The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but the greater part of the time was spent in waiting about.
At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate with himself as to how he should spend the night.It was half-past five.He must soon eat.If he tried to go home, it would take him two hours and a half of cold walking and riding.Besides he had orders to report at seven the next morning, and going home would necessitate his rising at an unholy and disagreeable hour.
He had only something like a dollar and fifteen cents of Carrie's money, with which he had intended to pay the two weeks' coal bill before the present idea struck him.
"They must have some place around here," he thought."Where does that fellow from Newark stay?"
Finally he decided to ask.There was a young fellow standing near one of the doors in the cold, waiting a last turn.He was a mere boy in years--twenty-one about--but with a body lank and long, because of privation.A little good living would have made this youth plump and swaggering.
"How do they arrange this, if a man hasn't any money?" inquired Hurstwood, discreetly.
The fellow turned a keen, watchful face on the inquirer.
"You mean eat?" he replied.
"Yes, and sleep.I can't go back to New York to-night."
"The foreman 'll fix that if you ask him, I guess.He did me."
"That so?"
"Yes.I just told him I didn't have anything.Gee, I couldn't go home.I live way over in Hoboken."
Hurstwood only cleared his throat by way of acknowledgment.
"They've got a place upstairs here, I understand.I don't know what sort of a thing it is.Purty tough, I guess.He gave me a meal ticket this noon.I know that wasn't much."
Hurstwood smiled grimly, and the boy laughed.
"It ain't no fun, is it?" he inquired, wishing vainly for a cheery reply.
"Not much," answered Hurstwood.
"I'd tackle him now," volunteered the youth."He may go 'way."
Hurstwood did so.
"Isn't there some place I can stay around here to-night?" he inquired."If I have to go back to New York, I'm afraid I won't"