"Sure, sir, as if I was a railroad time-table."
Relieved at so easily having obtained the information he wanted, and excited at thus being summoned by so high a dignitary as Mr. Wang, Jo wrote two despatches on blanks provided by the waiting boy, and gave them to him for delivery at the nearest telegraph-office. One was to Mr. Wang, announcing the proposed hour of his reaching New York, and the other, telling of his intended trip to that city, was addressed to Mr. Hinckley. For each of these he paid the boy twenty-five cents, and then, having no time to lose, he hurried to the railway-station. There he had barely secured a ticket for New York when an express-train thundered up to the platform. Two minutes later it was rolling swiftly away, carrying as passengers Chinese Jo and the man who had followed his movements so closely all that day.
[CHAPTER IX]
JO FINDS THAT HE IS SOME ONE ELSE
When, late at night, Chinese Jo reached New York and alighted from his train in the Grand Central Station he was bewildered and almost frightened by his surroundings. He found himself in a vast edifice occupied by many long trains of cars, some standing still, either receiving or discharging passengers, and others in motion, drawn or pushed by hoarsely puffing locomotives. Between every two trains was a narrow platform extending the whole length of the great station, and most of these were crowded with outgoing or incoming passengers, all in a hurry, and each too intent upon his own affairs to pay attention to those of his neighbors. Among them moved red-capped porters and blue-clad railway officials, too mindful of their own importance to condescend to answer the low-voiced questions of an insignificant "Chinaman."
As Jo drifted with the tide of one of these human streams, his eyes searched anxiously every face within his range of vision with the hope of discovering Mr. Wang. But no such good-fortune was in store for him, and finally he reached the street without having found his friend. He had asked several of the uniformed officials if they had seen a Chinese gentleman anywhere about the station, but some of them had only laughed without answering, while others had paid no attention to him. Outside the station, however, and standing irresolute on the sidewalk, Jo was beset by plenty of persons anxious to serve him. Drivers of carriages, cabs, and baggage wagons shouted at him and solicited his patronage. Agents of express companies wanted to take charge of his luggage, ragged street urchins struggled for possession of his hand-bag, while hotel-runners besieged him with cards of their respective houses.
"But I only want to go to the Blevoort Hotel," he finally managed to explain, "and not anywhere else."
"Take you to the Brevoort for five dollars," shouted a hack-driver, waving a whip in the lad's face and at the same time reaching for his hand-bag.
"I am going to the Brevoort House, and will show you the way if you like," said some one close behind Jo, as he was attempting to explain that he had not five dollars to expend on carriage-hire.