Three People

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They descended the stairs; they knocked at the door, but they received
no answer; they tried the door, it was locked; they looked in at the
rickety window, the miserable stove, the rags, even the straw, were
gone--no trace of human residence was to be seen.

It does not take long to move away from Rensselaer Street. Tode and his
father were gone; and neither then nor afterward for many a day, though
John Birge and his companion made earnest search, were they to be found.
The "sufficient opportunity" was gone, too, and young Birge kept no eye
on the boy; but there was an All-seeing eye looking down on poor Tode
all the while.

CHAPTER III.

WOLFIE.

Mr. Hastings started on a journey. It was midwinter, so he muffled
himself in overcoat and furs, and carried his great fur-lined traveling
cloak, all nicely rolled and strapped, ready for extra occasions.

He was not in the very best humor when the night express reached Albany,
and he had finally changed his quarters from the Central to the Hudson
River Railroad. His arrangements had not been made for spending the
night on the train at all; his plan was to be fairly settled under the
blankets in a New York hotel by this time, but there had been detention
after detention all along his route. So the great man settled himself
with what grace he could, and unstrapped the fur-lined cloak, and made
other preparations for passing a night in the cars, his face, meanwhile,
wearing an ominous frown.

It was not so much the sitting-up all night that troubled him, for Mr.
Hastings was in excellent health, and an excellent traveler, and really
did not so much mind the fatigue; but he was a man accustomed to
carrying out his plans and intentions to the very letter, and it jarred
upon him to have even snow and ice audacious enough to interfere.

There were other travelers that night who had no fur-lined cloaks. One
in particular, who sat near the stove, and made such good use of the
dampers that Mr. Hastings had no use for his cloak, even after
unstrapping it, but flung it into a great furry heap on the nearest seat
behind him, and knew not then, nor ever, that the insignificant little
act was one of the tiny links in the chain of circumstances that were
molding Tode Mall's life.

Tode Mall started on a journey that very evening. He didn't pack his
valise, nor take his overcoat, nor ride to the depot in a carriage. In
fact, his father kicked him out of the cellar like a foot-ball, and bade
him good-by in these words:

"There! get out. And don't let me ever see a sight of your face again."

Tode rolled over once in the snow, then got up and shook himself, and
made prompt answer:

"All right! I'm agreed."

He then stuffed his hands into the ragged pockets of his ragged jacket,
and marched off up town, and because he happened to roll over and come
up with his face turned in the direction of the depot, is the only known
reason why he walked _up_ town instead of _down_.

Apparently he didn't take his father's late treatment very much to
heart.

"He's drunk," he said, philosophically. "That's what's the matter with
him. In about two hours he'll be over this part of the carouse and be
snoring, then I'll slip back all right, if I don't freeze beforehand.
Ain't it cold, though. I must travel faster than this."

On he went aimlessly, reached the depot presently, and followed the
crowd who crossed the river, for no better reason than that a great many
people seemed to be going that way. Following a portion of this same
crowd brought him at last to a platform of the departing train, just as
the steam-horse was giving a premonitory snort, and the official called
out for the second time:

"All aboard!"

"No, we ain't exactly," said Tode. "But it wouldn't take long to get
aboard if that is what you want, particularly if you've got a fire in
there."

And he peered curiously in at the drowsy passengers. It was just at this
point that Mr. Hastings threw his furry cloak away from him, and
settled among his other wraps for a night's rest. The action caught
Tode's eye.

"My! ain't that fellow comfortable?" chuckled he to himself. "Got a wolf
there that he don't appear to need. If he'd lend it to me I wouldn't
mind keeping him company for a spell. S'pose I try it?"

And suiting the action to the word he pushed open the door, and walked
boldly forward among the sleepy people, halted at the stove, and while
the delicious sense of warmth crept slowly over him he kept one eye on
Mr. Hastings until he felt sure, just as the train got fairly into
motion, that the gentleman had fairly commenced his nap, then he slid
himself into the empty seat, and used his hands and his wits in so
disposing of the "wolf" that it would cover his cuddled up body
completely, and at the same time look like nothing but an innocent cloak
thrown carelessly on the seat; and he chuckled as distinctly as he dared
when he heard the conductor's voice calling "tickets" to the sleepy
people, and presently the door opened, and shut with a slam, and the
silence that followed showed that he considered his business with that
car finished.

