Ben, the Luggage Boy; Or, Among the Wharves Part 28

"Is Mrs. Abercrombie at home?" asked Charles of the servant who answered his summons.

"Yes, sir; who shall I say is here?"

"Her cousin, Charles Montrose."

"Will you walk into the parlor?" said the servant, opening a door at the side of the hall. She looked doubtfully at Ben, who had also entered the house.

"Sit down here, Ben," said Charles, indicating a chair on one side of the hat-stand. "I'll stop here till Mrs. Abercrombie comes down," he said.

Soon a light step was heard on the stairs, and Mrs. Abercrombie descended the staircase. She is the same that we last saw in the modest house in the Pennsylvania village; but the lapse of time has softened her manners, and the influence of a husband and a home have improved her. But otherwise she has not greatly changed in her looks.

Ben, who examined her face eagerly, recognized her at once. Yes, it was his sister Mary that stood before him. He would have known her anywhere.

But there was a special mark by which he remembered her. There was a dent in her cheek just below the temple, the existence of which he could account for. In a fit of boyish pa.s.sion, occasioned by her teasing him, he had flung a stick of wood at her head, and this had led to the mark.

"Where did you come from, Charles?" she said, giving her hand cordially to her young cousin.

"From Boston, Cousin Mary."

"Have you just arrived, and where is your father? You did not come on alone, did you?"

"No, father is with me, or rather he came on with me, but he had some errands down town, and stopped to attend to them. He will be here soon."

"How did you find the way alone?"

"I was not alone. There is my guide. By the way, I told him to stay, and you would give him some breakfast."

"Certainly, he can go down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and the servants will give him something."

Mrs. Abercrombie looked at Ben as she spoke; but on her part there was no sign of recognition. This was not strange. A boy changes greatly between ten and sixteen years of age, and when to this natural change is added the great change in Ben's dress, it will not be wondered at that his sister saw in him only an ordinary street boy.

Ben was relieved to find that he was not known. He had felt afraid that something in his looks might remind his sister of her lost brother; but the indifferent look which she turned upon him proved that he had no ground for this fear.

"You have not breakfasted, I suppose, Charles." said his cousin.

"You wouldn't think so, if you knew what an appet.i.te I have," he answered, laughing.

"We will do our best to spoil it," said Mrs. Abercrombie.

She rang the bell, and ordered breakfast to be served.

"We are a little late this morning," she said.

"Mr. Abercrombie is in Philadelphia on business; so you won't see him till to-morrow."

When the servant appeared, Mrs. Abercrombie directed her to take Ben downstairs, and give him something to eat.

"Don't go away till I see you, Ben," said Charles, lingering a little.

"All right," said Ben.

He followed the servant down the stairs leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt. On the way, he had a glimpse through the half-open door of the breakfast-table, at which his sister and his cousin were shortly to sit down.

"Some time, perhaps, I shall be invited in there," he said to himself.

But at present he had no such wish. He knew that in his ragged garb he would be out of place in the handsome breakfast-room, and he preferred to wait until his appearance was improved. He had no fault to find with the servants, who brought him a bountiful supply of beefsteak and bread and b.u.t.ter, and a cup of excellent coffee. Ben had been up long enough to have quite an appet.i.te. Besides, the quality of the breakfast was considerably superior to those which he was accustomed to take in the cheap restaurants which he frequented, and he did full justice to the food that was spread before him.

When he had satisfied his appet.i.te, he had a few minutes to wait before Charles came down to speak to him.

"Well, Ben, I hope you had a good breakfast," he said.

"Tip-top," answered Ben.

"And I hope also that you had an appet.i.te equal to mine."

"My appet.i.te don't often give out," said Ben; "but it aint so good now as it was when I came in."

"Now we have a little business to attend to. How much shall I pay you for smashing my baggage?" Charles asked, with a laugh.

"Whatever you like."

"Well, here's fifty cents for your services, and six cents for your car-fare back."

"Thank you," said Ben.

"Besides this, Mrs. Abercrombie has a note, which she wants carried down town to her husband's office in Wall Street. She will give you fifty cents more, if you will agree to deliver it there at once, as it is of importance."

"All right," said Ben. "I'll do it."

"Here is the note. I suppose you had better start with it at once.

Good-morning."

"Good-morning," said Ben, as he held his cousin's proffered hand a moment in his own. "Maybe I'll see you again some time."

"I hope so," said Charles, kindly.

A minute later Ben was on his way to take a Fourth Avenue car down town.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LUCK AND ILL LUCK.

"That will do very well for a beginning," thought Ben, as he surveyed, with satisfaction, the two half dollars which he had received for his morning's services. He determined to save one of them towards the fund which he hoped to acc.u.mulate for the object which he had in view. How much he would need he could not decide; but thought that it would be safe to set the amount at fifty dollars. This would doubtless require a considerable time to obtain. He could not expect to be so fortunate every day as he had been this morning. Some days, no doubt, he would barely earn enough to pay expenses. Still he had made a beginning, and this was something gained. It was still more encouraging that he had determined to save money, and had an inducement to do so.

As Ben rode down town in the horse-cars, he thought of the six years which he had spent as a New York street boy; and he could not help feeling that the time had been wasted, so far as any progress or improvement was concerned. Of books he knew less than when he first came to the city. He knew more of life, indeed, but not the best side of life. He had formed some bad habits, from which he would probably have been saved if he had remained at home. Ben realized all at once how much he had lost by his hasty action in leaving home. He regarded his street life with different eyes, and felt ready to give it up, as soon as he could present himself to his parents without too great a sacrifice of his pride.