He packed his valise and started that night, though his friends urged him to stay longer. He felt a feverish impatience to be off and have things settled. With it was a feeling of excitement; he was going to seek his fortune. Thrown upon a cold world by the unkind and unjust suspicions of his nearest relatives, he would rise above adverse circumstances and "ennoble fate by nobly bearing it!"
It was a very heroic martyr that bought a ticket for Philadelphia that night.
He did not engage a berth in the sleeping-car; he was a poor man now and must begin to economize. Besides, upon counting his money he found that he had but just enough with which to reach his destination.
He was very tired with the adventures of the last two days, and the night before, spent in a shed, had not been comfortable, so he slept well, notwithstanding the fact that he was not in a Pullman sleeper. He did not wake until it was broad daylight, and the train was speeding along through New Jersey. The storm was over, the sun was shining down upon a bright and rain-washed world, and Neal Gordon was entering upon a new life.
"So this is the 'Quaker City,'" he thought, as the train glided over the bridges and into the huge station. "I wonder if every one is in a broad-brimmed hat! And now to find cousin William Carpenter. He's a Quaker of the Quakers, I suppose; I can never get into the habit of saying 'thee' and 'thou.'"
He did not see much of the Quaker element in the busy station, nor when he went down stairs and out on to Broad Street. He was on the point of jumping into a hansom to be driven to his cousin's house, when he remembered that he had not a cent in his pocket with which to pay for it. It was a novel experience for Neal.
He inquired the way to Arch Street, and found that it was not very far from where he was, and he soon reached the designated number.
"Not a broad-brimmer have I seen yet," he said to himself, as he pulled the bell-handle. He looked up and down the street while he waited. It was wider than some that he had passed through, and rather quiet except for the jingling horse-cars. It was very straight, and lined with red brick houses with white marble steps and heavy wooden shutters.
He looked down, as he stood on the dazzling steps, at his boots splashed with Boston mud, and he shuddered at the effect they might have on his cousins. He should have had them cleaned at the station; but then he did not have five cents to spend.
The door was opened, and he walked into the parlor and sent up his card. It was a large room with very little furniture in it, and the few chairs and sofas that there were stood stiffly apart. Not an ornament was to be seen but a large clock that ticked slowly and sedately on the marble mantel-piece. There were no curtains, but "Venetian blinds," formed of green slats, hung at the windows. It all looked very neat and very bare, and extremely stiff.