Ben, the Luggage Boy: or, Among the Wharves

One morning about this time Ben carefully counted up his deposits, and found they amounted to fifty dollars and thirty-seven cents. It was a joyful moment, which he had long looked forward to. He had been tempted to rest satisfied with forty when he had reached that sum, but he resisted the temptation.

"I aint goin' to do things by halves," he said to himself. "I can't do it for less'n fifty dollars. I must wait awhile."

But the moment had arrived when he could accomplish his purpose. As Ben looked down at his ragged attire, which was in a considerably worse condition then when he was first presented to the reader, he felt that it was high time he got a new suit.

The first thing to be done was to get his money. He made his way to the savings-bank, and presented himself at the counter.

"I want all of my money," he said.

"I hope you're not going to spend it all," said the bank officer, who by this time had come to feel acquainted with Ben, from his frequent calls to make deposits.

"I'm goin' to buy some new clothes," said Ben. "Don't I look as if I needed some?"

"Yes, you are rather out at elbows, I must admit. But new clothes won't cost all the money you have in the bank."

"I'm goin' home to my friends," said Ben, "after I've got dressed decently."

"That's a good resolution, my boy; I hope you'll stick to it."

"It's what I've been workin' for, for a long time," said Ben.

He filled out the order for the money, and it was delivered to him.

The next thing was to buy a new suit of clothes. Usually Ben had procured his outfit in Chatham Street, but he soared higher now. He made his way to a large ready-made clothing warehouse on Broadway, and entered. The main apartment was spacious, the counters were heaped with articles of dress, and numerous clerks were ready to wait upon customers.

"Well, what's wanted?" asked one, glancing superciliously at the ragged boy entering.

"Have you got any clothes that will fit me?" asked Ben.

"I guess you've lost your way, Johnny, haven't you?"

"What makes you think so?" asked Ben.

"This isn't Chatham Street."

"Thank you for the information," said Ben. "I thought it was when I saw you here."

There was a laugh, at the clerk's expense, among those who heard the retort.

"What are you here for, any way?" demanded the clerk, with an air of insulted majesty.

"To buy some clothes," said Ben; "but you needn't show 'em to me. I'll go to somebody else."

"Have you got any money?"

"You'll know soon enough."

He went to another part of the store, and applied to a salesman whose appearance he liked better. After some hesitation, Ben made choice of a suit of substantial warm cloth, a dark mixed sack-coat, vest of the same material, and a pair of pants of neat pattern.

"I won't trouble you to send 'em," said Ben, "as my house is closed for the season."

The bundle was made up, and handed to him. The price of the entire suit was twenty dollars, which was a good price for those days. Ben took the bundle under his arm and went out.

His purchases were not yet all made. He went next to a furnishing store, and bought three shirts, three pairs of stockings, some collars, and a necktie, finishing up with a pair of gloves. These cost him eight dollars. A neat felt hat and a pair of shoes, which he procured elsewhere, completed his outfit. On counting up, Ben found that he had expended thirty-six dollars, leaving in his hands a balance of fourteen dollars and thirty-seven cents.

Before putting on his new purchases, Ben felt that he must go through a process of purification. He went, therefore, to a barber's basement shop, with which baths were connected, and, going down the steps, said to the barber's assistant, who happened to be alone at the time, "I want a warm bath."

"Pay in advance," said the young man, surveying the ragged figure before him with some hesitation.

"All right," said Ben. "How much is it?"

"Twenty-five cents."

"Here it is," said Ben, producing the exact amount from his vest-pocket.

