"Doc, box ----, this office."

"Guess I'll take a walk over to the newspaper office at once," said the old tar, when the boy had finished. "Reckon as how pop and the mistress can get along for a while. I suppose you'd like to come along."

"Indeed I would. I'd like to see as much of the city as I can before I get to work."

"There's lots of strange sights, no doubt, to new eyes like yours.

You'll find lots that's bright and a heap more that's dark and dismal enough."

A moment later they set out. Pa.s.sing up Liberty Street, they turned into Greenwich and walked along to Fulton.

The Elevated Road, with its noise, was a surprise to the boy, but he was not allowed time to notice it long, for the sailor hurried him up Fulton Street, to St. Paul's Church, and then they stood on Broadway.

"What a busy--an awfully busy--street!" was Richard's comment.

"It's rather dull now," said Doc Linyard. "Just wait till day-time.

The wagons and people are enough to drive a man wild. That's the postoffice over there," he continued, as he pointed to the stone structure that stands as a wedge, separating Broadway from Park Row and the Bowery.

"Come ahead. Here we are on Newspaper Row, as lots call it. This was the _Herald_ building before that paper moved uptown. It used to be Barnum's Museum years ago. Way down at the head of Frankfort Street is the _World_, and nearly all the rest of the great dailies are strung along between the two. Here we are."

As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the outer office of a newspaper about midway down the Row.

It was a lively place, a constant stream of people coming in and going out, and the hum of many voices--the whole putting Richard in mind of some huge machine, grinding out its stipulated work.

Along one side of the counting room was a row of small windows, each labeled with its department name.

Stepping up to that marked "Advertis.e.m.e.nts," the old sailor handed in the one Richard had written out.

The clerk examined it. Then he wrote in the number of a box, and put down several private marks in the corner.

"Pay at the next desk," he said, handing the paper back.

"How much will it be?" asked Linyard.

"Ninety cents."

At the next window the man in charge put the advertis.e.m.e.nt on file along with numerous others. Then he took the money the tar handed over, and in return filled out a printed order ent.i.tling the bearer to receive all letters bearing the address advertised, for ten days.

"It will go in to-morrow?" asked the tar.

"Certainly."

"Suppose we take a walk up the Bowery," suggested the sailor, when they were once more outside. "It's early yet."

Richard readily consented. He had often heard his father speak of the street--how beautiful it had been years ago, and how trade had taken hold of it, and the boy was curious to see what it was like.

The thoroughfare was a revelation to him, just as it is to every one seeing it for the first time. The shops huddled together, their show-windows littered with articles of every description, the second-hand establishments, the p.a.w.nbrokers, the peddlers and street-stand merchants, who offered everything from shoelaces to collars, books and trick novelties, were all decidedly new to him.

One stand in particular attracted his attention. It was laden with choice books, at remarkably low prices. There was a well-bound history of the United States for forty-five cents, and a beautiful edition of Shakspere, with steel engravings, for the small price of one dollar.

"Selling 'em off cheap," cried the vender, putting several volumes in Richard's hands. "Take 'em right along. You'll miss the opportunity of a lifetime if you don't."

"They are very nice," replied the boy. "But I guess I won't take any to-night."

"You'd better. They may be all gone by to-morrow. This is only a job lot, and dirt cheap."

"No, I guess not," and Richard put the books reluctantly back on the stand.

"Give you a special discount of ten per cent," persisted the dealer.

"No; I haven't the money."

"Oh! Well, come around to-morrow. I'll lay the books aside for you."

"No, don't do that. I may not be back," and without waiting for further words, Richard hurried off.

Meanwhile Doc Linyard, all unconscious of what was transpiring, had gone on ahead, and when Richard looked around for him, the old sailor was nowhere to be seen.

Rather startled, the boy hurried along to catch up. But under the Elevated Railroad and down by the Brooklyn Bridge all was confusion and jam, and in a moment Richard realized that he had lost his friend.

He hurried along several blocks, and then just as rapidly retraced his steps. But it was useless. Doc Linyard had disappeared in the crowd and was not to be found.

"Now I'm in a pretty pickle," thought Richard. "I suppose there is nothing to do but get back to the Watch Below."

But that was easier said than done. The boy did not like to make too many inquiries, and so started off on his own account.

He paid dearly for the experiment. A wrong turn or two, and lo! it took Richard an hour to get back to West Street and to the restaurant.

And arrived here, an awkward state of affairs confronted the boy. The Watch Below was closed for the night. All was dark, and not a soul was in sight!

CHAPTER X.

THE FIRST NIGHT IN NEW YORK.

For an instant a feeling of intense loneliness swept over Richard's heart as he stood on the dark and silent pavement. He had firmly counted upon spending the night at the Watch Below, and now to find that place closed up caused his heart to sink within him. He reproached himself bitterly for having allowed his curiosity and love of books to make him forgetful of his situation.

"How am I ever to get along in this world unless I watch out?" he said to himself dismally. "I suppose it will do no good to knock on the door. By the way the place is located, the sleeping-room must be upstairs in the rear, and I might pound till doomsday without any one hearing me."

Nevertheless, he rapped loudly upon the door, not once, but several times, and so hard that he drew the attention of the policeman on that beat.

"Phat are you trying to do?" asked the officer as he came up.

"I want to get in;" and Richard related the particulars of his plight.

"You'll have a job, me b'y," was the reply. "Mrs. Betty slapes like a log."

They waited for several minutes in silence. But n.o.body appeared and no sound came from within.