Bob Chester's Grit; Or, From Ranch to Riches Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  A KIND-HEARTED WAITRESS

  After Bob had found that no one was pursuing him, he decided that thefirst thing to do was to get away from New York, and with this purposehe headed for one of the ferries that would take him to the Jerseyshore.

  How far his fifteen dollars would carry him, he did not know, but herealized that it could not be any great distance, and he was trying tothink of some plan by which he could obtain more funds, when he suddenlyremembered the reporter who had taken such an interest in him.

  "I'll go and find him," said Bob to himself. "He'll know about how muchit costs to travel, and all such things, and perhaps he'll help me toget some work where I can earn more money. Anyway, I will be able tobelieve what he tells me, and to depend on his advice."

  So simple a solution of his difficulties gave Bob new courage, until allat once it flashed upon him that he did not know the name of hisbenefactor, or where to find him.

  As this thought occurred to him, Bob stopped still. However, his havingthrown himself upon his own resources was sharpening his wits, and hesuddenly exclaimed:

  "I can find out at the police station. Perhaps he'll be there."

  And though the boy was fully three miles away from the place where hehad suffered such outrageous treatment, he turned his steps to retracethe distance.

  When at length he was within sight of the grim building, the same fearof entering it that had made him refuse his guardian's command to fetchthe basket of groceries, again seized him, and he paused.

  "I won't go in," said Bob, shaking his head decidedly, "but I'll waitover by that pile of boxes on the opposite side of the street. Probablyhe'll be coming out before long."

  Though this plan of Bob's would ordinarily have been effective, ithappened that Foster had finished his work for the day even before hehad paid his visit to the closed store of Len Dardus, and thus the boywas doomed to disappointment, although he stayed at his post ofobservation until dark began to fall.

  With the garish flarings of the street lamps, Bob for the first timerealized the true meaning of the step he had taken. Heretofore he hadalways possessed a home to which to go, unpleasant as it was, but nowhe had no place, and the contemplation of his loneliness caused him togrow very sober.

  As the pangs of hunger were added to his general feeling ofhelplessness, for a moment he thought of returning to his guardian, butonly for a moment. As he left the letter in his pocket and rememberedthe awful stigma his guardian had tried to cast upon his dead father,his pride arose.

  "I will never go back there!" he told himself. "I have money in mypocket, and I can get something to eat. Then I'll go over to one of thestations in Jersey City and find some place to sleep. Perhaps there'lleven be a train going out West to-night that will carry me part way toOklahoma."

  Coming forth from the pile of boxes from which he had sought in vain tocatch a glimpse of his friend, the reporter, Bob walked up the streetuntil he came to a restaurant, brilliantly lighted, and with a signstanding in the door from which the words: "Pork and Beans, 15 cents aplate," stared at him invitingly.

  Dearly did Bob love pork and beans, but only occasionally had hisguardian provided them, and then in such small quantities that the boyhad never been able to eat all he wanted, and oftentimes had hepromised himself that some day he would have his fill. Consequently, ashe read the sign, he determined to gratify his desire, and timidlyentered the restaurant, where there were stools in front of a highcounter and tables along the wall, upon which stood an array of foodthat amazed him, accustomed, as he had been, to living on almostnothing.

  Making his way diffidently to one of the tables, he sat down. In amoment a waitress, in what seemed to him a dazzlingly white and gorgeousdress, approached, and, with a smile, asked:

  "What will you have?"

  "Beans, please, and lots of them."

  "And brown bread, too?" asked the waitress.

  The thought of this with his beans had never entered Bob's head, and asit was suggested to him, he felt a great longing for it. Yet as nomention of it had been made on the sign that had attracted him to therestaurant, he feared it might be too expensive. But the more he thoughtof it, the more he wanted it, and finally he stammered:

  "How much does it cost?"

  "Five cents a slice."

  "Then you may bring me two slices," replied the boy, laying emphasisupon the word "two."

  "Coffee or tea?"

  "I don't believe I'll have either," said Bob, feeling that hisexpenditure of twenty-five cents was all that he could afford.

  Divining the reason of his refusal, the waitress smiled:

  "You get either tea or coffee with the order. It doesn't cost any more."

  "Then I'll have coffee," replied Bob.

  And as the waitress went to bring his order, he again felt in his pocketto make sure he had the money with which to pay for his meal.

  As the heaping plate of beans--for the waitress had not been scrimpingin her measure--was set before Bob, together with the rich brown breadand coffee, it seemed to him that never had anything smelled quite sosavory, and he began to eat as though he were famished.

  Though the plate of beans had been heaping, so good did they taste toBob, that he could not resist the temptation of ordering more, andcalling the waitress to him, he asked:

  "If I have a second plate, will it cost less?"

  For a moment the girl was on the point of laughing at him, but thewistful seriousness of his face checked the outburst of merriment on herlips, and instead she replied, in a kindly tone:

  "What's the matter, kid? Haven't you any money?"

  "Oh, yes," Bob hastened to reassure her.

  "Well, if you have money enough, what's to prevent your ordering as muchas you want?"

  For a moment Bob contemplated the question from this new viewpoint, but,unable to decide, observed:

  "I don't just know as I ought to spend any more."

  "Isn't the money yours?"

  "Oh, yes, it's not that," rejoined Bob, and then, after hesitating amoment, he determined to leave the decision to this girl, whose faceshowed that she was kind and sympathetic, and he said:

  "You see, it's this way: I'm going out West, and I haven't got muchmoney, and I'm afraid I'll spend too much, because I don't just know howmuch it will take."

