“I will try to get something to do this week,” went on Ben. “At any rate I don’t want to keep the room longer than I can pay for it.”
Two days later the dollar was gone and but thirty-seven cents remained. Though cheerful and sanguine naturally, poor Ben felt despondent.
“I will take any employment that offers,” he said to himself, as he left the house at an early hour.
He directed his steps eastward, and soon found himself on the Bowery.
He had not yet eaten breakfast. He was in search of a restaurant where the prices would not be too great for his limited means. At last he found one, where plates of meat were advertised for ten cents, baked beans five cents, and coffee or tea three cents.
He entered and seating himself at a table ordered a cup of coffee and some beans. With the latter were brought two triangular slices of bread and a small pat of butter that was probably oleomargarine. This made his meal ticket eight cents, which certainly could not be regarded as extravagant.
When he was paying for his breakfast something led him to inquire of the proprietor, who acted as his own cashier, if he knew of any place he could get.
“Do you want work?” asked the restaurant keeper, eying Ben with some surprise.
“Yes, sir.”
“How is that? You’ve got good clothes, and have a watch.”