CHAPTER I.
Oliver Hitchcok's Lunch-Room
"Wake up there! This is no place to sleep."
The speaker was a policeman, the scene was City Hall Park, and the person addressed was a boy of perhaps sixteen, who was reclining on one of the park benches, with a bundle at his side.
The officer accompanied his admonition with a shaking which served to arouse the young sleeper.
"Is it morning?" asked the boy, drowsily, not yet realizing his situation.
"No, it isn't. Don't you know where you are?"
"I know now," said the boy, looking about him.
"Come, get up, Johnny! This is no place for you," said the officer, not unkindly, for he was a family man, and had a boy of his own not far from the age of the young wayfarer.
The boy got up, and looked about him undecidedly. Clearly he did not know where to go.
"Are you a stranger in the city?" asked the policeman.
"Yes, sir. I only got here this afternoon."
"Then you have no place to sleep?"
"No."
"Haven't you got money enough to go to a hotel? There is Leggett's Hotel, just down Park Row," pointing eastward.
"I have a little money, but I can't afford to go to a hotel."
"You can go to the Newsboys' Lodging House for six cents."
"Where is it?"
The officer told him.
"I feel hungry. I suppose there isn't any place where I can get supper so late as this?"
"Oh, yes! There's one close by. Do you see a light over there?"
The officer pointed to a basement opposite the post-office, at the corner of Beekman street and Park Row.
"Yes, I see it," answered the boy. "Is it a good place?"
"I should say so. Why, that's Oll Hitchcock's. You can't get a better cup of coffee or sandwich anywhere in New York. I often get lunch there myself, when I don't have time to go home."
"Thank you for telling me. I'll go over."
Ben Baker, for that is the name of our young hero, walked across the street, and descended the steps into the well-known restaurant or lunch-room of Oliver Hitchcock. Open by night as well as by day, there is hardly an hour of the twenty-four in which it is not fairly well patronized, while at times it is thronged. It is a favorite resort for men of all classes – printers, journalists, newsmen – who drop in in the early morning on their way to or from the offices of the great morning papers for their regular supplies – politicians and business men of all kinds.
More than once in Oliver Hitchcock's old saloon, farther up the same street, Horace Greeley, the elder Bennett, and Raymond, of the Times, could be found at the plain tables, unprovided with cloths, but bearing appetizing dishes.
When Ben entered the restaurant at half-past eleven he was surprised to find most of the tables occupied.
Coming from the country, where ten o'clock found nearly every one in bed, he was much surprised to find so many persons up and engaged in supping.
"People in New York seem to sit up all night," he thought.
He took a vacant seat, and the waiter soon coming up to him, stood in silent expectation of an order.
"Give me a cup of coffee and a sandwich," said Ben.
"What kind?"
"Ham."
The waiter sped on his errand, and soon set before our hero a cup of fragrant coffee, steaming hot, and a sandwich made of tender meat and fresh bread, which tasted delicious to the hungry boy – so delicious that he resolved to forego the intended piece of pie and ordered another.
While he was eating the second sandwich, he observed that a young man, sitting just opposite, was eyeing him attentively.
He was tall, dark-complexioned, slender, and had a kindly face.
"You seem to relish your supper, Johnny," he said.
"Yes, I do, but my name isn't Johnny."
The young man smiled.
"Excuse me," he said, "but in New York we call boys by that name, if we don't know their real names. I suppose you have not been here long?"
"No; I only arrived this afternoon."
"Come to make your fortune, eh?"
"Well, I don't know. I should like to, but if I can make a living it is all I expect. Besides, I have another object," added the boy, slowly.
"Were you ever here before?"
"No, sir."
"You are up rather late. You don't sit up so late in the country, do you?"
"Oh, no, I am in bed by nine o'clock generally."
"We don't go to bed early here. I myself haven't been in bed before midnight for three years."
"Do you like to sit up so late?" asked Ben.
"I didn't at first. Now I am used to it. My business keeps me up late."
Seeing that Ben looked curious, he added:
"I am a reporter on a morning paper."
"Do you like it?" asked Ben, doubtfully.
"Oh, yes. It isn't a bad business."
"What paper do you write for?" asked Ben, with considerable respect for a man who wrote for the papers.
"I used to work on the Sun. Now I'm on the Herald. It suits me very well while I am a young man, but I should like a different position when I am older."
"Is it hard work?"
"Sometimes. I am liable to be sent off at five minutes' notice to any part of the city. Then I am expected to keep my eyes open, and make note of anything that comes in my way. There was a big fire last night about one o'clock, up town. I heard of it as I was going up in the horse-cars, so I hurried to the spot, and instead of going to bed I got all the information I could, hurried back to the office and wrote it up. I got extra pay for it. Besides, it shows interest, and may help me to promotion."
