The problem promised to be a perplexing one, but Frank was by no means discouraged. In fact, if he had been, he would hardly have deserved to be the hero of my story.
Though Clinton Place is not very far uptown, it is a considerable walk from this point to the Astor House.
There was so much to see, however, that Frank did not become tired, nor was he sensible of the distance. He walked a little beyond the Astor House, and, crossing Broadway, turned down Fulton Street.
On the left side of the street his attention was drawn to a restaurant, and he was led by the prompting of appetite to enter.
The prices he found to be reasonable, and the tables were already pretty well filled with clerks and business men, who were partaking of their midday lunch.
Frank found that a plate of meat, with potato and a small supply of bread and butter, could be obtained for fifteen cents.
He afterward found restaurants where the same could be gotten for ten cents, but generally there was a deficiency in quality or quantity, and there was less neatness in serving the articles.
Seated at the same table with Frank were two young men, neither probably much over twenty. One appeared to be filling a regular clerkship.
"What are you doing now, Jack?" he asked of the other.
"I am in the tea business."