"He didn't ask Wolfie for his ticket," giggled Tode. "I reckon he don't
know he's alive, no more don't the man that thinks he owns him. I say
now, what if he gets a cold streak, and wants to borrow Wolfie for
himself after a spell? Poh!" he added after a minute, "it's easy enough
to get out the way I came in; but it will be time enough to do it when I
_have_ to. I ain't going to keep doing it all night. I vote for _one_
good warm nap, I do--so here goes."

And Tode went straightway to the land of dreams. The night wore on, the
restless traveler near the stove dozed and wakened and attended to the
dampers, thereby all unknowingly contributing his mite to Tode's warm
journey. The train halted now and again at a station, and a few sleepy
people stumbled off, and a few wide-awake ones came on, but still seats
were comparatively plenty and no one disturbed the fur cloak. In the
course of time Tode's sleep grew less sound; he twisted around as much
as his limits would allow, and punched an imaginary bed-fellow with his
elbow, muttering meanwhile:

"Keep still now. Which of you is joggling?"

The joggling continued, and at last the boy twisted and punched himself
awake and into a sitting posture, and finally the look of unmixed
astonishment with which he took in his surroundings, gave way to one of
unmistakable fun.

"Here's a go!" he at last informed himself. "I've come a journey and no
mistake; made a night of it sure as I live. Lucky I waked up first of
this crowd. If somebody had sat down on Wolfie now by mistake, there
might have been trouble. Guess I'll look about me."

He shook himself free from the cloak and sauntered out on the platform.
The gray dawn was just glimmering over the frozen earth, the world
looked snowy and icy and desolate. On swept the train, and not a
familiar object met his eye. Did Tode feel dreary and homesick, lost in
the whizzing strangeness, sorry he had come? Did he want to shrink away
from sight and sound? Did he feel that he would give anything in the
world to be landed at that moment somewhere near Broadway in Albany? Not
a bit of it! Nothing of the sort entered his brain. _He_ feel homesick!
Why his home was anywhere and nowhere. Since that day, years ago, when
his mother died, he had had less of a home than even before. Sometimes
he slept on the cellar floor with his father, but oftener in the street,
in a stable, or curled in a barrel when he had the good fortune to find
one--_anywhere_; but never in all his life had he spent such a
comfortable night as this last had been. But his father? Oh dear, you
don't know what fathers can become to their children, if you think he
missed him. Please remember his last act had been to kick his son out of
a cellar into the snow; but Tode bore him no ill-will for this or any
other attention. Oh no, nor good-will either. Why, his father was
simply less than nothing to him. So this morning, without an idea as to
what he was going to do next, he stood and watched himself being whirled
into New York, with no feeling save one of extreme satisfaction at the
success of his last night's plan, and alert only to keep out of the
reach of the conductor. The car door slammed behind him, and he turned
quickly, as two gentlemen came out. One of them eyed him closely, and
finally addressed him.

"Who are you with, my lad?"

Tode chuckled inwardly at this question, but added promptly enough,

"A man in there," nodding his head toward the car which contained Mr.
Hastings.

"Humph! the man must be crazy to let his servant travel in such a suit
as that in this bitter weather."

This remark was addressed to his companion as the two passed into the
next car. Tode chuckled outright this time; he had a new idea.

"That's the talk," he informed himself. "I'm his servant; just it
prezackly--much obliged. I hadn't thought of that arrangement before,
but I like the plan first rate. Maybe Wolfie and I will get another
night or so together by the means."

So now he had two items of business on hand, dodging the conductor and
keeping an eye on his traveling companion. The first he managed to
accomplish by dint of always passing out at one end of the car just as
that official was entering at the other, aided in his scheme by the fact
that it was not yet light, and also that they were fairly in the city.
But the last was an extremely difficult matter. A dozen times, as he
breathlessly pushed and elbowed his way through the hurrying crowd, did
he think that he had hopelessly lost sight of his guide, and as often
did he catch another glimpse of him and push on. At last a car, not too
full for Mr. Hastings to crowd himself into, rewarded his signal, and
Tode plunged after him as far as the platform. There he halted. There
were many passengers and much fare to collect, so our young scamp had
enjoyed quite a ride before his turn came.

"Fare," said the conductor at last, briefly and sharply, right at his
elbow.

"Yes, sir," answered Tode as promptly. "Only it's pretty cold and
windy."

"Pay your fare," shouted the conductor.

"Oh bless me--yes, to be sure."

And Tode fumbled in both pockets, drawing out bits of strings and balls
of paper and ends of candles, everything but pennies; then looked up
with an innocent face.

