of what he had just done, he suddenly found
himself shoved violently off the sidewalk. Looking angrily to see who
was the aggressor, he recognized Mike Rafferty, who had been detected
the night before in wearing his stolen shirt.

"What's that for?" demanded Ben, angrily.

"It's to tache you better manners, ye spalpeen!" said Mike.

Ben returned the blow with spirit.

"That's to teach you not to steal my shirt again," he said.

"It's a lie," said Mike. "I bought it of the man you sold it to."

"You know better," retorted Ben. "You took it while I was asleep in the
Park."

Mike was about to retaliate with another blow, when the sight of an
approaching policeman warned him of peril, and he retreated in good
order, sending back looks of defiance at our hero, whom he could not
forgive for having proved him guilty of theft.

Ben's exploration of the city had thus far been very limited. He had
heard of the Battery, and he determined to go down there. The distance
was not great, and in a few minutes he found himself at the lower end of
the Manhattan Island, looking with interest at the shores across the
river. Here was Castle Garden, a large structure, now used for recently
arrived emigrants, but once the scene of one of Jenny Lind's triumphs.
Now it would seem very strange to have a grand concert given in such a
building and in such a locality. However, Ben knew nothing of the
purposes of the building, and looked at it ignorantly. The Battery he
thought might once have been pretty; but now the grass has been worn off
by pedestrians, and the once fashionable houses in the neighborhood have
long ago been deserted by their original proprietors, and been turned
into warehouses, or cheap boarding-houses.

After looking about a little, Ben turned to go back. He began to feel
hungry, and thought he might as well get some dinner. After that was
eaten it would be time for the evening papers. He was intending to go
back to Fulton Street; but his attention was drawn to a restaurant by
the bills of fare exposed outside. A brief examination satisfied him
that the prices were quite as moderate as in Fulton Street, and he
decided to enter, and take his dinner here.

CHAPTER XI.

BEN BECOMES A BAGGAGE-SMASHER.

The restaurant was a small one, and not fashionable in appearance,
having a shabby look. The floor was sanded, and the tables were covered
with soiled cloths. However, Ben had learned already not to be
fastidio