as a birthday present, for
seventy-five cents, to raise money for his present expedition. Of this
sum but twenty-five cents remained.

"Will you buy a knife to-day, young gentleman?" asked the vender, who
was on the alert for customers.

"No, I guess not," said Ben.

"Here's a very nice one for only one dollar," said the street merchant,
taking up a showy-looking knife with three blades. "Its the best of
steel, warranted. You won't get another such knife for the price in the
city."

It did look cheap certainly. Ben could not but allow that. He would like
to have owned it, but circumstances forbade.

"No, I won't buy to-day," he said.

"Here, you shall have it for ninety-four cents," and the vender began to
roll it up in a piece of paper. "You can't say it isn't cheap."

"Yes, it's cheap enough," said Ben, moving away, "but I haven't got the
money with me."

This settled the matter, and the dealer reluctantly unrolled it, and
replaced it among his stock.

"If you'll call round to-morrow, I'll save it for you till then," he
said.

"All right," said Ben.

"I wonder," he thought, "whether he would be so anxious to sell, if he
knew that I had run away from home, and had but twenty-five cents in the
world?"

Ben's neat dress deceived the man, who naturally supposed him to belong
to a city family well to do.

Our young hero walked on till he came to the Astor House. He stood on
the steps a few minutes taking a view of what may be considered the
liveliest and most animated part of New York. Nearly opposite was
Barnum's American Museum, the site being now occupied by the costly and
elegant Herald Building and Park Bank. He looked across to the lower end
of the City Hall Park, not yet diverted from its original purpose for
the new Post Office building. He saw a procession of horse-cars in
constant motion up and down Park Row. Everything seemed lively and
animated; and again the thought came to Ben, "If there is employment for
all these people, there must be something for me to do."

He crossed to the foot of the Park, and walked up on the Park Row side.
Here again he saw a line of street merchants. Most conspicuous were the
dealers in penny ballads, whose wares lined the railings, and were
various enough to suit every taste. Here was an old woman, who might
have gained a first prize for ugliness, presiding over an apple-stand.

"Take one, honey; it's only two cints," she said, observing that Ben's
attention w