When it was time for Paul to go back to the hotel, the question of escorting him to the steamer arose, for he was to make one more effort to start with his father for Europe, and it was quite certain that there would be no mistake this time. The steamer was to sail at ten o’clock; and of course all the boys could not go, since some one must be left to attend to the store, though who that unfortunate one would be promised to be a vexing question, till Ben said,
“I’m the oldest, an’ so I s’pose it must be me. I’ll have to say good-bye now, Polly, for I can’t see you in the mornin’. When you come back, be sure an’ come up here, won’t you? And if you’ll write to us, Johnny an’ I’ll answer you back, for we’re goin’ to study awful hard, now that we’ve got a store of our own, an’ it won’t be long before we can write an’ figger an’ do all them things.”
Paul promised that he would send letters regularly to his friends; and when he left the store with Dickey to be sure that he did not miss the way, Ben felt more sad at parting with him than he would have thought it possible for a boy to feel who was half owner of such a beautiful store.
The business of selling newspapers seemed to have been nearly forsaken the next morning, for fully forty newsboys and at least a dozen boot-blacks were at the pier to say good-bye to Polly Weston, the boy who had once seemed so forlorn, and who had played Hamlet so successfully. Paul was highly pleased at such attention on the part of his acquaintances, and he presented nearly all of them to his father, who was not a little surprised at the number of friends his son had made in so short a time.
After Paul had said good-bye to each one individually, and was just about going on board the steamer, Mopsey stopped him, taking him aside with a great show of secrecy.
“I own all the theatre now, Polly,” he whispered, “an’ when you come back I’ll let you be one of the actors, if you want to, an’ I’ll fix up a play where you’ll have all the best chances.”
Paul thanked Mopsey for his kindness; but before he could say whether he accepted the generous offer or not, his father called him, and he was obliged to go on board, leaving the sole proprietor (and author) of the theatre at a loss to know whether he should write a play especially for Paul or not.
Then the huge steamer slowly started from the dock, and Paul stood near the stern, where he could see his army of small acquaintances, the greater portion of whom had been so kind to him when he most needed friends. The ragged crowd were all swinging their hats, and Paul had just begun to wave his handkerchief when Mopsey saw the chance to bestow a very delicate compliment. Jumping on a pile of merchandise, where he could better see and be seen, he waved his hat furiously and shouted, in his shrillest dramatic key,
“Three cheers for Polly, an’ three more for Polly’s father!”
Then that crowd of boys swarmed up over everything that would raise them more prominently into view, pushing aside any one in their way, and both looking and acting like a hive of bees getting ready to swarm, until they stood high above all the others.