"Hurrah, boys! Now for Fulton Market and some oysters."
"Oysters?" said Dab.
"Yes, sir! There's more oysters in that old shanty than there are in your bay."
"I don't know about that," said Dab, staring at the queer, huge, rickety old mass of unsightly wood and glass that Ford was pointing at, after they got ashore. "I'm hungry, anyhow."
"Hungry? So am I. But no man ought to say he's been in New York till he's tried some Fulton-Market oysters."
"Let's take 'em raw," said Fuz. "Then we can go ahead."
Dick Lee had been in the city before, but never in such company, nor in such very good clothes; and there was an expression on his face a good deal like awe, when he actually found himself standing at an "oyster-counter," in line with five well-dressed young white boys.
The man behind the counter served him, too, in regular turn; and Dick felt it a point of honor to empty the half-shell before him as quickly as any of the rest. There was no delay about that, anywhere along that line of boys.
"Dick," said Ford, "where's your lemon? There it is!"
Ford had already explained to the rest that it was "against the constitution and by-laws of Fulton Market to eat a raw oyster without the lemon-juice," and Dick would have blushed if he could.