Ralph turned into the street designated, and hurried down it, block after block; but he did not reach the station, nor did he see any place that looked like it.  He seemed to be in the suburbs, too, in a locality the surroundings of which impressed him unpleasantly.  The buildings were small and dilapidated, there was a good deal of rubbish on the sidewalks and in the streets, a few ragged children were playing in the gutter near by, shivering with cold as they ran about in bare, dirty feet, and a drunken man, leaning against a post on the opposite corner, was talking affectionately to some imaginary person in the vicinity.  Ralph thought that this, certainly, was not where he ought to be.  He walked more slowly, trying to find some one who would give him reliable directions.

At the corner of the block there was a house that looked somewhat better than its neighbors.  It had a show-window projecting a few inches into the street, and in the window was a display of wine-bottles, and a very dirty placard announcing that oysters would be served to customers, in every style.  On the ground-glass comprising the upper part of the door, the words “Sample Room” were elaborately lettered.  Ralph heard some one talking inside, and, after a moment of hesitation, concluded to go in there and make his inquiry, as the need of finding his way had come to be very pressing.  Coming in, as he did, from the street, the room was quite dark to his eyes, and he could not well make out, at first, who were in it.  But he soon discovered a man standing, in his shirt-sleeves, behind a bar, and he went up to him and said:—­

“Will you please tell me, sir, which is the nearest way to the railroad station?”

“Which station d’ye want to go to, bub?” inquired the man, leaning over the bar to look at him.

“The one you take the train for Scranton from.”

“Which train for Scranton d’ye want to take?”

“The one’t leaves at noon.”

“Why that train goes in just five minutes.  You couldn’t catch that train now, my little cupid, if you should spread your wings and fly to the station.”

It was not the bar-tender who spoke this time; it was a young man who had left his chair by the stove and had come up closer to get a better look at the boy.  He was just slipping a silver watch back into his vest pocket.  It was a black silk vest, dotted with little red figures.  Below the vest, encasing the wearer’s legs very tightly, were a pair of much soiled corduroy pantaloons that had once been of a lavender shade.  Over the vest was a short, dark, double-breasted sack coat, now unbuttoned.  A large gaudy, flowing cravat, and an ill-used silk hat, set well back on the wearer’s head, completed this somewhat noticeable costume.

There was a good-natured looking face under the hat though, smooth and freckled; but the eyes were red and heavy, and the tip of the straight nose was of quite a vermilion hue.