Mark the Match Boy 2
The room which they now occupied was situated in St. Mark's Place,
which forms the eastern portion of Eighth Street. It was a front
room on the third floor, and was handsomely furnished. There was a
thick carpet, of tasteful figure, on the floor. Between the two front
windows was a handsome bureau, surmounted by a large mirror. There was
a comfortable sofa, chairs covered with hair-cloth, a centre-table
covered with books, crimson curtains, which gave a warm and cosey look
to the room when lighted up in the evening, and all the accessories of
a well-furnished room which is used at the same time as parlor and
chamber. This, with an excellent table, afforded a very agreeable home
to the boys,--a home which, in these days, would cost considerably
more, but for which, at the time of which I write, sixteen dollars was
a fair price.
It may be thought that, considering how recently Richard Hunter had
been a ragged boot-black, content to sleep in boxes and sheltered
doorways, and live at the cheapest restaurants, he had become very
luxurious in his tastes. Why did he not get a cheaper boarding-place,
and save up the difference in price? No doubt this consideration will
readily suggest itself to the minds of some of my young readers.
As Richard Hunter had a philosophy of his own on this subject, I may as
well explain it here. He had observed that those young men who out of
economy contented themselves with small and cheerless rooms, in which
there was no provision for a fire, were driven in the evening to the
streets, theatres, and hotels, for the comfort which they could not
find at home. Here they felt obliged to spend money to an extent of
which they probably were not themselves fully aware; and in the end
wasted considerably more than the two or three dollars a week extra
which would have provided them with a comfortable home. But this was
not all. In the roamings spent outside many laid the foundation of
wrong habits, which eventually led to ruin or shortened their lives.
They lost all the chances of improvement which they might have secured
by study at home in the long winter evenings, and which in the end
might have qualified them for posts of higher responsibility, and with
a larger compensation.
Richard Hunter was ambitious. He wanted to rise to an honorable place
in the community, and he meant to earn it by hard study. So Fosdick
and he were in the habit of spending a portion of every evening in
improving reading or study. Occasionally he went to some place of
amusement, but he enjoyed thoroughly the many evenings when, before a
cheerful fire, with books in their hands, his room-mate and himself
were adding to their stock of knowledge. The boys had for over a year
taken lessons in French and mathematics, and were now able to read the
French language with considerable ease.
"What's the use of moping every evening in your room?" asked a young
clerk who occupied a hall bedroom adjoining.
"I don't call it moping. I enjoy it," was the reply.
"You don't go to a place of amusement once a month."
"I go as often as I like."
"Well, you're a queer chap. You pay such a thundering price for board.
You could go to the theatre four times a week without its costing you
any more, if you would take a room like mine."
"I know it; but I'd rather have a nice, comfortable room to come home
to."
"Are you studying for a college professor?" asked the other, with a
sneer.
"I don't know," said Dick, good-humoredly; "but I'm open to proposals,
as the oyster remarked. If you know any first-class institution that
would like a dignified professor, of extensive acquirements, just
mention me, will you?"
So Richard Hunter kept on his way, indifferent to the criticisms which
his conduct excited in the minds of young men of his own age. He looked
farther than they, and knew that if he wanted to succeed in life,
and win the respect of his fellow-men, he must do something else than
attend theatres, and spend his evenings in billiard saloons. Fosdick,
who was a quiet, studious boy, fully agreed with his friend in his
views of life, and by his companionship did much to strengthen and
confirm Richard in his resolution. He was less ambitious than Dick, and
perhaps loved study more for its own sake.
With these explanations we shall now be able to start fairly in our
story.
CHAPTER II.
AT THE ASTOR HOUSE.
The two friends started from their room about seven o'clock, and walked
up to Third Avenue, where they jumped on board a horse-car, and within
half an hour were landed at the foot of the City Hall Park, opposite
Beekman Street. From this point it was necessary only to cross the
street to the Astor House.
The Astor House is a massive pile of gray stone, and has a solid look,
as if it might stand for hundreds of years. When it was first erected,
a little more than thirty years since, it was considered far up town,
but now it is far down town, so rapid has been the growth of the city.
Richard Hunter ascended the stone steps with a firm step, but Henry
Fosdick lingered behind.
"Do you think we had better go up, Dick?" he said irresolutely.
"Why not?"
"I feel awkward about it."
"There is no reason why you should. The money belongs to you
rightfully, as the representative of your father, and it is worth
trying for."
"I suppose you are right, but I shan't know what to say."
"I'll help you along if I find you need it. Come along."
Those who possess energy and a strong will generally gain their point,
and it was so with Richard Hunter. They entered the hotel, and,
ascending some stone steps, found themselves on the main floor, where
the reading-room, clerk's office, and dining-room are located.
Dick, to adopt the familiar name by which his companion addressed him,
stepped up to the desk, and drew towards him the book of arrivals.
After a brief search he found the name of "Hiram Bates, Milwaukie,
Wis.," towards the top of the left-hand page.
"Is Mr. Bates in?" he inquired of the clerk, pointing to the name.
"I will send and inquire, if you will write your name on this card."
Dick thought it would be best to send his own name, as that of Fosdick
might lead Mr. Bates to guess the business on which they had come.
He accordingly wrote the name,
_Richard Hunter_,
in his handsomest handwriting, and handed it to the clerk.
That functionary touched a bell. The summons was answered by a servant.
"James, go to No. 147, and see if Mr. Bates is in. If he is, give him
this card."
The messenger departed at once, and returned quickly.
"The gentleman is in, and would be glad to have Mr. Hunter walk up."
"Come along, Fosdick," said Dick, in a low voice.
Fosdick obeyed, feeling very nervous. Following the servant upstairs,
they soon stood before No. 147.
James knocked.
"Come in," was heard from the inside, and the two friends entered.
They found themselves in a comfortably furnished room. A man of
fifty-five, rather stout in build, and with iron-gray hair, rose from
his chair before the fire, and looked rather inquiringly. He seemed
rather surprised to find that there were two visitors, as well as at
the evident youth of both.
"Mr. Hunter?" he said, inquiringly, looking from one to the other.
"That is my name," said Dick, promptly.
"Have I met you before? If so, my memory is at fault."
"No, sir, we have never met."
"I presume you have business with me. Be seated, if you please."
"First," said Dick, "let me introduce my friend Henry Fosdick."
"Fosdick!" repeated Hiram Bates, with a slight tinge of color.
"I think you knew my father," said Fosdick, nervously.
"Your father was a printer,--was he not?" inquired Mr. Bates.
"Yes, sir."
"I do remember him. Do you come from him?"
Fosdick shook his head.
"He has been dead for two years," he said, sadly.
"Dead!" repeated Hiram Bates, as if shocked. "Indeed, I am sorry to
hear it."
He spoke with evident regret, and Henry Fosdick, whose feelings towards
his father's debtor had not been very friendly, noticed this, and was
softened by it.
"Did he die in poverty, may I ask?" inquired Mr. Bates, after a pause.
"He was poor," said Fosdick; "that is, he had nothing laid up; but his
wages were enough to support him and myself comfortably."
"Did he have any other family?"
"No, sir; my mother died six years since, and I had no brothers or
sisters."
"He left no property then?"
"No, sir."
"Then I suppose he was able to make no provision for you?"
"No, sir."
"But you probably had some relatives who came forward and provided for
you?"
"No, sir; I had no relatives in New York."
"What then did you do? Excuse my questions, but I have a motive in asking."
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