Such ragged customers were not usual; but there seemed to be no good excuse for refusing Ben, as he had the money to pay. In five minutes the bath was declared to be ready, and Ben, entering the small room assigned to him, joyfully divested himself of the ragged garments which he was never again to put on, and got into the tub. It probably will not excite surprise when I say that Ben stood in need of a bath. His street life had not been particularly favorable to cleanliness, nor had he been provided with such facilities for attending to his toilet as are usual in well-regulated families. However, he was quite aware of his deficiencies in this way, and spared neither pains nor soap to remedy them. It was a work of time; but finally he felt satisfied with the result of his efforts, and, after drying himself, proceeded to put on his new clothes. They proved to fit excellently. Indeed, they wrought such a change in our hero's appearance that he could hardly believe in his own identity when he stood before the glass, and saw reflected the form of a well-dressed boy, in place of the ragged figure which he saw on entering. The only thing which marred his good appearance was his hair, which had grown to undue length. He determined to have it cut before he left the barber's shop.

He tied up the clothes he had taken off in the paper which had contained his new suit, and, opening the door, went out into the main room with the bundle under his arm.

Meanwhile the proprietor of the shop had returned.

"Who is taking a bath?" he asked of his assistant.

"A ragged street boy," said the latter.

"What did you let him in for?"

"He paid in advance."

"I don't care about such customers any way," said the barber. "Remember next time."

"All right."

At this moment Ben made his appearance; but that appearance was so much altered that the young man looked at him in astonishment. He looked thoroughly well dressed, and might have passed readily for the scion of a wealthy family.

"Were two bath-rooms occupied?" asked the proprietor.

"No."

"I thought you said – "

"I was never so surprised in my life," said the assistant. "Did you get changed in the bath?" he asked of Ben.

"Yes," said Ben.

"What made you wear such a ragged suit?"

"I was in disguise," said Ben; "but I've got tired of it, and thrown it off. I think I'll have my hair cut."

"Take a seat," said the proprietor. "I'll cut your hair myself. How will you have it cut?"

"I want to be in the fashion," said Ben. "Make it look as well as you can."

He took his seat, and the task commenced. The barber was skilful in his art, and he saw at once what style would become Ben best. He exerted himself to the utmost, and when at the end of half an hour he withdrew the cloth from around our hero's neck, he had effected a change almost marvellous in Ben's appearance.

I have already said that Ben was naturally good-looking. But even good looks need fair play, and rags and neglect are apt to obscure the gifts of nature. So Ben had never looked his best till now. But when his hair was cut and arranged, and he looked in the mirror to observe the effect, he was himself surprised. It was some like the change that transformed Cinderella into a princess.

"I shan't be ashamed to tell my cousin who I am now," he said.

CHAPTER XXV.

BEN MAKES HIMSELF KNOWN

Ben went out into the street with two bundles under his arm. One contained the ragged clothes which he had just taken off. The other, which was much smaller, contained his extra shirts and stockings. The first he did not care to keep. He therefore lost no time in throwing it into an alley-way.

"It'll be a lucky chap that finds it," thought Ben.

He next put on his gloves, and considered what he should do next. It was half-past twelve o'clock already, for he had not been able to get his money from the bank till ten, and the purchases and bath, as well as the hair-cutting, had taken up considerable time. He began to feel hungry, and appetite suggested that he should first of all go to a restaurant and get some dinner.

On the way thither he met two of his street acquaintances, who passed him without the slightest mark of recognition. This pleased Ben, for it assured him that the change which he had effected in his appearance was a considerable one.

While eating dinner, he deliberated what he should do. It was Saturday, and it would be almost too late to start for his Pennsylvania home. He decided to go to his sister's house on Madison Avenue, and make himself known there first of all. He was influenced to this partly by the desire he had to meet his cousin, who, as he knew, was making his home, while attending school, at the house of Mr. Abercrombie. He had more than once been up to that part of the city in the hope of catching a glimpse of the cousin for whom he retained his old, boyish love; but he had always shrunk, even when seeing him, from attracting his observation. He did not wish to be remembered in his rags, and so denied himself the pleasure for which he yearned. But now he was satisfied with his appearance. He felt that he was as well dressed as Charles himself, and would do no discredit to him if they were seen in the street together.