"Why, as true as you live, I haven't got a cent."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Why riding, to be sure. It's enough sight nicer than walking this windy
day. Your driver stopped for everybody that held up his hand. I saw him,
so when I was invited kind of, how did I know I'd have to pay?"

The demure, innocent, childlike air with which Tode rattled off this
story can not be described. The conductor laughed.

"You're either _very_ green or VERY old," he said at last. "And I'm not
sure which. Where do you want to go?"

"Oh I ain't a bit particular. You needn't go out of your way on my
account. I'll ride right along with you, and look at the sights."

Which accommodating spirit seemed greatly to amuse the other platform
riders; and as the car stopped at that moment for passengers, the
conductor turned away with a laugh, and left Tode to enjoy his ride in
peace.

On they went, and in spite of driving snow and sleet, Tode managed to
make the acquaintance of the driver, and get considerable amusement out
of his trip, when he suddenly broke off in the midst of a sentence, and
cleared the steps with a bound. Mr. Hastings had left the car and
crossed the street. Then commenced another chase, around the corner,
down one block, up another, on and on, until Tode, panting and
breathless, brought up at last before a grand hotel, inside which Mr.
Hastings vanished. Tode pushed boldly forward, shied behind a fat
gentleman who ran against them in the hall, and remained hidden long
enough to overhear the following conversation:

"Why, Mr. Hastings! How do you do? When did you arrive?"

"By the morning train, sir. All full here?"

"Well, comfortably so. Make room for you without a doubt. Stop here?"

"Yes, sir. Always do."

"Remain long?"

"No, return on Friday. Waiter, this way, sir."

Tode drew a long breath of relief, and dodged out.

"Well," said he, with a satisfied air, "I'm thankful to say I've got
that man landed at last where he'll be likely to stay for some time.
He's Mr. Hastings, is he? It's convenient to know who one belongs to.
Now I must trudge off and do a little business on my own account, seeing
we 'return on Friday.' First let's take a look at the name of this place
where I've decided to leave him, and this street is--yes, I see. _Now_
I'm all right--trust me for finding my way here again. Don't you be one
mite worried, Brother Hastings, I'll be around in time."

And Tode disappeared around a corner, whistling merrily.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

BRAIN-WORK.

What Tode _didn't_ do during those three days' tarry in New York could
be told almost better than what he did. No country novice visiting the
great city for the first time could have begun to crowd in the sights
and scenes that revealed themselves to Tode's eager, wide-open eyes, in
the same space of time.

The boy had the advantage of most such, in that he had not much to eat,
and nowhere to eat it; also that he was in the habit of sleeping nowhere
in particular, consequently these matters took up very little of his
time. However he fared well, better than usual. He carried a package for
an over-loaded man for a short distance, thereby earning ten cents,
which he immediately expended in peanuts, and became peanut merchant for
the time being. So by dint of changing his business ten or a dozen
times, and being always on the alert, and understanding pretty
thoroughly the art of economy, he managed his lodging and three meals a
day, and was richer by twenty-five cents on the morning when he prepared
to take his departure than he was when he arrived in the city, a fact of
which few people who have been spending several days in New York can
boast.

Tode's fancy for attaching himself to Mr. Hastings still continued in
full force, and brought him bright and early on Friday morning around to
the hotel, where he had last seen him. Not one minute too early,
however, and but for Mr. Hastings' own tardiness too late. He had just
missed a car, and no other was in sight. Tode took in the situation at a
glance, and hopped across the street.

"Carry your baggage, sir?"

Mr. Hastings had a valise, a package, a cane, an umbrella, and the great
fur-lined cloak. He appreciated Tode's assistance.

"Yes," he said. "Take this, and this."

Away they went down town to head off another car, which was presently
signaled.

"Jump in, boy, and be ready to help me at the other end, if you're a
mind to," said Mr. Hastings, graciously, noticing the wistful look on
the boy's face, and thinking he wanted a ride.

Tode obeyed in great glee; he considered this a streak of luck. He sat
beside Mr. Hastings and watched with great satisfaction while that
gentleman counted out double fare. For the first time, Tode thought they
had assumed proper positions toward each other. Of course Mr. Hastings
ought to pay his fare since he belonged to him.

