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Transcriber's notes:

Captions have been added to the illustration markers
for the convenience of some readers. These have been
indicated by an asterisk.

A list of some of the author's other books has been moved from the front
papers to the end of the book.


 [Illustration: Front cover]*

 [Illustration: Title page:
 RAGGED DICK SERIES BY HORATIO ALGER JR.
 BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY]


  BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;

  OR,

  AMONG THE WHARVES.

  BY

  HORATIO ALGER, JR.,

  AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FAME AND FORTUNE," "MARK, THE MATCH
  BOY," "ROUGH AND READY," "CAMPAIGN SERIES,"
  "LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES," ETC.

  THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,

  PHILADELPHIA,
  CHICAGO, TORONTO.


  TO

  ANNIE,

  THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED

  In Tender Remembrance,

  BY HER

 _AFFECTIONATE BROTHER_




PREFACE.


In presenting "Ben, the Luggage Boy," to the public, as the fifth of the
Ragged Dick Series, the author desires to say that it is in all
essential points a true history; the particulars of the story having
been communicated to him, by Ben himself, nearly two years since. In
particular, the circumstances attending the boy's running away from
home, and adopting the life of a street boy, are in strict accordance
with Ben's own statement. While some of the street incidents are
borrowed from the writer's own observation, those who are really
familiar with the different phases which street life assumes in New
York, will readily recognize their fidelity. The chapter entitled "The
Room under the Wharf" will recall to many readers of the daily journals
a paragraph which made its appearance within two years. The writer
cannot close without expressing anew his thanks for the large share of
favor which has been accorded to the volumes of the present series, and
takes this opportunity of saying that, in their preparation, invention
has played but a subordinate part. For his delineations of character and
choice of incidents, he has been mainly indebted to his own observation,
aided by valuable communications and suggestions from those who have
been brought into familiar acquaintance with the class whose mode of
life he has sought to describe.

NEW YORK, April 5, 1876.


BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;

OR,

AMONG THE WHARVES.




CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCES BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY.


"How much yer made this mornin', Ben?"

"Nary red," answered Ben, composedly.

"Had yer breakfast?"

"Only an apple. That's all I've eaten since yesterday. It's most time
for the train to be in from Philadelphy. I'm layin' round for a job."

The first speaker was a short, freckled-faced boy, whose box strapped to
his back identified him at once as a street boot-black. His hair was
red, his fingers defaced by stains of blacking, and his clothing
constructed on the most approved system of ventilation. He appeared to
be about twelve years old.

The boy whom he addressed as Ben was taller, and looked older. He was
probably not far from sixteen. His face and hands, though browned by
exposure to wind and weather, were several shades cleaner than those of
his companion. His face, too, was of a less common type. It was easy to
see that, if he had been well dressed, he might readily have been taken
for a gentleman's son. But in his present attire there was little chance
of this mistake being made. His pants, marked by a green stripe, small
around the waist and very broad at the hips, had evidently once belonged
to a Bowery swell; for the Bowery has its swells as well as Broadway,
its more aristocratic neighbor. The vest had been discarded as a
needless luxury, its place being partially supplied by a shirt of thick
red flannel. This was covered by a frock-coat, which might once have
belonged to a member of the Fat Men's Association, being aldermanic in
its proportions. Now it was fallen from its high estate, its nap and
original gloss had long departed, and it was frayed and torn in many
places. But among the street-boys dress is not much regarded, and Ben
never thought of apologizing for the defects of his wardrobe. We shall
learn in time what were his faults and what his virtues, for I can
assure my readers that street boys do have virtues sometimes, and when
they are thoroughly convinced that a questioner feels an interest in
them will drop the "chaff" in which they commonly indulge, and talk
seriously and feelingly of their faults and hardships. Some do this for
a purpose, no doubt, and the verdant stranger is liable to be taken in
by assumed virtue, and waste sympathy on those who do not deserve it.
But there are also many boys who have good tendencies and aspirations,
and only need to be encouraged and placed under right influences to
develop into worthy and respectable men.

The conversation recorded above took place at the foot of Cortlandt
Street, opposite the ferry wharf. It was nearly time for the train, and
there was the usual scene of confusion. Express wagons, hacks, boys,
laborers, were gathering, presenting a confusing medley to the eye of
one unaccustomed to the spectacle.

Ben was a luggage boy, his occupation being to wait at the piers for the
arrival of steamboats, or at the railway stations, on the chance of
getting a carpet-bag or valise to carry. His business was a precarious
one. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes unlucky. When he was flush, he
treated himself to a "square meal," and finished up the day at Tony
Pastor's, or the Old Bowery, where from his seat in the pit he indulged
in independent criticism of the acting, as he leaned back in his seat
and munched peanuts, throwing the shells about carelessly.

It is not surprising that the street-boys like the Old Bowery, and are
willing to stint their stomachs, or run the risk of a night in the
streets, for the sake of the warm room and the glittering illusions of
the stage, introducing them for the time being to the society of nobles
and ladies of high birth, and enabling them to forget for a time the
hardships of their own lot, while they follow with rapt interest the
fortunes of Lord Frederic Montressor or the Lady Imogene Delacour.
Strange as it may seem, the street Arab has a decided fancy for these
pictures of aristocracy, and never suspects their want of fidelity. When
the play ends, and Lord Frederic comes to his own, having foiled all the
schemes of his crafty and unprincipled enemies, no one rejoices more
than the ragged boy who has sat through the evening an interested
spectator of the play, and in his pleasure at the successful denouement,
he almost forgets that he will probably find the Newsboys' Lodging House
closed for the night, and be compelled to take up with such sleeping
accommodations as the street may provide.

Ben crossed the street, taking a straight course, without paying
especial attention to the mud, which caused other pedestrians to pick
their way. To the condition of his shoes he was supremely indifferent.
Stockings he did not wear. They are luxuries in which few street boys
indulge.

He had not long to wait. The boat bumped against the wharf, and directly
a crowd of passengers poured through the open gates in a continuous
stream.

Ben looked sharply around him to judge who would be likely to employ
him. His attention was drawn to an elderly lady, with a large carpet-bag
swelled almost to bursting. She was looking about her in a bewildered
manner.

"Carry your bag, ma'am?" he said, at the same time motioning towards it.

"Who be you?" asked the old lady, suspiciously.

"I'm a baggage-smasher," said Ben.

"Then I don't want you," answered the old lady, clinging to her bag as
if she feared it would be wrested from her. "I'm surprised that the law
allows sich things. You might be in a better business, young man, than
smashing baggage."

"That's where you're right, old lady," said Ben.

"Bankin' would pay better, if I only had the money to start on."

"Are you much acquainted in New York?" asked the old lady.

"Yes," said Ben; "I know the mayor 'n' aldermen, 'n' all the principal
men. A. T. Stooart's my intimate friend, and I dine with Vanderbilt
every Sunday when I aint engaged at Astor's."

"Do you wear them clo'es when you visit your fine friends?" asked the
old lady, shrewdly.

"No," said Ben. "Them are my every-day clo'es. I've got some velvet
clo'es to home, embroidered with gold."

"I believe you are telling fibs," said the old lady. "What I want to
know is, if you know my darter, Mrs. John Jones; her first name is
Seraphiny. She lives on Bleecker Street, and her husband, who is a nice
man, though his head is bald on top, keeps a grocery store."

"Of course I do," said Ben. "It was only yesterday that she told me her
mother was comin' to see her. I might have knowed you was she."

"How would you have knowed?"

"C