Part 2 (1/2)
apologized Herbert; ”but I can't see why I should find anybody's pocket book.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BENEVOLENT OLD GENTLEMAN PRESSES MONEY ON THE COUNTRY BOY.]
”Jest what I thought, but you see you don't know the ways of New York.
You will learn, though, and you will be surprised to see how easy it is to pick up a pocket book full of greenbacks and bonds--perhaps a hundred thousand dollars in any one of 'em--and then you will take it to the man what lost it, and he will give you a lots of money, maby a thousand dollars or so--'twouldn't be much of a man as would do less than a thousand. What do you think?”
”I don't know what to think. I cannot understand you, Bob Hunter.”
”That's 'cause you don't know me, and ain't posted on what I'm saying.
Maby I am springin' it on you kinder fresh for the first day, though I guess you will stand it. But tell me, Vermont, about the runaway horse that you stopped.”
”The runaway horse that I stopped!” exclaimed Herbert. ”You must be mad to talk in this way.”
”Mad! Well, that's good; that's the best thing I've heard of yet! Do I look like a fellow that's mad?” and he laughed convulsively, much to the country lad's annoyance.
”No, you do not look as if you were mad, but you certainly act as if you were,” replied the latter sharply.
”Now look a here, Vermont, this won't do,” said Bob, very serious again.
”You are jest tryin' to fool me, but you can't do it, Vermont, I'll tell you that straight. Of course I don't blame you for wantin' to be kinder modest about it, for I s'pose it seems to you like puttin' on airs to admit you saved their lives. But then 'tain't puttin' on no airs at all.
Ef I was you I'd be proud to own it; other boys always owns it, and they don't show no modesty about it the same as what you do, either. And I don't know why they should, for it's something to be proud of; and you know, Vermont, the funniest thing about it is that them runaways is always stopped by boys from the country jest like you. Don't ask me why it happens so, for I don't know myself; but all the books will tell you that it is so. And jest think, Vermont, how many lives they save! You know the coachman gets paralyzed, and the horses runs away and he tumbles off his box, and a rich lady and her daughter--they are always rich, and the daughter is always in the carriage, too--funny, ain't it, but it's as true as I'm alive; and the boy rushes at the horses when they are going like a cyclone, and stops 'em jest as the carriage is going to be dashed to pieces. And then the lady cries and throws her arms round the boy, and kisses him, and puts a hundred dollars in his hands, and he refuses it. Then the lady and her daughter ask him to come up to their house, and the next day her husband gets a bang up position for him, where he can make any amount of money.
”Now I call that somethin' to be proud of, as I said before, and I don't see no sense in your tryin' to seem ignorant about it. Why, I wouldn't be surprised a bit ef you would try to make out that you wasn't anear any fire today. But that wouldn't do, Vermont--I'll give you a pointer on that now, so you won't attempt no such tomfoolery with me, for no boy like you ever comes into a town like New York is and don't save somebody from burning up--rescue 'em from a tall building when n.o.body else can get to 'em. And of course for doing this they get pushed right ahead into something fine, while us city fellows have to s.h.i.+n around lively for a livin'.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE COUNTRY BOY FINDS A WELL FILLED POCKET BOOK.]
”I don't know ef you saved anybody from drowning or not; I won't say that you did, but ef you didn't you ain't in luck, that's all I've got to say about it. So you see 'tain't much use for you to try to deceive me, Vermont, for I know jest what's a fair day's work for a boy from the country--jest what's expected of him on his first day here. Why, ef you don't believe me (and I know you don't by the way you look), jest get all the books that tells about country boys coming to New York, and read what they say, that's all I ask of you, Vermont. Now come, own up and tell it straight.”
”Bob, you are altogether too funny,” laughed Herbert, now that the drift of his friend's seemingly crazy remarks was plain to him. ”How can you manage to joke so seriously, and why do you make fun of me? Because I am from the country, I suppose.”
”I hope I didn't hurt your feelings, Vermont,” replied Bob, enjoying greatly his own good natured satire.
”No, not at all, Bob Hunter, but until I saw your joke I thought surely you were insane.”
”Well, you see, I thought you needed something to kinder knock the blues that you brought back with you tonight--'tain't much fun to have 'em, is it? Sometimes I get 'em myself, so I know what they're like. But now to be honest, and not fool no more, didn't you get no show today?”
”No, not the least bit of encouragement,” replied Herbert.
”And you kept up the hunt all day?”
”Yes.”
”I ought ter told you that that warn't no use.”
”How is that?”
”Why, don't you see, it's the first fellers what gets the jobs--them as gets round early.”