Part 30

Everything looked new and strange. It had never entered Paul's mind, that there could be so many houses in the whole State as now rose up before him. He got into Broadway, and walked on and on thinking that the street must end somewhere. But the farther he walked the thicker the houses seemed crowded together. Every few rods, too, he came to a cross street, which seemed quite as densely peopled as the one on which he was walking. One part of the city was the same as another to Paul, since he was equally a stranger to all. He wandered listlessly along, whither fancy led. His mind was constantly excited by the new and strange objects which met him at every step.

As he was looking in at a shop window, a boy of about his own age, stopped and inquired confidentially, “when did you come from the country?”

“This morning,” said Paul, wondering how a stranger should know that he was a country boy.

“Could you tell me what is the price of potatoes up your way?” asked the other boy, with perfect gravity.

“I don't know,” said Paul, innocently.

“I'm sorry for that,” said the other, “as I have got to buy some for my wife and family.”

Paul stared in surprise for a moment, and then realizing that he was being made game of, began to grow angry.

“You'd better go home to your wife and family,” he said with spirit, “or you may get hurt.”

“Bully for you, country!” answered the other with a laugh. “You're not as green as you look.”

“Thank you,” said Paul, “I wish I could say as much for you.”

Tired with walking, Paul at length sat down in a doorway, and watched with interest the hurrying crowds that passed before him. Everybody seemed to be in a hurry, pressing forward as if life and death depended on his haste. There were lawyers with their sharp, keen glances; merchants with calculating faces; speculators pondering on the chances of a rise or fall in stocks; errand boys with bundles under their arms; business men hurrying to the slip to take the boat for Brooklyn or Jersey City,--all seemed intent on business of some kind, even to the ragged newsboys who had just obtained their supply of evening papers, and were now crying them at the top of their voices,--and very discordant ones at that, so Paul thought. Of the hundreds passing and repassing before him, every one had something to do. Every one had a home to go to. Perhaps it was not altogether strange that a feeling of desolation should come over Paul as he recollected that he stood alone, homeless, friendless, and, it might be, shelterless for the coming night.

“Yet,” thought he with something of hopefulness, “there must be something for me to do as well as the rest.”

Just then a boy some two years older than Paul paced slowly by, and in passing, chanced to fix his eyes upon our hero. He probably saw something in Paul which attracted him, for he stepped up and extending his hand, said, “why, Tom, how came you here?”

“My name isn't Tom,” said Paul, feeling a little puzzled by this address.

“Why, so it isn't. But you look just like my friend, Tom Crocker.”

To this succeeded a few inquiries, which Paul unsuspiciously answered.

“Do you like oysters?” inquired the new-comer, after a while.

“Very much.”

“Because I know of a tip top place to get some, just round the corner. Wouldn't you like some?”

Paul thanked his new acquaintance, and said he would.

Without more ado, his companion ushered him into a basement room near by. He led the way into a curtained recess, and both boys took seats one on each side of a small table.

“Just pull the bell, will you, and tell the waiter we'll have two stews.”

Paul did so.

“I suppose,” continued the other, “the governor wouldn't like it much if he knew where I was.”

“The governor!” repeated Paul. “Why, it isn't against the laws, is it?”

“No,” laughed the other. “I mean my father. How jolly queer you are!” He meant to say green, but had a purpose in not offending Paul.

“Are you the Governor's son?” asked Paul in amazement.

“To be sure,” carelessly replied the other.