TOM REACHED New York about noon. It was a bright, pleasant day, and he was in excellent spirits, although he had just lost a fortune. This was partly due, no doubt, to the pleasure which he anticipated from his visit to the great city.
It was not his first visit, but he had not been in it for six years, and then he only stayed a day. To all intents and purposes it was new to him, for he remembered very little about it.
As Tom left the cars with a small carpet-bag in his hand, he was accosted by the hackmen.
“Have a carriage, sir?”
“How much do you charge?” asked our hero.
“Two dollars.”
If Tom had still been rich, he would probably have said yes, and got into the cab, but he felt the need of economy, and he declined.
A thin, sallow man of thirty-five heard the colloquy between Tom and the hack-driver.
“You are right, my young friend,” said he, stepping to Tom’s side, “not to take a carriage. These hackmen are extortionate.”
“Two dollars seems rather a steep price,” said Tom.