ars. The writer
cannot close without expressing anew his thanks for the large share of
favor which has been accorded to the volumes of the present series, and
takes this opportunity of saying that, in their preparation, invention
has played but a subordinate part. For his delineations of character and
choice of incidents, he has been mainly indebted to his own observation,
aided by valuable communications and suggestions from those who have
been brought into familiar acquaintance with the class whose mode of
life he has sought to describe.

NEW YORK, April 5, 1876.

BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;

OR,

AMONG THE WHARVES.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCES BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY.

"How much yer made this mornin', Ben?"

"Nary red," answered Ben, composedly.

"Had yer breakfast?"

"Only an apple. That's all I've eaten since yesterday. It's most time
for the train to be in from Philadelphy. I'm layin' round for a job."

The first speaker was a short, freckled-faced boy, whose box strapped to
his back identified him at once as a street boot-black. His hair was
red, his fingers defaced by stains of blacking, and his clothing
constructed on the most approved system of ventilation. He appeared to
be about twelve years old.

The boy whom he addressed as Ben was taller, and looked older. He was
probably not far from sixteen. His face and hands, though browned by
exposure to wind and weather, were several shades cleaner than those of
his companion. His face, too, was of a less common type. It was easy to
see that, if he had been well dressed, he might readily have been taken
for a gentleman's son. But in his present attire there was little chance
of this mistake being made. His pants, marked by a green stripe, small
around the waist and very broad at the hips, had evidently once belonged
to a Bowery swell; for the Bowery has its swells as well as Broadway,
its more aristocratic neighbor. The vest had been discarded as a
needless luxury, its place being partially supplied by a shirt of thick
red flannel. This was covered by a frock-coat, which might once have
belonged to a member of the Fat Men's Association, being aldermanic in
its proportions. Now it was fallen from its high estate, its nap and
original gloss had long departed, and it was frayed and torn in many
places. But among the street-boys dress is not much regarded, and Ben
never thought of apologizing for the defects of his wardrobe. We shall
learn in time what were