  "Well, if I was you, I'd eat all I wanted while I had the money. Ifyou've got to 'hobo' your way, there'll be times when you'll probably bewithout both food and money."

  This reasoning struck Bob as being eminently practical, and he was onthe point of ordering another plate, when the girl made it unnecessaryby saying:

  "I'll stake you to another plate, if you want the beans very much. It'sjust about time for me to eat my supper, and I will bring it over toyour table and eat with you, and I'll make them think the beans are forme."

  Bob wasn't quite sure whether such a plan was all right or not, but hehad a healthy boy's appetite for beans, and so he made no objection.

  "You are very kind," he said, when the second plate of the savory foodwas placed before him. "I suppose I shall be hungry sometimes before Iget to Oklahoma, but I don't expect to 'hobo' it."

  "Then how do you expect to get along? You say you haven't much money."

  "I guess I don't just understand what it means to 'hobo' it," admittedBob.

  "No, I guess you don't. It's the name they give out West to travellingwhen you don't have money enough to pay your railroad fare, and have tobeat your way, riding on freight trains."

  As Bob heard this explanation of the term, his eyes sparkled withdelight, and he said earnestly:

  "I'm glad you told me about it. I'd never thought of trying to steal aride on a freight train."

  "For pity sake! How did you expect to get away out there?"

  "Walk, unless I could earn money enough in one town to take me toanother."

  Bob's conversation, which showed such a remarkable ignorance of theworld, especially in view of the fact that he w
as a New York boy,suggested to the waitress that perhaps he had run away from home.

  Determined to find out, she banished the sympathetic smile from herface, and becoming very severe, leaned across the table and gazingstraight into Bob's eyes, asked:

  "Look a here, kid, you haven't run away from a good home, have you?"

  The unexpectedness of this question took Bob by surprise. Under thesearching gaze of the girl's eyes, he felt just as he had when themagistrate had glanced at him, and his voice trembled a little as hereplied:

  "No! Oh, no, indeed!"

  But his manner was not convincing, and the girl continued herinterrogations, but on a different tack.

  "Your folks live in New York?"

  "I haven't any."

  "Then where have you been living?"

  "With my guardian."

  "What do you do?"

  "I used to deliver groceries for him."

  The stress Bob laid upon the word "used," led the girl to inquire:

  "Did he fire you? Or what?"

  "No. I left him."

  "How long ago?"

  "Just this afternoon."

  The close questioning of the waitress was making Bob very uncomfortable,and he determined to tell her the real reason he had left, especiallyas she was so kind and seemed to know so much about traveling in theWest. Having reached this decision, he told, with many hesitations, thestory of his experiences.

  With quick sympathy the girl listened, and, as he concluded, exclaimedtenderly:

  "You poor kid! I'm sure glad you happened to drop in here. I've got asister living out in Chicago, whose husband runs as far as Kansas Cityon a freight train. I'll give you a note to her, and her man will giveyou a lift, and probably he can arrange with some of the men he knows tocarry you west from Kansas City."

  "That will be very kind of you," returned Bob. "It seems as thoughstrangers are kinder to me than people I've known all my life."

  "That's often the way," exclaimed the girl, as she rose and went up tothe desk in the front of the restaurant, where she obtained some paper,an envelope, and pen and ink, which she brought back to Bob's table.

  It was evident from the slowness with which her self-imposed taskadvanced that the girl was more ready with her kind-hearted sympathythan with her pen. But at last the missive was finished, and she gave itto Bob.

  "Don't forget that address: 'South 101st Street, on the left-handcorner, in a big, yellow brick building.' It's on the side of thestreet nearest New York, and the name is Mrs. John Cameron."

  Gratefully Bob took the letter, which he placed with the one written byhis father, and as he did so he asked:

  "I wonder how much it costs to get to Chicago?"

  "Depends on how you travel. You can go in a plain car for about ten oreleven dollars. That is on one of the round-about railways, at cutrates. Or, you can pay between fifty and seventy-five dollars for astate-room."

  "Oh, goody! If it only costs ten dollars, I can get out there all right,and still have some money left."

  "I'm glad of that. Now, you sit here a few minutes, and I'll put up alunch for you, and then you won't have to buy any food while you are onthe train. They always charge a lot more on trains or in stationrestaurants than they ought to."

  "Hadn't I better pay you now?" inquired Bob.

  "No. You wait until I bring the box of lunch. The boss hasn't noticedhow much you had to eat, and he'll think it's all on the check I willring in."

  "But that isn't exactly right, is it?" protested Bob.

  "Well, I'll make it right with the boss."

  So well were things working out for him, that it seemed to Bob that hemust be in a dream, but the sight of the people and objects about himtold him that it was indeed a reality.

  In due course the kind waitress returned, bringing a sizeable box,tightly tied, which she placed on the table before him.

  "Here, kiddo, I wish you good luck," she said. "I must leave you now,because I've got some more work to do."

  "But you must tell me your name," insisted Bob, looking at her with hiseyes filled with gratitude. "I'm coming back from the West a rich man,and I shall want to look you up and repay you for your kindness."

  "I hope you strike it fine, kid," laughed the girl, "but I am afraid ifyou do, you'll never think of looking up Nellie Porter. Oh, by the way,do you know to which station to go?"

  "No, I don't," admitted Bob.

  "Well, if you want to get a plain car, you want to go over to Weehawkenand buy your ticket over the West Shore railroad."

  And giving Bob a check for his food, the girl smiled upon himpleasantly, and hurried away to wait upon some other people who hadentered the restaurant.