beyond the Battery. But there was a riot of stir and activity, in
expectation of our boat.

I disembarked and hired a hack. I was traveling with a huge valise.
This the hackman took for me. Yarnell came up to bid me adieu, promising
to call upon me at the Franklin House. The fare was twenty-five cents a
mile. The hotel was at 197 Broadway. Was it more than a mile? I did not
know. I was charged fifty cents for the trip. I was not stinted for
money, and it did not matter. I paid the amount demanded, and walked
into the hotel.

How simple things are at the end of a journey and a daily restlessness
to arrive! My valise was taken to my room. I went with the negro porter.
I looked from my window out upon Broadway. The porter departed. The door
was closed. My journey to New York was over. I was alone. I began to
wish for Yarnell, wish to be back upon the boat. Above all I began to
sense the distance that separated me from England and those I loved.
Here was the afternoon on my hands. Should I not see something of the
city? When should I start west? I took from my pocket the letter written
from Illinois by the lawyer, who had advised this journey and my
presence at Jacksonville, for that was the town where my father's estate
was to be settled. For the first time I was conscious of the fact that
difficulties probably stood in my way. The letter read: "Claims are
likely to be made against the estate that require your personal
attention." What could it mean? Why had my grandmother said nothing to
me of this? She had seen the letter. I began to wonder. But to fight
down my growing loneliness I started out to see the city.

As I passed up the street I bought _Valentine's Manual_ and glanced at
it as I walked. How far up did the city extend? The manual said more