Ben, the Luggage Boy: or, Among the Wharves

"No," said Ben. "I haven't got capital enough for that, unless you'll sell out for fifty cents."

"I suppose you want a few to carry round and sell?"

"Yes."

"Where do you think of going with them?"

"Down to the wharves. I'm a baggage-smasher, and I thought I might make somethin' by sellin' papers, when I hadn't any baggage to carry."

"I get my papers from the 'American News Company' on Nassau Street."

"I know the place well enough."

"What papers do you think I could sell best?" asked Ben.

"The picture papers go off as fast as any," said the street dealer. "But I'll tell you what, my lad, maybe I can make an arrangement for you to sell papers for me."

"I don't think I'd like to stand here all day," said Ben, supposing the other to mean to engage him to tend the stand.

"I don't mean that."

"Well, said Ben, "I'm open to an offer, as the old maid of sixty told a feller that called to see her."

"I'll tell you what I mean. I'll give you a bundle of papers every morning to take with you. You will sell what you can, and bring back the rest at night."

"I like that," said Ben, with satisfaction. "But how much will I get?"

"It will depend on the price of the papers. 'Harper's Weekly' and 'Frank Leslie' sell for ten cents. I will allow you two cents on each of these. On the 'Ledger' and 'Weekly,' and other papers of that price, I will allow one cent. You'd make rather more if you bought them yourself; but you might have them left on your hands."

"That's so," said Ben.

"Did you ever sell papers?"

"I used to sell the mornin' and evenin' papers before I went to baggage-smashin'."

"Then you know something about the business. When do you want to begin?"

"Right off."

"Very well; I will make you up a bundle of a dozen papers to begin on. I'll put in three each of the illustrated papers, and fill up with the story papers."

"All right, mister, you know better than I what people will buy."

The dealer began to collect the papers, but paused in the middle of his task, and looked doubtfully at our hero.

"Well, what's up?" asked Ben, observing his hesitation.

"How do I know but you'll sell the papers, and keep the money yourself?" said the dealer.

"That's so," said Ben. "I never thought of that."

"That wouldn't be very profitable for me, you see."

"I'll bring back the money or the papers," said Ben. "You needn't be afraid."

"Very likely you would; but how am I to know that?"

"So you don't want to trust me," said Ben, rather disappointed.

"Have you got any money?"

"Yes."

"Very well, you can leave enough with me to secure me against loss, and I will give you the papers."

"How much will that be?"

After a little thought, the dealer answered, "Seventy-five cents." He had some doubt whether Ben had so much; but our hero quickly set his doubts at rest by drawing out his two half-dollars, and demanding a quarter in change.

The sight of this money reassured the dealer. Ben's ragged clothes had led him to doubt his financial soundness; but the discovery that he was a capitalist to the extent of a dollar gave him considerable more respect for him. A dollar may not be a very large sum; I hope that to you, my young reader, it is a very small one, and that you have never been embarrassed for the want of it; but it is enough to lift a ragged street boy from the position of a penniless vagabond to that of a thrifty capitalist. After seeing it, the dealer would almost have felt safe in trusting Ben with the papers without demanding a deposit of their value. Still it was better and safer to require a deposit, and he therefore took the dollar from Ben, returning twenty-five cents in change.

This preliminary matter settled, he made up the parcel of papers.

"There they are," he said. "If you're smart, you can sell 'em all before night."

"I hope so," said Ben.

With the papers under his arm, Ben made his way westward to the Cortlandt Street ferry, which was a favorite place of resort with him.

He did not have long to wait for his first customer. As he was walking down Cortlandt Street, he met a gentleman, whose attention seemed attracted by the papers he carried.

"What papers have you got there, my lad?" he inquired.

"'Harper's Weekly,' 'Frank Leslie,' 'Ledger,' 'Weekly,'" repeated Ben, glibly, adding the names of the other papers in his parcel.

"Give me the two picture papers," said the gentleman. "Twenty cents, I suppose."

"Yes," said Ben, "and as much more as you want to pay. I don't set no limit to the generosity of my customers."

"You're sharp," said the gentleman, laughing. "That's worth something. Here's twenty-five cents. You may keep the change."

"I'll do it cheerfully," said Ben. "Thank you, sir. I hope you'll buy all your papers of me."

"I won't promise always to pay you more than the regular price, but you may leave 'Harper's' and 'Leslie' at my office every week. Here is my card."

Ben took the card, and put it in his pocket. He found the office to be located in Trinity Building, Broadway.

"I'll call every week reg'lar," he said.