y find the Newsboys' Lodging House
closed for the night, and be compelled to take up with such sleeping
accommodations as the street may provide.

Ben crossed the street, taking a straight course, without paying
especial attention to the mud, which caused other pedestrians to pick
their way. To the condition of his shoes he was supremely indifferent.
Stockings he did not wear. They are luxuries in which few street boys
indulge.

He had not long to wait. The boat bumped against the wharf, and directly
a crowd of passengers poured through the open gates in a continuous
stream.

Ben looked sharply around him to judge who would be likely to employ
him. His attention was drawn to an elderly lady, with a large carpet-bag
swelled almost to bursting. She was looking about her in a bewildered
manner.

"Carry your bag, ma'am?" he said, at the same time motioning towards it.

"Who be you?" asked the old lady, suspiciously.

"I'm a baggage-smasher," said Ben.

"Then I don't want you," answered the old lady, clinging to her bag as
if she feared it would be wrested from her. "I'm surprised that the law
allows sich things. You might be in a better business, young man, than
smashing baggage."

"That's where you're right, old lady," said Ben.

"Bankin' would pay better, if I only had the money to start on."

"Are you much acquainted in New York?" asked the old lady.

"Yes," said Ben; "I know the mayor 'n' aldermen, 'n' all the principal
men. A. T. Stooart's my intimate friend, and I dine with Vanderbilt
every Sunday when I aint engaged at Astor's."

"Do you wear them clo'es when you visit your fine friends?" asked the
old lady, shrewdly.

"No," said Ben. "Them are my every-day clo'es. I've got some velvet
clo'es to home, embroidered with gold."

"I believe you are telling fibs," said the old lady. "What I want to
know is, if you know my darter, Mrs. John Jones; her first name is
Seraphiny. She lives on Bleecker Street, and her husband, who is a nice
man, though his head is bald on top, keeps a grocery store."

"Of course I do," said Ben. "It was only yesterday that she told me her
mother was comin' to see her. I might have knowed you was she."

"How would you have knowed?"

"Cause she told me just how you looked."

"Did she? How did she say I looked?"

"She said you was most ninety, and--"

"It isn't true," said the old lady, indignantly. "I'm only
seventy-three, and everybody says I'm wonderful young-lookin' f