The one lot pays me a commission of twenty dollars.”
“I wish I could make twenty dollars in a week.”
“Sometimes I only sell one lot in a week. It isn’t like a regular business. It is precarious. Still, take the year through and I make a pretty good income. Come in here. We can get a good lunch here,” and he led the way into a modest restaurant, not far from the site of the old post office, which will be remembered by those whose residence in New York dates back twenty years or more.
“Now we will have a nice lunch,” said the agent. “I hope you can do justice to it.”
“I generally can,” responded Rodney, smiling. “I am seldom troubled with a poor appetite.”
“Ditto for me. Now what have you been doing this morning?”
“Looking for a place.”
“With what success?”
“Pretty good if I had only been earlier.”
Rodney told the story of his application to the manager of the railroad office.
“You will know better next time. I think you’ll succeed. I did. When I came to New York at the age of twenty two I had only fifty dollars. That small sum had to last me twelve weeks. You can judge that I didn’t live on the fat of the land during that time. I couldn’t often eat at Delmonico’s. Even Beefsteak John’s would have been too expensive for me. However, those old days are over.”
The next day and the two following Rodney went about the city making application for positions, but every place seemed full.
On the third day Mr. Woods said, “I shall have to leave you for a week or more, Rodney.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Philadelphia. There’s a man there who is a capitalist and likes land investments. I am going to visit him, and hope to sell him several lots. He once lived in this city, so he won’t object to New York investments.”
“I hope you will succeed, Mr. Woods. I think if you are going away I had better give up the room, and find cheaper accommodations. I am getting near the end of my money.”
“You are right. It is best to be prudent.”
That evening Rodney found a room which he could rent for two dollars a week. He estimated that by economy he could get along for fifty cents a day for his eating, and that would be a decided saving.
He was just leaving the house the next morning, gripsack in hand, when on the steps he met Louis Wheeler, his acquaintance of the train.
“Where are you going?” asked Wheeler.
“I am leaving this house. I have hired a room elsewhere.”
Wheeler’s countenance fell, and he looked dismayed.
“Why, I have just taken a room here for a week,” he said.
“You will find it a good place.”
“But—I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t thought I should have company.”
“I ought to feel complimented.”
Rodney was convinced that Wheeler had come in the hopes of stealing the casket of jewels a second time, and he felt amused at the fellow’s discomfiture.
“You haven’t got your jewel box with you?”
“No, I can take that another time.”
“Then it’s still in the house,” thought Wheeler with satisfaction. “It won’t be my fault if I don’t get it in my hands. Well, good morning,” he said. “Come around and call on me.”
“Thank you!”
CHAPTER VII
AT THE NEWSBOY’S LODGING HOUSE
Within a week Rodney had spent all his money, with the exception of about fifty cents. He had made every effort to obtain a place, but without success.
Boys born and bred in New York have within my observation tried for months to secure a position in vain, so it is not surprising that Rodney who was a stranger proved equally unsuccessful.
Though naturally hopeful Rodney became despondent.
“There seems to be no place for me,” he said to himself. “When I was at boarding school I had no idea how difficult it is for a boy to earn a living.”
He had one resource. He could withdraw the box of jewels from Tiffany’s, and sell some article that it contained. But this he had a great objection to doing. One thing was evident however, he must do something.
His friend, the lot agent, was out of town, and he hardly knew whom to advise with. At last Mike Flynn, the friendly bootblack, whose acquaintance he had made in front of the Astor House, occurred to him.
Mike, humble as he was, was better off than himself. Moreover he was a New York boy, and knew more about “hustling” than Rodney did. So he sought out Mike in his “office.”
“Good morning, Mike,” said Rodney, as the bootblack was brushing off a customer.
“Oh, its you,