Arrived at the depot, and Mr. Hastings' baggage properly disposed of,
himself paid, and supposed to be dismissed, Tode was in a quandary. Here
was the train, and on it he meant to travel; but how to manage it was
another question. It was broad daylight; sleep and Wolfie couldn't serve
him now. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, and studied ways and
means; eyes bent on the ground, and the ground helped him, rather a bit
of pasteboard did. He picked it up, and read, first in bewilderment then
in delight: "New York to Castleton." A ticket! all properly stamped, and
paid for, undoubtedly. Did Tode hesitate, have great qualms of
conscience, consider what he ought to do, how to set about to find the
owner? He never once thought of any thing. Poor Tode hardly knew so much
as that there were such articles as consciences, much less that he had
anything to do with them. Somebody had lost his ticket, and _he_ had
found it, and it was precisely what he wanted. Once at Castleton, it
would be an easy matter to get to Albany. He thrust the precious card
into his pocket, swung himself on the train, and selected his seat at
leisure. Tode had never been to Sabbath-school, had never in his life
knelt at the family altar and been prayed for. There are boys, I fear
me, who having been shielded by both these things, placed in like
position would have followed his example.

The seat he selected was as far as possible removed from the one which
Mr. Hastings occupied. It was no part of Tode's plan to be discovered by
that gentleman just at present. On the whole, this part of his journey
was voted "tame." He had to sit up in his seat, and show his ticket like
any one else; and it required no skill at all to forget to jump off at
Castleton, and so of necessity be carried on. He sauntered over in Mr.
Hastings' vicinity once, and heard an important conversation.

"Can you tell me, sir," inquired that gentleman of his next neighbor,
"whether by taking the midnight train at Albany I shall reach Buffalo in
time to connect with a train on the Lake Shore Road?"

"You will, sir; but it is a slow train. By keeping right on now you can
connect with the Lake Shore Express."

"I know; but I have business that will detain me in Albany."

"So have I," muttered Tode, well pleased with the arrangement, and went
back to his seat.

* * * * *

"Halloo, Tode! where you been?" called out a sixteen-year old comrade
from a cellar grocery window, as Tode turned out of Broadway that same
evening.

"Been traveling for my health. Say, Jerry, seen anything of father
lately?"

"He's gone off on a frolic. Went night before last--bag and baggage."

"Where did he go?"

Jerry shook his head.

"More than I know. Doubt if he knew himself about the time he started;
but he'll bring up all right after a spell, likely."

Landed in Albany, the only home he knew, Tode had his first touch of
loneliness and depression. The cellar was closed, his father gone, no
one knew where nor for how long an absence, nor even if he meant to
return at all. Tode was cold and dreary. Up to this time he had followed
out his whim of belonging to the owner of the fur cloak, merely _as_ a
whim, with no definite purpose at all; but now, queerly enough, parted
with the man with whom he had journeyed, and over whom he kept so close
a watch during these four days, he had a feeling of loneliness as if he
had lost something--he begun to wish he did belong to him in very truth.
Suppose he did, worked for him say, and earned a warm place to sleep in
of nights--this was the hight of his present ambition. The warm place to
sleep suggested to him the good night's rest under the cloak, and also
the fact that there was another bitter night shutting down rapidly over
the earth, and that he had no spot for shelter.

"I'll push on," he said at last, in a decisive tone. "I'd as lief go to
Buffalo as anywhere else--the thing is to get there; but then I can get
_on_ the cars, and get _off_ at Buffalo if I can, and before if I _have_
to."

This matter settled, his spirits began to rise at once; and by the time
Mr. Hastings and he crowded their way through the midnight train, the
cars contained no such gleeful spirit as Tode Mall's.

More skill was needed than on the preceding journey, for the fur-lined
cloak was thrown over the back of the seat fronting him this time, and
Mr. Hastings sat erect and wide awake, and looked extremely cross.

"I have the most extraordinary luck," he was telling a man, as Tode
entered. "Nothing but delay and confusion since I left home. Never had
such an experience before."

But the car was warm and the air was heavy, and Mr. Hastings' erect head
began to nod in a suspicious manner. Tode watched and waited, and was
finally rewarded. The gentleman made deliberate preparations for a nap,
and was soon taking it.

Now for the young scamp's trial of skill! He slipped into the vacant
seat--he curled himself into a ball--he pulled and twitched softly and
dextrously at the fur cloak, to make it come down and lie over him in
such a manner that it would look like pure accident; and at last he was
settled for the night. He felt the soft, delicious, furry warmth once
more, and he hugged his friend and fairly shook with delight and
triumph.

