He went aboard the boat bound for Pittsburg. He slept soundly and was only awakened by the clanging of bells and the blowing of whistles. Peering out of the stateroom ventilator, his eyes met a sight such as he had never witnessed before. Fire in long-tongued flashes blazed up a hundred feet out of blackened chimneys, shadowy demons working over fiery furnaces, boiling, white hot lava flowed in streams, the air was filled with smoke and sparks.
Alfred imagined he had died in his sins and was now nearing the place of eternal torment. He could liken the scene before him to nothing on earth. It must be Hell, and he felt that the lid had been lifted for his especial benefit.
There was a rap on his stateroom door and a voice called: "All out for Pittsburg." Alfred hustled into his clothes and walked out in the cabin, not desiring to leave the boat until after daylight. He inquired of the clerk as to how long the boat would remain there. "We leave at eight o'clock," replied the clerk.
"Eight o'clock what? Morning or night?" asked Alfred.
"Eight o'clock morning," replied the man.
"Why, when does it get daylight in Pittsburg?" inquired the bewildered boy.
The clerk laughed as he answered, "Tomorrow, if the sun shines."
Alfred hastened ashore. The old National Hotel, Water and Smithfield Streets, had sheltered him before. Therein he entered. Changing his clothing he wandered forth aimlessly. He entered the Red Lion Hotel, looked over the circus grounds and then to Ben Trimble's Theatre; from there to the old Drury Theater, Wood and Fifth Avenue. He took in all the sights of the big city.
Then he began to make plans as to the future. The hotel rate was one dollar and a half a day. When Alfred settled, which he did at the end of the first day, he had but thirty-five cents left. He left his baggage with the hotel people and began a search for work.
Were you ever in a strange city, broke and without a friend, without the price of a bed, without the price of a full meal? Did you ever feel the loneliness, the forsakedness of this condition? You may say, "Well, I'd get a job; I'd do anything; I'd dig ditches; I'd—" Well, they do not dig ditches in winter, and when they do dig them you must have a vote before you can get a job even at that labor and you cannot get a job at any kind of laboring work unless your physique and clothes look the part.