"I don't care to see Mr. Keifelheimer," he thought. "He'll ask me to come and eat at a big Sunday dinner,—and to pay for it. I'll dodge him."
He watched at the front door of the hotel for fully three minutes, until he was sure that the hall was empty. Then he slipped into the reading-room and through that into the rear passageway leading to the elevator; but he did not feel safe until on his way to his room.
"One sandwich for dinner," he groaned, as he opened his bag. "I never knew what real hunger was till I came to the city! Maybe it won't last long, though. I'm not the first fellow who's had a hard time before he made a start."
Jack thought that both the bread and the ham were cut too thin, and that the sandwich did not last long enough.
"I'll keep my last twenty cents, though," thought Jack, and he tried to be satisfied.
Before that afternoon was over, the guide-book had been again read through, and a long home letter was written.
"I'll mail it," he said, "as soon as I get some money for stamps. I haven't said a word to them about famine. It must be time to eat that third sandwich; and then I'll go out and take a walk."
The sandwich was somewhat dry, but every crumb of it seemed to be valuable. After eating it, Jack once more walked over and looked at the fine houses on Fifth Avenue; but now it seemed to the hungry lad an utter absurdity to think of ever owning one of them. He stared and wondered and walked, however, and returned to the hotel tired out.
On Monday morning, the Ogden family were at breakfast, when a neat looking farm-wagon stopped before the door. The driver sprang to the ground, carefully helped out a young woman, and then lifted down a trunk. Just as the trunk came down upon the ground there was a loud cry in the open doorway.
"Mother! Molly's come home!" and out sprang little Bob.