"Oh, it's a bully place--lots of fun. You must go there some time."
"I think I will," answered Ben, mentally adding, "if I ever have money enough."
Here the music struck up, and they stopped to listen to it. When this was over, Jerry proposed to go out. Ben would have been willing to stay longer; but he saw that his companion did not care so much for the music as himself, and he did not wish to lose sight of him. To be alone in a great city, particularly under Ben's circumstances, is not very pleasant, and our young adventurer determined to stick to his new acquaintance, who, though rough in his manners, had yet seemed inclined to be friendly, and Ben felt sadly in need of a friend.
"Where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked Ben, introducing a subject which had given him some anxiety.
"I don't know," said Jerry, carelessly. "I'll find a place somewhere."
"I'll go with you, if you'll let me," said Ben.
"What's the odds? They don't charge nothin' at the hotel where I stop."
"Rather. I didn't sleep much last night."
"Well, we'll go and find a place now. How'd you like sleepin' on cotton-bales?"
"There's a pile of bales down on the pier, where the New Orleans steamers come in. Maybe we could get a chance there."
"Pier 8, North River. It'll take us twenty minutes, or maybe half an hour, to go there."
He felt relieved at the idea of so comfortable a bed as a cotton-bale, and was anxious to get stowed away for the night.
The two boys struck across to Broadway, and followed that street down past Trinity Church, turning down the first street beyond. Rector Street, notwithstanding its clerical name, is far from an attractive street. Just in the rear of the great church, and extending down to the wharves, is a collection of miserable dwellings, occupied by tenants upon whom the near presence of the sanctuary appears to produce little impression of a salutary character. Ben looked about him in ill-concealed disgust. He neither fancied the neighborhood, nor the people whom he met. But the Island is very narrow just here, and he had not far to walk to West Street, which runs along the edge of Manhattan Island, and is lined with wharves. Jerry, of course, did not mind the surroundings. He was too well used to them to care.