Dan Davis drew a long sigh.
“Come,” he said.
“Where?”
“Somewhere where we can spend our last fifty cents for a meal. That will be the last meal we shall have until we get to Newport. Then we will look about some. We have several hours before the boat leaves. We shall probably get lost the first thing we do, but we have plenty of time in which to find ourselves,” added Dan, with a short laugh.
Naturally, the ships that lined one side of South Street, along which they were strolling, held the greatest interest for them. There were sailing ships from the four quarters of the globe, tramp steamers, coasters from southern ports, interspersed with ferry boats and tug boats of every size and class. There was such a confusion of craft that the boys could scarcely make out one from the other.
They had reached a cross street, up which they decided to turn, having learned that it would lead them to Broadway, which thoroughfare they were anxious to see, when there occurred an interruption that changed their plans entirely for the time being.
Sam had paused beside a little two-wheeled cart to purchase an apple from an old woman who had asked him to buy. He had just handed over his nickel for the apple when a crowd of firemen from a tramp steamer came rolling up the street, the grime of the stoke hole still on their faces.
Freed from the restraint of their floating prison, the men were hilarious and bent on mischief. But neither of the lads observed them, nor did they hear the shouts and songs of the stokers above the roar of the traffic in the busy street.
The first intimation the boys had that trouble was abroad was when a hulking stoker let fly a heavily booted foot at the little apple wagon.
His aim was true. Up shot the wagon, apples flying in all directions, showering over the heads of the lads and into the muddy gutter. The apple wagon itself turned bottom upward, landing fairly on the head of the aged woman, carrying her down with it, and flattening her in the gutter amid the ruin of her precious wares.