Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy by William O. Stoddard (good books to read for women TXT) 📗

in getting seats "all together." That is, they found four empty ones, two on each side, right opposite; and when they had turned over the front seats, there they were. Ford and Frank were facing Dabney and Dick on the right; and the two Hart boys were facing each other on the left, each with a whole seat to himself.

Almost the first thing Joe did, after taking possession, was to lean over, and whisper,—

"Look out, Fuz,—keep your secret."

"Catch me spoiling a good joke."

The other party seemed disposed to keep pretty quiet for a while; the first break of any consequence, in the silence, coming when Ford Foster exclaimed,—

"Dab, it was right along here."

"What was?"

"Where the pig had his collision with my train, first time I was over here."

"Did you hear him squeal?" asked Frank, as he peered through the window.

"The pig? No; but you ought to have heard the engine squeal, when it saw him coming."

The story had to be all told over again, of course, and did good service in getting their thoughts in order for the trip before them. Up to the mention of the pig, it had somehow seemed to Dab as if the railway-platform at the station, and all the people on it, had kept company with the train; and Frank Harley found himself calculating the distance between that car and the "mission" at Rangoon in far-away India.

As for Ford Foster, he stood in less need of any "pig" than the rest, from the fact that he had a large-sized idea in his head.

He kept it there, too, until that train pulled up within reaching distance of one of the Brooklyn ferries. Before them lay the swift tide of the broad East River; and beyond that, with its borders of crowded docks and bristling masts, lay the streets and squares, and swarmed the multitudes, of the great city of New York.

"Ford," said Dabney, "you're captain this time. What are we to do now?"

"Well, if I ain't captain, I guess I'd better do a little steering. We must give our checks to the expressman, and have our luggage carted over to the Grand Central Depot."

"Will it be sure to get there in good time?"

"Of course it wouldn't if we were in any hurry; but our train doesn't leave until three o'clock, and the express won't fail to have it there before that."

Ford was all alive with the responsibilities of his position, as the only boy in the party who had been born in the city, and had travelled all over it, and a little out of it.

"Joe and Fuz," he said, "will want to take the night boat for Albany. They've more time on their hands than we have. Joe?—Fuz?—why can't you come along with us after you've checked your trunks? We'll be getting dinner before long."

The Hart boys promptly assented, after a look at each other, and a sort of chuckle.

"Might as well keep together," said Joe. "We'd like to take a look at things."

"Come along. I'll show you."

Frank Harley had seen quite a number of great cities, and he could hardly help saying something about them while they were going over on the ferryboat. They were all as far forward as they could get.

"Did you ever see any thing just like this?" asked Dab.

"Well, no, not just like it"—

"In India, or in China, or in London, or in Africa?" said Ford.

"It's a little different from any thing I ever saw."

"Well, isn't it bigger?"

That was a question Frank might have undertaken to answer if there had been proper time given him; but just then the boat was running into her "slip," away down town, and Ford exclaimed,—

"Hurrah, boys! Now for Fulton Market and some oysters."

"Oysters?" said Dab.

"Yes, sir! There's more oysters in that old shanty than there are in your bay."

"I don't know about that," said Dab, staring at the queer, huge, rickety old mass of unsightly wood and glass that Ford was pointing at, after they got ashore. "I'm hungry, anyhow."

"Hungry? So am I. But no man ought to say he's been in New York till he's tried some Fulton-Market oysters."

"Let's take 'em raw," said Fuz. "Then we can go ahead."

Dick Lee had been in the city before, but never in such company, nor in such very good clothes; and there was an expression on his face a good deal like awe, when he actually found himself standing at an "oyster-counter," in line with five well-dressed young white boys.

The man behind the counter served him, too, in regular turn; and Dick felt it a point of honor to empty the half-shell before him as quickly as any of the rest. There was no delay about that, anywhere along that line of boys.

"Dick," said Ford, "where's your lemon? There it is!"

Ford had already explained to the rest that it was "against the constitution and by-laws of Fulton Market to eat a raw oyster without the lemon-juice," and Dick would have blushed if he could.

"Dat's so. I forgot um!" and then he added, with great care, "Yes, Mr.
Foster, the lemon improves the oyster."

"I declare!" muttered Ford. "He's keeping it up!"

The oysters were eaten, and then it was "Come on, boys;" and away they went up Fulton Street to Broadway. They walked two and two, as well as the streams of people would let them, but the Hart boys kept a little in the rear.

"What do you think of it, Joe?"

"Think of what?"

"Walking over New York with Dick Lee, just as if he was one of us?"

"Guess nobody'll think we're walking with him. Anybody can tell what we are, just by looking at us."

"Dick's face shows just what he is too. I don't care for this once, but it's awful."

If any such thought were troubling Ford Foster, he made no confession of it, and was even specially careful, now and then, to turn around and address some remark or other to "the member from Africa," as he called him.

"Dick," said Dab in an undertone, as they were leaving the market, "you look out, now: you must have as good a time as any of us, or I won't feel right about it."

