"Shoo--'tain't nothing, Mr. Dare, alongside of what you did for me,"

replied the sailor. "But I've had a run of bad luck since I left New York two days ago," he added meditatively.

"Yes?" questioned the boy with some curiosity. "How so?"

"Well, it's this way," began Doc Linyard, crossing his good leg over the cork one: "My wife got a letter from England last week, saying as how an uncle had died, leaving his property to her and her brother, Tom Clover. In the letter she was asked to see her brother and fix the matter up with him. They wrote they didn't have his address, and so left it to her."

"I should think that would be all right," remarked Richard, as the old tar paused.

"It would be, only for one thing--we don't know where Tom is. He used to live in New York, but moved away, we don't know where. A party told me he thought he had got work in a place called Fairwood, but I've just come from there."

"And you didn't find him?"

"No; he had never been in the place. I have an idea he is again somewhere in New York."

"Didn't he used to call on you?"

"Sometimes; but he was a bit queer, and there was times he didn't show up for months and months. He's pretty old, and couldn't get around very well."

"Is the property valuable?"

"It's worth over eight hundred pounds--four thousand dollars."

"It's a fortune!" exclaimed Richard.

"'Twould be to Betty and me," returned the sailor. "We never had over a hundred dollars in cash in our lives."

"It's a pity you can't find him," said the boy. "What are you going to do? Get your wife's share, and let the other rest?"

"No; that's the worst of it. By the provisions of the will the property can't be divided very well except by the consent of both heirs."

"In that case I think I'd commence a pretty good search for Mr.--your wife's brother. It's worth spending quite a few dollars to find him."

"Just my reckoning. But New York is a big place to find any one in."

"Perhaps your brother-in-law will drop in on you when you least expect him."

"Hope he does."

The two continued the conversation for a long time. The more Richard saw of Doc Linyard, the better he liked the bluff old tar, and, to tell the truth, the latter was fully as much taken by Richard's open manner.

It was not long before Richard poured out his own tale in all its details. He found a strong sympathizer in the sailor, who expressed a sincere wish that the pension due the Dare family might be speedily forthcoming.

"Somewhat of a like claim to mine," he remarked. "We are both looking for other people to help us out."

"And I trust we both succeed," added Richard earnestly. "In fact we _must_ succeed," he continued, with sudden energy.

"Right you are!" was the reply. "We're bound to get the proper bearings some time."

Before they reached their journey's end they were fast friends.

"Jersey City!"

It was the brakeman's cry, and an instant later the train rolled into the vast and gloomy depot, and every one was scrambling up and making for the door.

In a moment they were upon the platform, amid a surging, pushing ma.s.s of people.

"Which way?" asked Richard, somewhat confused by the unusual bustle.

"This way," replied the sailor. "Just follow me."

"West Sh.o.r.e this side! Checks for baggage! Brooklyn Annex to the right!"

and several similar calls filled the boy's ears.

He kept close to the tar, who led the way to the slip where a Cortlandt Street boat was in waiting, and, dodging several trucks and express wagons, they hurried down the bridge and went on board.

The gentlemen's cabin was so full of tobacco smoke that it nearly stifled Richard, and he was not sorry when Doc Linyard led the way straight through to the forward deck.

It was a pleasant day, and the lowering sun cast long shadows over the water, and lit up the spires and stone piles of the great metropolis that lay beyond, tipped with gold, typical of Richard's high hopes.

Swiftly the ferryboat crossed the North River, crowded with boats.

Then it ran into the slip--there was the rattle of the ratchets as the line wheels spun around, and finally the gates were opened.

Richard had reached New York at last.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE "WATCH BELOW."

"Gracious, what a busy place!"

This was the thought that ran through Richard's mind as he stepped from the ferryhouse to West Street, in New York City.

Doc Linyard had managed to get the boy off the boat as soon as the landing was made, but now, as they waited for a chance to cross the slippery thoroughfare that runs parallel to the water's edge, the crowd surged around them until to Richard there seemed to be a perfect jam.

"Hack, sir? Astor House? Coupe, madam? This way for a cab!"

In a moment they were safe upon the other side of the street.

"Made up your mind which way to steer?" asked Doc Linyard.

"Not exactly," replied Richard. "This is the way to Broadway, I suppose," he went on, pointing up Cortlandt Street.

"Yes; but what do you intend to do up there?"