He got on board an omnibus, and took his seat. A lady soon after entered, and sat down beside him She drew out some money from her purse, and, passing it to Ben, said, "Will you have the kindness to pass up my fare, sir?"

"Certainly," said Ben, politely.

It was a small incident, but he felt, from the young lady's manner of addressing him, that she looked upon him as her equal socially, and this afforded him not a little pleasure. He wondered how he could have been content to drift about the streets so long, clothed in rags. New hopes and a new ambition had been awakened within him, and he felt that a new life lay before him, much better worth living than the old life.

These thoughts occupied him as he rode up Broadway.

At length he left the omnibus, and took the shortest route to his sister's house. When he ascended the steps, and rang the bell, he felt rather a queer sensation come over him. He remembered very well the last time he had ascended those same steps, carrying his cousin's valise. His heart beat quick with excitement, in the midst of which the door was opened by the servant.

He had already decided to ask for his cousin, preferring to make himself known to him first.

"Is Charles Marston in?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir," said the servant. "Won't you come in?"

She threw open the door of the parlor, and Ben, entering, seated himself in an arm-chair, holding his hat in his hand.

"I wonder if she'd asked me in here if I'd come in my rags?" he asked himself, with a smile.

The servant went upstairs, where she found Charles in his own room, writing a French exercise.

"Master Charles," she said, "one of your school-mates is in the parlor. He wants to see you."

"All right. I'll go right down."

The mistake was quite a natural one, as boys who attended the same private school frequently called for Charles.

Charles went downstairs, and entered the parlor. Ben rose as he entered.

"How are you, Charlie?" said Ben, rising, and offering his hand.

Charles looked in his face with a puzzled expression. It was not one of his school-mates, as he had supposed; but it must be some one that knew him intimately, or he would not have addressed him so familiarly.

"I ought to know you," he said, apologetically; "but I can't think who it is."

"Don't you remember your Cousin Ben, Charlie?" asked our hero.

"Ben!" exclaimed Charles, in the greatest astonishment. He looked eagerly in our hero's face for a moment, then impulsively threw his arms around Ben's neck, and kissed him.

"I am so glad to see you, Ben," he said. "Where have you been all the time?"

"Then you didn't forget me, Charlie?" said Ben, returning the embrace.

"No, Ben. I've thought of you many and many a time. We used to be such good friends, you know. We will be again, – will we not?"

"I hope so, Charlie. That was one of my reasons for coming back."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I will tell you some time, Charlie; but not now. Is my sister at home?"

"Yes. I will call her. She will be very much surprised. We all thought you – "

"Dead, I suppose."

"Yes; but I always hoped you would come back again."

"Don't tell Mary who it is. See if she recognizes me."

Summoned by Charles, Mrs. Abercrombie came down to the parlor. She was merely told that a gentleman desired to see her.

When she entered the parlor, Ben rose from his seat.

She looked at him for a moment, and her face lighted up.

"It's Ben," she said. "O Ben, how could you stay away so long?"

"What, do you remember me, Mary?" asked our hero, in surprise.

"Yes. I knew you by your resemblance to Charles. We always remarked it when you were young boys together."

As the two boys were standing side by side, the resemblance of which she spoke was quite striking. Ben was the larger of the two; but their features were similar, as well as the color of the hair and eyes, and the similarity of their dress completed the illusion. Mrs. Abercrombie surveyed her brother with satisfaction. She had been afraid he would be coarse and vulgar after so many years of neglect, if he should ever return; but here he was, to all appearance, a young gentleman of whom she need not feel ashamed.

"Ben must share my room, Cousin Mary," said Charles. "We've got so much to say to each other."

"I didn't know I was to stay," said Ben, smiling.

"You mustn't leave us again, Ben," said his sister. "Monday you must start for home. Poor mother has mourned for you so long. She will be overjoyed to see you again."

When Mr. Abercrombie came home, his new brother-in-law was introduced to him. He received Ben cordially, and in a way to make him feel at home. In the course of the morning Mr. Sampson called, and Ben was introduced to him.

