Although a country boy by bringing up, Brandon was not easily disturbed by the magnitude of life in the great city. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, and after retiring to his room at the hotel, he went to sleep without one apprehensive thought of what the morrow might bring forth.
“GOODNESS ME! WOULD YOU SHOOT ME?”
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRM OF ADONIRAM PEPPER & CO.
Leaving his bag and gun case at the hotel. Brandon Tarr started out by nine o’clock on the following morning, his first aim being to find and interview the sailor who had already visited Chopmist for the purpose of seeing him.
“Caleb Wetherbee, New England Hotel. Water Street,” was the address, and after considerable inquiry he found the street in question.
It was, however, the Battery end of it and no one seemed to know anything about the New England Hotel. Still, Don was not dismayed and pursued his way, keeping his eyes open and himself alert among the many new sights and sounds of the metropolis.
The locality grew worse as he pursued his way, but he was not to be frightened off by gangs of street gamins, or crowds of half drunken men. Still, in these days, Water Street isn’t as bad as it was once—at least, not by daylight.
As he wandered along he could see down the cross streets to the wharves and water beyond, where all sorts and conditions of seagoing craft were gathered from all parts of the world. He sniffed the sea breeze, too, which, to him, killed all the odor of the filth about him.
“That’s what I want to be—a sailor,” he muttered.