"Oh, ho! Ha! Hum!" he chuckled. "How _are_ you, Wolfie? How've you been?
You and me is friends, we is. We're travelers, we are. Now, we'll have a
tall sleep. Ain't this just the jolliest thing, though?"

Then Tode went to sleep. By and by he felt a jerking. He roused up, the
car lamps were burning dim. Mr. Hastings was pulling at his cloak and
eyed _him_ severely, but Tode innocently and earnestly helped him to
right it, and treated its tumble over on to _him_ as a very natural
accident. The train was at a stand-still. Tode thought best to find out
his whereabouts. He went out to the platform.

"What station is this?" he inquired of a boy who, like himself, was
peering into the darkness.

"Oh, this is a way-station. We'll be in Syracuse in about half an hour.
We've got to change cars there."

"We don't if we're going to Buffalo," answered Tode, in a business-like
tone. He knew nothing whatever about the matter.

"Yes we do, too. Got to wait an hour. I just asked the conductor."

Tode walked in and took his seat; he saw his way clear. Presently came
the conductor, and halted before him. Tode's hand sought his pocket.

"How much to Syracuse?" he questioned; and being naturally told the rate
of fare from their last stopping place to Syracuse, he counted it out
and sat back at his leisure.

At Syracuse Mr. Hastings went into the hotel to get his breakfast. Tode
walked the piazza and whistled for his; besides he had something to do.
He didn't see his way clear, but the more difficult the way grew the
more delightful it looked to Tode, and the more determined was he to
tread it. The hour sped on. Mr. Hastings' breakfast was concluded. He
was in the depot now talking with an acquaintance. Tode was just behind
him thinking still.

"All aboard!" shouted the official. "Passengers for Buffalo this way!"

And Mr. Hastings caught up valise, bundle, umbrella, cane, and
vanished--all those, but the fur-lined cloak lay innocently cuddled in a
warm heap on the seat. Tode seized upon it in an instant and hugged it
close.

"Oh, Wolfie, Wolfie!" he chuckled, "You're the best friend I got in the
world. You went and got left on my account, didn't you?"

It was but the work of a moment to hustle himself and his prize into the
train--_not_ into the car that Mr. Hastings had taken--and once more
they were off.

When they were fairly under way he presented himself before the
astonished eyes of Mr. Hastings with this brief sentence:

"Here he is, sir, safe and sound."

"Here who is?"

"Wolfie, sir. You left him lying on a seat in Syracuse, and I got him
and jumped on."

"Why, is it possible I left my cloak? Why, bless me! I never did such a
careless thing before in my life; and so you jumped on, and have got
carried off by the means. Well, sir, you're an honest boy; and now what
shall I give you to make it all right?"

"I want to get to Buffalo like sixty," answered Tode, meekly. "And I
haven't a cent to my name."

"You do, eh? And you would like to have me pay your fare? Well, that's
not an unreasonable demand, seeing this is a very valuable cloak."

And Mr. Hastings counted out the fare to Buffalo and a few pennies over;
and Tode thankfully received it, and went out and sat down in a corner
and whistled.

Imagine Mr. Hastings' astonishment when, soon after he had made his last
change of cars and was speeding homeward on the Lake Shore Road, Tode
appeared to him.

"Well!" was his exclamation, "what are you doing here? This isn't
Buffalo."

"No, sir; but a fellow sometimes has to get to Buffalo before he can get
to Cleveland, you know."

"Oh, you're bound for Cleveland, are you? And who pays your way this
time?"

"Well, sir," said Tode, gravely, "I'm traveling with you."

"What?"

"I _am_. I've been from Albany to New York with you, and I left you at
the hotel, and I came after you on Friday, and carried your valise and
things to the cars, and came up to Albany with you, and waited for you
until the midnight train, and came on to Syracuse with you, and waited
while you got your breakfast--and here I am."

Unbounded amazement kept Mr. Hastings silent. Presently he asked,
incredulously:

"Who paid your fare all this time?"

"Wolfie, principally."

"Who?"

"Wolfie," pointing to the cloak. "I hid under him, and cuddled up, and
he made it all right with the conductor."

Mr. Hastings' face was a study--astonishment, indignation and fun each
struggling for the mastery. At last his face broadened, and his eyes
twinkled, and he leaned back in his seat and indulged in a long, loud,
hearty laugh. Tode's eyes twinkled, but he waited decorously for the
laugh to subside.

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