While Walter is anticipating commencing his duties as teacher on Monday morning, we leave him awhile to chronicle the adventures of Joshua Drummond, his distant relative. Readers of “Strong and Steady” will call to mind that he was the son of Jacob Drummond, of Stapleton, a country shopkeeper, with whom Walter passed a few weeks shortly after his father’s death. Mr. Drummond was thoroughly a mean man, and, though his son was now eighteen years of age, allowed him only twenty-five cents a week for spending-money. When Joshua asked for more, he told him he might go to work in a shoeshop, or in his own store, though in the latter case he only agreed to pay him fifty cents. But work was not what Joshua wanted. He thought that, as a rich man’s son, he was entitled to a liberal allowance without working at all. He was willing, nevertheless, to take a situation in the city, being anxious to see life, as he termed it.

Finally, seeing no other way to compass his desire, Joshua opened his father’s strong box with a key which he had found, and abstracted from it fifty dollars in gold, and a five-twenty government bond for five hundred dollars, excusing himself for the theft by the specious reasoning that it was only taking in advance what would be his some day.

Thus provided, he secretly left the house, and took the train for New York, saying to himself, in exultation, as he took his seat at the car window, “Now I am going to see life.”

Joshua felt immensely wealthy with the proceeds of the robbery, amounting, at the price of bonds, to over six hundred dollars. Accustomed to the paltry sum of twenty-five cents a week, never having had in his possession more than a dollar at a time, and seldom that, it is not surprising that he should have regarded six hundred dollars as a small fortune. He knew nothing of the city and its dangers. He had an idea that he should easily get a situation in a week or two, which time he proposed to spend in seeing life.

When he reached New York, he left the depot and went out into the street. He felt bewildered. The change from the quiet streets of Stapleton to the thronged avenues of the great city was very great, and he hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his heels. But he realized, with a thrill of exultation, that he was in the city of which he had so often dreamed. He felt that a new page was to be turned over in his life, and that his future would be much more brilliant than his past.

Joshua knew nobody in the city except Sam Crawford. His first desire was to find out where Sam lived. Sam he was accustomed to regard as a personage of a good deal of importance. But how to find him--that was the question. He knew that Sam was a clerk in a shoe store on Eighth avenue, but where that avenue was he had not the least idea.

While he was standing outside the depot in some perplexity, wondering how far off Sam’s store was, he was accosted by a sharp-looking bootblack, whose hands indicated his profession.

“Shine yer boots, mister?”

Joshua was not reckless in his expenditures, and he inquired, cautiously, “How much do you ask?”

“Twenty-five cents,” said the bootblack.

“Twenty-five cents!” exclaimed Joshua, aghast, reflecting that the sum asked represented what hitherto had been his entire weekly allowance.

“Well,” said the bootblack, “seein’ you’re from the country, I’ll call it twenty cents.”

“What makes you think I’m from the country?” asked Joshua, quite unconscious of his rustic air.

“I saw you git off the cars,” said the bootblack, not caring to offend a possible customer by commenting on his verdant appearance.

“Yes,” said Joshua, satisfied; “I came from the country this morning. I don’t know much about the city. I’ve got a friend here. He is in a store in Eighth avenue. His name is Sam Crawford. Do you know him?”

“Know Sam Crawford? In course I do,” said the bootblack, who had never heard the name before. “I black his boots every mornin’.”

“Do you?” asked Joshua, brightening up.

“Yes. He always gives me twenty cents. He wouldn’t go round with no such lookin’ boots as yours. They ain’t respectable here in the city.”

Joshua believed all this. He was not yet accustomed to the “ways that are dark and tricks that are vain” of city street Arabs, and he decided to have his boots blacked notwithstanding the price, which he could not help regarding as very steep. He was anxious to conform, as speedily as possible, to city fashions, and, if it was not respectable to walk about in unpolished boots, he decided to have them blacked, so that his friend Sam might not feel ashamed of him when he came into his store.

