“I hope you strike it fine, kid,” laughed the girl, “but I am afraid if you do, you’ll never think of looking up Nellie Porter.  Oh, by the way, do you know to which station to go?”

“No, I don’t,” admitted Bob.

“Well, if you want to get a plain car, you want to go over to Weehawken and buy your ticket over the West Shore railroad.”

And giving Bob a check for his food, the girl smiled upon him pleasantly, and hurried away to wait upon some other people who had entered the restaurant.

CHAPTER VII

GOOD LUCK FROM BAD

By dint of questioning, Bob reached the Weehawken ferry and was soon on a boat, gliding through the dark waters of the river toward the Jersey shore.

Never had the boy been on a ferryboat at night, and the spectacle presented by the brilliantly lighted buildings filled him with wonder.  Fortunate was it for him that he was so enthralled, for the boat had bumped into her slip and the people were rushing ashore before he had time to realize that he was leaving behind all he had ever known of a home.

Indeed, so absorbed was he in gazing about him, that it was not till one of the crew exclaimed:  “Hey, kid, get ashore.  You can’t beat your way back on this boat,” that he knew they had reached Weehawken.

“I’m not trying to beat my way,” rejoined Bob.  “I’m not going back to New York.  I’m going to Chicago—­and then to Oklahoma,” he added in a boyish attempt to impress the boatman with his importance.

“Well, you’d better hurry if you want to make the train for Chicago,” returned the other.  “This is the last boat before it starts.  You’ll have to hustle if you’ve any baggage, or are you travelling ’light’?”

But Bob had not waited to hear the comment upon his lack of equipment, and, before the words had left the mouth of the boatman, was running up the gangway and into the station.

The glare of the lights after the darkness of the river and the many people scurrying to and fro, together with the porters and trainmen calling and shouting, bewildered the lad who had never been so far away from home before, and he stood in the middle of the station as though dazed.

Noticing the woe-begone figure, the station policeman walked over to where Bob was standing.

“What’s the matter, kid?  Looking for some one?”

“No.  I’m going away, to Chicago.  I wish you’d tell me where to go to get a chair car.”

“Not running away from home, are you?” inquired the official, scanning Bob’s face searchingly.

This constant suggestion that he was running away angered the boy, and he determined to put an end to it.

“No, I’m not,” he retorted impatiently.  “I’m going out West to become a ranchman, though I don’t see why it is any of your business.  The man on the boat told me I would have to hurry if I was going to catch my train.”