"There's something in your brother's voice that sounds familiar," he said to Mrs. Abercrombie. "I think I must have met him before."

"He has not been with us for some years," said Mrs. Abercrombie, who did not care to reveal that Ben was a returned prodigal.

"Probably I am deceived," said Mr. Sampson.

Ben, however, knew that Mr. Sampson had good cause to remember him. He was afraid the servant who had brought him his breakfast some months before in the basement might remember him; but there was no danger of that. She never dreamed of associating the young gentleman, her mistress's brother, with the ragged and dirty boy who had brought the valise for Master Charles.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN

On Sunday evening, Ben, in company with his sister, her husband, and Charles, attended a sacred concert in Steinway Hall. As he stepped within the vestibule, he saw two street boys outside, whom he knew well. Their attire was very similar to that which he had himself worn until the day before. They looked at Ben, but never thought of identifying him with the baggage-smasher with whom they had often bunked together.

"See what it is," thought Ben, "to be well dressed and have fashionable friends."

As he sat in a reserved seat but a little distance from the platform, surrounded by well-dressed people, he was sometimes tempted to doubt whether he was the same boy who a few days before was wandering about the streets, a friendless outcast. The change was so complete and wonderful that he seemed to himself a new boy. But he enjoyed the change. It seemed a good deal pleasanter resting in the luxurious bedchamber, which he shared with Charles at his sister's house, than the chance accommodations to which he had been accustomed.

On Monday he started for Philadelphia, on his journey home.

We will precede him.

Mrs. Brandon sat in an arm-chair before the fire, knitting. She was not old, but care and sorrow had threaded her dark hair with silver, and on her brow there were traces of a sorrow patiently borne, but none the less deeply felt. She had never recovered from the loss of her son. Her daughter Mary had inherited something of her father's self-contained, undemonstrative manner; but Ben had been impulsive and affectionate, and had always been very near his mother's heart. To feel that he had passed from her sight was a great sorrow; but it was a greater still not to know where he was. He might be suffering pain or privation; he might have fallen into bad and vicious habits for aught she knew. It would have been a relief, though a sad one, to know that he was dead. But nothing whatever had been heard of him since the letter of which the reader is already aware.

Since Mary's marriage Mrs. Brandon had been very much alone. Her husband was so taciturn and reserved that he was not much company for her; so she was left very much to her own thoughts, and these dwelt often upon Ben, though six years had elapsed since he left home.

"If I could see him once more," she often said to herself, "I could die in peace."

So Mrs. Brandon was busily thinking of Ben on that Monday afternoon, as she sat knitting before the fire; little thinking that God had heard her prayer, and that the son whom she so longed to see was close at hand. He was even then coming up the gravelled walk that led to the house.

It may be imagined that Ben's heart beat with unwonted excitement, as the scenes of his early boyhood once more appeared before him. A thousand boyish memories returned to him, as he trod the familiar street. He met persons whom he knew, but they showed no recognition of him. Six years had wrought too great a change in him.

He rang the bell.

The summons was answered by the servant, the only one employed in Mrs. Brandon's modest establishment.

"Is Mrs. Brandon at home?" asked Ben.

"Yes," answered the girl. "Will you walk in?"

Ben stepped into the entry, and the girl opened the door of the room in which Mrs. Brandon was seated.

Mrs. Brandon looked up.

She saw standing at the door a well-grown lad of sixteen, with a face browned by long exposure to the sun and air. It was six years since she had seen Ben; but in spite of the changes which time may have wrought, a mother's heart is not easily deceived. A wild hope sprang up in her heart. She tried to rise from her chair, but her excite was so great that her limbs refused their office.

"Mother!" exclaimed Ben, and, hurrying forward he threw his arms around his mother's neck.

"God be thanked!" she exclaimed, with heartfelt gratitude. "I have missed you so much, Ben."