“I guess I’ll have my boots blacked,” he said. “Can’t you take less than twenty cents?”

“That’s the regular price, fixed by the city gov’ment,” protested the bootblack. “If I was to take less, I’d have my license took away.”

“Do you have a license?” asked Joshua, with curiosity.

“In course I do.”

“Have you got it here?”

“No, I’ve got it to home, along with my gold valooables. I had to pay fifty dollars for it.”

“That’s high, isn’t it?” asked Joshua, who was gathering valuable information with great rapidity.

“Yes, it is; but then, you see we have to support the gov’ment.”

Meanwhile the mendacious young bootblack was vigorously employed upon Joshua’s boots. He had a hard job. They were made of cow-hide, for Jacob Drummond was not in the habit of spending much for the outfit of his son, and they had never been well polished since they were new. At length, however, they were polished, and certainly were greatly improved by the process, though in shape they would hardly have been taken for the work of a fashionable city bootmaker.

“There,” said the young Arab, surveying his work complacently, “now they look respectable.”

“They do look better than they did,” Joshua was compelled to admit. He drew out twenty cents from his vest pocket and handed it to the boy.

“Is it far to Sam Crawford’s store?” he asked.

“About two miles,” was the answer.

“Could I find the way easy?”

“Yes; all you’ve got to do is to go up Madison avenue till you get to the Battery. Go round it; then cross Madison square, keepin’ the Astor House on your left hand. Turn into the Bowery at Trinity Church; then cross over to Twenty-seventh street. Go up Twenty-seventh street six blocks till you get to A. T. Stewart’s store; then take a short cut to Eighth avenue, and there you are.”

These false and absurd directions were delivered with great volubility by the bootblack; but it is needless to say that they made a very confused impression upon the mind of Joshua, who felt more bewildered and helpless than before.

“I don’t know any of those places,” he said. “I am afraid I couldn’t find the way.”

“Maybe you couldn’t. I know a man who was two days findin’ a place only a mile off. If he’d paid a dollar to somebody that knew the way he’d been all right.”

This put a new idea into Joshua’s mind.

“If you’ll show me the way to Sam Crawford’s, I’ll give you fifty cents,” he said.

“That’s too little,” said the boy. “I couldn’t neglect my business so long for that. I should lose money.”

“How much do you want?”

“A dollar. It’s worth a dollar to go so fur. I might lose half a dozen shines.”

The boy would have stood out for a dollar but for the fact that another bootblack had come up--one of his rivals in business--and he was afraid he might offer to go for less. Accordingly he hastened to strike a bargain.

“All right,” said he. “Hand over your money.”

“Wait till I get there,” said Joshua, cautiously.

“Payment in advance,” said the young Arab. “That’s the way they do business in the city.”

Joshua drew out seventy-five cents, and placed them in his hand.

“Follow me, mister,” said the young conductor. “I guess I won’t go the way I told you. I’ll take a short cut,” he added.

The bootblack led Joshua by a pretty direct course to Eighth avenue. It was a considerable walk, and to Joshua an interesting one. As he noted block after block of elegant buildings he felt elated to think that his home was from henceforth to be in the great city. Some time or other, when his father had forgiven him, he would go back to Stapleton, and show off the same city airs which had so impressed him in the case of Sam Crawford. He was rather alarmed when he came to cross Broadway, and came near being run over by a passing omnibus.

“Look out, mister,” said his young guide, “or you’ll get knocked into a cocked hat. Folks is in such a hurry here that they don’t stop to pick up dead bodies.”

Arrived in Eighth avenue, the bootblack, who had cunningly managed to find out Sam Crawford’s business, pointed to the first shoe store they reached, and said, “That’s the place.”

“Does Sam Crawford work there?”

“In course he does. You jest go in, and you’ll see him at the back of the store.”

Joshua went in, never dreaming that he had been deceived. Meanwhile his guide took to his heels with the money he had extracted from Joshua by false pretenses.