Part 8 (1/2)
”That belongs to my friend A. T. Stewart,” said d.i.c.k. ”It's the biggest store on Broadway.* If I ever retire from boot-blackin', and go into mercantile pursuits, I may buy him out, or build another store that'll take the s.h.i.+ne off this one.”
* Mr. Stewart's Tenth Street store was not open at the time d.i.c.k spoke.
”Were you ever in the store?” asked Frank.
”No,” said d.i.c.k; ”but I'm intimate with one of Stewart's partners.
He is a cash boy, and does nothing but take money all day.”
”A very agreeable employment,” said Frank, laughing.
”Yes,” said d.i.c.k, ”I'd like to be in it.”
The boys crossed to the West side of Broadway, and walked slowly up the street. To Frank it was a very interesting spectacle. Accustomed to the quiet of the country, there was something fascinating in the crowds of people thronging the sidewalks, and the great variety of vehicles constantly pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing in the street. Then again the shop-windows with their multifarious contents interested and amused him, and he was constantly checking d.i.c.k to look in at some well-stocked window.
”I don't see how so many shopkeepers can find people enough to buy of them,” he said. ”We haven't got but two stores in our village, and Broadway seems to be full of them.”
”Yes,” said d.i.c.k; ”and its pretty much the same in the avenoos, 'specially the Third, Sixth, and Eighth avenoos. The Bowery, too, is a great place for shoppin'. There everybody sells cheaper'n anybody else, and n.o.body pretends to make no profit on their goods.”
”Where's Barnum's Museum?” asked Frank.
”Oh, that's down nearly opposite the Astor House,” said d.i.c.k.
”Didn't you see a great building with lots of flags?”
”Yes.”
”Well, that's Barnum's.* That's where the Happy Family live, and the lions, and bears, and curiosities generally. It's a tip-top place.
Haven't you ever been there? It's most as good as the Old Bowery, only the plays isn't quite so excitin'.”
* Since destroyed by fire, and rebuilt farther up Broadway, and again burned down in February.
”I'll go if I get time,” said Frank. ”There is a boy at home who came to New York a month ago, and went to Barnum's, and has been talking about it ever since, so I suppose it must be worth seeing.”
”They've got a great play at the Old Bowery now,” pursued d.i.c.k.
”'Tis called the 'Demon of the Danube.' The Demon falls in love with a young woman, and drags her by the hair up to the top of a steep rock where his castle stands.”
”That's a queer way of showing his love,” said Frank, laughing.
”She didn't want to go with him, you know, but was in love with another chap. When he heard about his girl bein' carried off, he felt awful, and swore an oath not to rest till he had got her free.
Well, at last he got into the castle by some underground pa.s.sage, and he and the Demon had a fight. Oh, it was bully seein' 'em roll round on the stage, cuttin' and slas.h.i.+n' at each other.”
”And which got the best of it?”
”At first the Demon seemed to be ahead, but at last the young Baron got him down, and struck a dagger into his heart, sayin', 'Die, false and perjured villain! The dogs shall feast upon thy carca.s.s!'
and then the Demon give an awful howl and died. Then the Baron seized his body, and threw it over the precipice.”
”It seems to me the actor who plays the Demon ought to get extra pay, if he has to be treated that way.”