"There's lots of strange sights, no doubt, to new eyes like yours. You'll find lots that's bright and a heap more that's dark and dismal enough."
A moment later they set out. Passing up Liberty Street, they turned into Greenwich and walked along to Fulton.
The Elevated Road, with its noise, was a surprise to the boy, but he
was not allowed time to notice it long, for the sailor hurried him up
Fulton Street, to St. Paul's Church, and then they stood on Broadway.
"What a busy—an awfully busy—street!" was Richard's comment.
"It's rather dull now," said Doc Linyard. "Just wait till day-time. The wagons and people are enough to drive a man wild. That's the postoffice over there," he continued, as he pointed to the stone structure that stands as a wedge, separating Broadway from Park Row and the Bowery.
"Come ahead. Here we are on Newspaper Row, as lots call it. This was the Herald building before that paper moved uptown. It used to be Barnum's Museum years ago. Way down at the head of Frankfort Street is the World, and nearly all the rest of the great dailies are strung along between the two. Here we are."
As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the outer office of a newspaper about midway down the Row.
It was a lively place, a constant stream of people coming in and going out, and the hum of many voices—the whole putting Richard in mind of some huge machine, grinding out its stipulated work.
Along one side of the counting room was a row of small windows, each labeled with its department name.
Stepping up to that marked "Advertisements," the old sailor handed in the one Richard had written out.
The clerk examined it. Then he wrote in the number of a box, and put down several private marks in the corner.