Crowded Out o' Crofield; or, The Boy who made his Way

by William O. Stoddard

"I've got to see Mr. Murdoch," Jack said hurriedly, and up-stairs he darted, to break right in upon the conference between the editors.

Jack told his story, and Mr. Murdoch felt it was only another blow added to the many already fallen upon him and his Eagle. "Perhaps you will be better satisfied to leave town," said Mr. Murdoch, uneasily.

"I've enough money to take me to the city, and I'll go. I'm off for New York!" said Jack, eagerly.

"New York?" exclaimed Mr. Murdoch. "That's the thing! Go to the house and get ready. I'll buy you a ticket to Albany, and you can go down on the night boat. They're taking passengers for half a dollar. You mustn't be caught! No doubt they are hunting for you now."

Mr. Murdoch was right. At that very moment the cobbler was in the grocery kept by Deacon Abrams, shouting, "We've got him again, Deacon! He's in town. He works in a paint shop—had paint on his face. Or else he's a blacksmith, or he works in coal, or something black—or dusty. We can run him down now."

While they went for the two others who knew Jack's face, he was putting on his Sunday clothes and packing up. When he came down, there was no ink upon his face, his collar was clean, his hair was brushed, and he was a complete surprise to Mr. Black and the rest.

"I can get a new boy," said Mr. Murdoch, as if he were beginning to recover his spirits; "and I can run the engine myself now I'm well. I can say in the next Eagle that you are gone to the city, and that will help me out of my troubles."

Neither Jack nor Mary quite understood what he meant, and, in fact, they were not thinking about him just then. Mr. Murdoch had said that there was only time to catch the express-train, and they were saying good-by. Mary was crying for the moment, and Jack was telling her what to write to his mother and father and those at home in Crofield.

"It's so sudden, Jack!" said Mary. "But I'm glad you're going. I wish I could go, too."

"I wish you could," said Jack, heartily; "but I'll write. I'll tell you everything. Good-by, Mr. Murdoch's waiting. Good-by!"