THE BOYS ON THEIR TRAVELS. A GREAT CITY, AND A GREAT DINNER.

The conductor of that train need not have been much alarmed at falling in with a "picnic" of any moderate size, for he would have had room in his train to seat a good part of it, at least.

The boys had no difficulty in getting seats "all together." That is, they found four empty ones, two on each side, right opposite; and when they had turned over the front seats, there they were. Ford and Frank were facing Dabney and Dick on the right; and the two Hart boys were facing each other on the left, each with a whole seat to himself.

Almost the first thing Joe did, after taking possession, was to lean over, and whisper,—

"Look out, Fuz,—keep your secret."

"Catch me spoiling a good joke."

The other party seemed disposed to keep pretty quiet for a while; the first break of any consequence, in the silence, coming when Ford Foster exclaimed,—

"Dab, it was right along here."

"What was?"

"Where the pig had his collision with my train, first time I was over here."

"Did you hear him squeal?" asked Frank, as he peered through the window.

"The pig? No; but you ought to have heard the engine squeal, when it saw him coming."

The story had to be all told over again, of course, and did good service in getting their thoughts in order for the trip before them. Up to the mention of the pig, it had somehow seemed to Dab as if the railway-platform at the station, and all the people on it, had kept company with the train; and Frank Harley found himself calculating the distance between that car and the "mission" at Rangoon in far-away India.

As for Ford Foster, he stood in less need of any "pig" than the rest, from the fact that he had a large-sized idea in his head.

He kept it there, too, until that train pulled up within reaching distance of one of the Brooklyn ferries. Before them lay the swift tide of the broad East River; and beyond that, with its borders of crowded docks and bristling masts, lay the streets and squares, and swarmed the multitudes, of the great city of New York.

"Ford," said Dabney, "you're captain this time. What are we to do now?"

"Well, if I ain't captain, I guess I'd better do a little steering. We must give our checks to the expressman, and have our luggage carted over to the Grand Central Depot."

"Will it be sure to get there in good time?"

"Of course it wouldn't if we were in any hurry; but our train doesn't leave until three o'clock, and the express won't fail to have it there before that."

Ford was all alive with the responsibilities of his position, as the only boy in the party who had been born in the city, and had travelled all over it, and a little out of it.

"Joe and Fuz," he said, "will want to take the night boat for Albany. They've more time on their hands than we have. Joe?—Fuz?—why can't you come along with us after you've checked your trunks? We'll be getting dinner before long."

The Hart boys promptly assented, after a look at each other, and a sort of chuckle.

"Might as well keep together," said Joe. "We'd like to take a look at things."

"Come along. I'll show you."

Frank Harley had seen quite a number of great cities, and he could hardly help saying something about them while they were going over on the ferryboat. They were all as far forward as they could get.

"Did you ever see any thing just like this?" asked Dab.

"Well, no, not just like it"—

"In India, or in China, or in London, or in Africa?" said Ford.

"It's a little different from any thing I ever saw."

"Well, isn't it bigger?"

That was a question Frank might have undertaken to answer if there had been proper time given him; but just then the boat was running into her "slip," away down town, and Ford exclaimed,—

"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.

"Dat's so. I forgot um!" and then he added, with great care, "Yes, Mr.
Foster, the lemon improves the oyster."

"I declare!" muttered Ford. "He's keeping it up!"

The oysters were eaten, and then it was "Come on, boys;" and away they went up Fulton Street to Broadway. They walked two and two, as well as the streams of people would let them, but the Hart boys kept a little in the rear.

"What do you think of it, Joe?"

"Think of what?"

"Walking over New York with Dick Lee, just as if he was one of us?"

"Guess nobody'll think we're walking with him. Anybody can tell what we are, just by looking at us."

"Dick's face shows just what he is too. I don't care for this once, but it's awful."

If any such thought were troubling Ford Foster, he made no confession of it, and was even specially careful, now and then, to turn around and address some remark or other to "the member from Africa," as he called him.

"Dick," said Dab in an undertone, as they were leaving the market, "you look out, now: you must have as good a time as any of us, or I won't feel right about it."

"Jes' you sail right ahead, Cap'n Dab. I's on hand."

Ford was determined to "do the honors," and he led them down Broadway to the Battery before he started "up town;" and he had something to say about a great many of the buildings. Dab felt his respect for city boys increasing rapidly, and Dick remarked,—

"Ef he don't know dis coas' mos' as well as I know de bay!"

It looked like it, and he also seemed to be on terms of easy acquaintance with some of the human "fish" they fell in with. Not that he spoke to any of them; but he pointed out the several kinds,—policemen, firemen, messenger-boys, loafers, brokers, post-office carriers, a dozen more, with a degree of confidence which fairly astonished his friends.

"I could learn to tell all of them that wear uniforms, myself," said
Dabney; "but how do you know the others?"

"How do I know 'em? Well, it's just like knowing a miller or a blacksmith, when you see him............