CHAPTER XII.
THE NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE.
When Mother Watson had turned the corner, Mark breathed a sigh of relief.
"Don't you think she'll come back again?" he asked anxiously of Ben Gibson.
"No," said Ben, "she's scared of the copp. If she ever catches you alone, and tries to come any of her games, just call a copp, and she'll be in a hurry to leave."
"Well," said Mark, "I guess I'll try to sell the rest of my matches. I haven't got but a few."
"All right; I'll try for another shine, and then we'll go and have some dinner. I'd like to get hold of another greeny."
Mark started with his few remaining matches. The feeling that he was his own master, and had a little hoard of money for present expenses, gave him courage, and he was no longer deterred by his usual timidity. In an hour he had succeeded in getting rid of all his matches, and he was now the possessor of two dollars and seventy-five cents, including the money Ben Gibson owed him. Ben also was lucky enough to get two ten-cent customers, which helped his receipts by twenty cents. Ben, it may be remarked, was not an advocate of the one-price system. He blacked boots for five cents when he could get no more. When he thought there was a reasonable prospect of getting ten cents, that was his price. Sometimes, as in the case of the young man from the rural districts, he advanced his fee to twenty-five cents. I don't approve Ben's system for my part. I think it savors considerably of sharp practice, and that fair prices in the long run are the best for all parties.
The boys met again at one o'clock, and adjourned to a cheap underground restaurant on Nassau Street, where they obtained what seemed to them a luxurious meal of beefsteak, with a potato, a small plate of bread, and a cup of what went by the name of coffee. The steak was not quite up to the same article at Delmonico's, and there might be some reasonable doubts as to whether the coffee was a genuine article; but as neither of the boys knew the difference, we may quote Ben's familiar phrase, and say, "What's the odds?"
Indeed, the free and easy manner in which Ben threw himself back in his chair, and the condescending manner in which he assured the waiter that the steak was "a prime article," could hardly have been surpassed in the most aristocratic circles.