He kept close to the tar, who led the way to the slip where a Cortlandt
Street boat was in waiting, and, dodging several trucks and express
wagons, they hurried down the bridge and went on board.
The gentlemen's cabin was so full of tobacco smoke that it nearly
stifled Richard, and he was not sorry when Doc Linyard led the way
straight through to the forward deck.
It was a pleasant day, and the lowering sun cast long shadows over the
water, and lit up the spires and stone piles of the great metropolis
that lay beyond, tipped with gold, typical of Richard's high hopes.
Swiftly the ferryboat crossed the North River, crowded with boats.
Then it ran into the slip--there was the rattle of the ratchets as the
line wheels spun around, and finally the gates were opened.
Richard had reached New York at last.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE "WATCH BELOW."
"Gracious, what a busy place!"
This was the thought that ran through Richard's mind as he stepped
from the ferryhouse to West Street, in New York City.
Doc Linyard had managed to get the boy off the boat as soon as the
landing was made, but now, as they waited for a chance to cross the
slippery thoroughfare that runs parallel to the water's edge, the crowd
surged around them until to Richard there seemed to be a perfect jam.
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