thought Ben; and he could not help wishing he had
a cup of the good coffee his mother used to make at home.
"Have anything more?" asked the waiter, coming up to the table.
Ben looked over the bill of fare, not that he expected to get anything
for the two cents that still remained to him, but because he wanted to
notice the prices of different articles. His eye rested rather longingly
on "Apple Dumplings." He was very fond of this dish, and his appetite
was so far from being satisfied that he felt that he could have easily
disposed of a plate. But the price was ten cents, and of course it was
entirely beyond his means.
"Nothing more," said he, and rose from his seat.
He went up to the counter and settled his bill, and went out again into
the street. He felt more comfortable than he had done, as one is very
apt to feel after a good dinner, and Ben's dinner had been a good one,
his appetite making up for any deficiency in the quality.
Where should he go now?
He was still tired, and did not care to wander about the streets.
Besides, he had no particular place to go to. He therefore decided to
walk back to the City Hall Park, and sit down on one of the benches.
There would be something to see, and he was interested in watching the
street boys, whose ranks he felt that he should very soon be compelled
to join. His prospects did not look particularly bright, as he was not
provided with means sufficient to pay for another meal. But the time had
not yet come to trouble himself about that. When he got hungry again, he
would probably realize his position a little more keenly.
CHAPTER V.
A BEER-GARDEN IN THE BOWERY.
Ben sat down again in his old seat, and occupied himself once more in
looking about him. After a while he became sleepy. Besides having taken
a considerable walk, he had not slept much the night before. As no one
occupied the bench but himself, he thought he might as well make himself
comfortable. Accordingly he laid his bundle crosswise at one end, and
laid back, using it for a pillow. The visor of his cap he brought down
over his eyes, so as to shield them from the afternoon sun. The seat was
hard, to be sure, but his recumbent position rested him. He did not mean
to go to sleep, but gradually the sounds around him became an indistinct
hum; even the noise and bustle of busy Broadway, but a few feet distant,
failed to ward off sleep, and in a short time he was sleeping soundly.
Of course he
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