"Jes' you sail right ahead, Cap'n Dab. I's on hand."

Ford was determined to "do the honors," and he led them down Broadway to the Battery before he started "up town;" and he had something to say about a great many of the buildings. Dab felt his respect for city boys increasing rapidly, and Dick remarked,—

"Ef he don't know dis coas' mos' as well as I know de bay!"

It looked like it, and he also seemed to be on terms of easy acquaintance with some of the human "fish" they fell in with. Not that he spoke to any of them; but he pointed out the several kinds,—policemen, firemen, messenger-boys, loafers, brokers, post-office carriers, a dozen more, with a degree of confidence which fairly astonished his friends.

"I could learn to tell all of them that wear uniforms, myself," said
Dabney; "but how do you know the others?"

"How do I know 'em? Well, it's just like knowing a miller or a blacksmith, when you see him. They all have some kind of smut on them that comes from their trade."

There may have been something in that, or it may be barely possible that Ford now and then mixed his men a little, and pointed out brokers as "gamblers," and busy attorneys as probable pickpockets. He may have been too confident.

On they went, till the brains of all but Ford and Frank were in a sort of whirl. Even Dab Kinzer was contented to look without talking; and Dick Lee, although he had not a word to say, found unusual difficulty in keeping his mouth shut. It positively would come open, every time Ford pointed out another big building, and told him what it was.

They were not travelling very fast, but they were using a good deal of time in all that sight-seeing; and walking is hungry business, and a few raw oysters could not last six hearty boys very long.

"I say, Ford," sung out Joe from the rear, "isn't it getting pretty near time for us to think of getting something to eat?"

"We're 'most there now. We're going to have our dinner at the
Magnilophant to-day."

"What's that?" said Frank.

"Never heard of it? Oh! You're the member from India. Well, it's the greatest restaurant in the known world, or in Paris either. Beats any thing on Long Island. Serve you up any thing there is, and no living man can tell what he's eating."

Ford was in high spirits, and seemed all one chuckle of self-confidence. It was indeed a remarkably elegant establishment in its line, into which he led them a few minutes later.

There certainly was nothing like it on Long Island, whatever might be true of Paris and other places outside of the "known world."

Dab Kinzer felt like walking very straight as he followed his "leader," and Dick Lee had to use all the strength he had to keep himself from taking his hat right off when he went in.

There was any amount of glitter and shine, in all directions; and Dab had a confused idea that he had never before believed that the world contained so many tables. Ford seemed wonderfully at home and at ease; and Dick found voice enough to say, half aloud,—

"Ain't I glad he's got de rudder, dis time? Cap'n Dab couldn't steer t'rough dis yer."

The "steering" was well done; and it brought them nearly to the farther end of the great, splendid room, and seated them at a round table that seemed as well furnished as even Mrs. Foster's own. They all imitated Ford in hanging their hats on the appointed pegs before sitting down.

"Now, boys, what shall we have?" he said, as he gazed learnedly up and down the printed bill of fare. "Speak up, Joe, Fuz, what's your weakness?"

Every boy of them was willing to let Ford do his best with that part of the dinner; and he was hard at work deciding what soup and fish he had better pick out, when the tall waiter who had bustled forward to receive the coming "order," bent over his shoulder, and pointed to Dick Lee, inquiring,—

"Beg pardon, sah! Is dis young colored gen'l-man of youah party? It's 'gainst de rules ob de establishment, sah."

Dab Kinzer felt his face flush fiery red; and he was on the point of saying something, he hardly knew what, when Ford looked calmly up into the mahogany face of the mulatto waiter, with,—

"You refer to my friend from Africa? We'll talk about that after dinner.
Gumbo soup and Spanish mackerel if you please. Sharp, now!"

"But, sah"—

"Don't be afflicted, my friend. He's as white as anybody, except on
Fridays: this is his black day. Hurry up the soup and fish."

Joe and Fuz were looking as if they were dreadfully ashamed of something; but poor Dick was sitting up as straight as a ramrod, under the influence of a glance that he had taken at the face of Dab Kinzer.

"I isn't goin' back on him and Ford," he said to himself. "I'd foller dem fellers right fru' dis yer eatin'-house."

Frank Harley seemed to be getting some information. In the country he had lived in nearly all his life, "colored people" were as good as anybody if they were of the right sort; and a man's skin had little to do with the degree of respect paid him, although even there it was an excellent thing to be "white."

As for the mulatto waiter, after a moment more of hesitation, he took
Ford's order, and walked dignifiedly away, muttering,—

"Nebber seen de like afore. Reckon I isn't g'wine to tote soup and fish for no nigger: I'll see de boss."

That meant an appeal to the lordly and pompous but quite gentlemanly "head waiter," a man as white as Ford Foster. A word or two to him, a finger pointed towards the upper end of the hall, and the keen eyes of the "man in authority" took it all in.

"Six of them,—five white and one black. Well, Gus, do they look as if they could pay their bill before they go?"

"Yes, sah, dey does. De young gen'lman wid de