“Oh, I understand,” he said.  “He means ‘glass put in.’”

Frank’s mistake was not a singular one.  The monotonous cry of these men certainly sounds more like “glass puddin’,” than the words they intend to utter.

“Now,” said Dick, “where shall we go?”

“I should like to see Central Park,” said Frank.  “Is it far off?”

“It is about a mile and a half from here,” said Dick.  “This is Twenty-ninth Street, and the Park begins at Fifty-ninth Street.”

It may be explained, for the benefit of readers who have never visited New York, that about a mile from the City Hall the cross-streets begin to be numbered in regular order.  There is a continuous line of houses as far as One Hundred and Thirtieth Street, where may be found the terminus of the Harlem line of horse-cars.  When the entire island is laid out and settled, probably the numbers will reach two hundred or more.  Central Park, which lies between Fifty-ninth Street on the south, and One Hundred and Tenth Street on the north, is true to its name, occupying about the centre of the island.  The distance between two parallel streets is called a block, and twenty blocks make a mile.  It will therefore be seen that Dick was exactly right, when he said they were a mile and a half from Central Park.

“That is too far to walk,” said Frank.

“’Twon’t cost but six cents to ride,” said Dick.

“You mean in the horse-cars?”

“Yes.”

“All right then.  We’ll jump aboard the next car.”

The Third Avenue and Harlem line of horse-cars is better patronized than any other in New York, though not much can be said for the cars, which are usually dirty and overcrowded.  Still, when it is considered that only seven cents are charged for the entire distance to Harlem, about seven miles from the City Hall, the fare can hardly be complained of.  But of course most of the profit is made from the way-passengers who only ride a short distance.

A car was at that moment approaching, but it seemed pretty crowded.

“Shall we take that, or wait for another?” asked Frank.

“The next’ll most likely be as bad,” said Dick.

The boys accordingly signalled to the conductor to stop, and got on the front platform.  They were obliged to stand up till the car reached Fortieth Street, when so many of the passengers had got off that they obtained seats.

Frank sat down beside a middle-aged woman, or lady, as she probably called herself, whose sharp visage and thin lips did not seem to promise a very pleasant disposition.  When the two gentlemen who sat beside her arose, she spread her skirts in the endeavor to fill two seats.  Disregarding this, the boys sat down.

“There aint room for two,” she said, looking sourly at Frank.

“There were two here before.”

“Well, there ought not to have been.  Some people like to crowd in where they’re not wanted.”