Ben's heart reproached him as he saw the traces of sorrow upon his mother's face, and felt that he had been the cause.

"Forgive me, mother!" he said.

"It is all forgotten now. I am so happy!" she answered, her eyes filled with joyful tears.

They sat down together, and Ben began to tell his story. In the midst of it his father entered. He stopped short when he saw Ben sitting beside his mother.

"It is Ben come back," said his mother, joyfully.

Mr. Brandon did not fall on his son's neck and kiss him. That was not his way. He held out his hand, and said, "Benjamin, I am very glad to see you."

In the evening they talked together over the new plans which Ben's return suggested.

"You must stay with us, Ben," said his mother. "I cannot part with you now."

"I am getting old, Benjamin," said his father. "I need help in my business. You must stay and help me, and by and by you shall have the whole charge of it."

"I am afraid I don't know enough," said Ben. "I haven't studied any since I left home. I don't know as much as I did when I was ten."

"You shall study at home for a year," said his father. "The teacher of the academy shall give you private lessons. You can learn a great deal in a year if you set about it."

To this arrangement Ben acceded. He is now studying at home, and his abilities being excellent, and his ambition excited, is making remarkable progress. Next year he will assist his father. Mr. Brandon seems to have changed greatly. He is no longer stern and hard, but gentle and forbearing, and is evidently proud of Ben, who would run a chance of being spoiled by over-indulgence, if his hard discipline as a street boy had not given him a manliness and self-reliance above his years. He is gradually laying aside the injurious habits which he acquired in his street life, and I confidently hope for him a worthy and useful manhood.

From time to time Ben visits New York, and renews his intimacy with his Cousin Charles, who returns his warm affection. Charles, in turn, spends the summer at Cedarville, where they are inseparable.

So we bid farewell to Ben, the Luggage Boy, hoping that he may be able to repay his mother in part for the sorrow which his long absence occasioned her, and that she may live long to enjoy his society. To my young readers, who have received my stories of street life with so much indulgence, I bid a brief farewell, hoping to present them ere long the sixth volume of the Ragged Dick Series, under the title of

Rufus And Rose;Or,The Fortunes of Rough and Ready

FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.

RAGGED DICK SERIES. ByHoratio Alger, Jr. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

Ragged Dick.

Rough and Ready.

Fame and Fortune.

Ben the Luggage Boy.

Mark the Match Boy.

Rufus and Rose.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. First Series

Tattered Tom.

Phil the Fiddler.

Paul the Peddler.

Slow and Sure.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.

Julius.

Sam's Chance.

The Young Outlaw.

The Telegraph Boy.

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, Jr. 3 vols.

Frank's Campaign.

Charlie Codman's Cruise.

Paul Prescott's Charge.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo.Cloth. First Series.

Luck and Pluck.

Strong and Steady.

Sink Or Swim.

Strive and Succeed.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Second Series.

Try and Trust.

Risen From the Ranks.

Bound To Rise.

Herbert Carter's Legacy.

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

Brave and Bold.

Shifting for Himself.

Jack's Ward.

Wait and Hope.

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo.

The Young Adventurer. The Young Explorers.

The Young Miner.

Ben's Nugget.

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols.

The Young Circus Rider. Hector's Inheritance.

Do and Dare.

Helping Himself.

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo.Cloth.

Bob Burton.

Luke Walton.

The Store Boy.

Struggling Upward.

NEW WORLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

Digging for Gold.

Facing the World.

In a New World.

Other Volumes in Preparation

1

The description of the room under the wharf, and the circumstances of its occupation by a company of street boys, are not imaginary. It was finally discovered, and broken up by the police, the details being given, at the time, in the daily papers, as some of my New York readers will remember. Discovery did not take place, however, until it had been occupied some time.

2

The main incidents of Jim Bagley's story are true, having been communicated to the writer by Jim himself, a wide-awake boy of fifteen, who appeared to possess decided business ability and energy. The name only is fictitious.