Chapter 62

THE LAST THAT WAS EVER HEARD OF HARRY BOLTON

That same afternoon, I took my comrade down to the Battery; and we sat
on one of the benches, under the summer shade of the trees.

It was a quiet, beautiful scene; full of promenading ladies and
gentlemen; and through the foliage, so fresh and bright, we looked out
over the bay, varied with glancing ships; and then, we looked down to
our boots; and thought what a fine world it would be, if we only had a
little money to enjoy it. But that's the everlasting rub--oh, who can
cure an empty pocket?

"I have no doubt, Goodwell will take care of you, Harry," said I, "he's
a fine, good-hearted fellow; and will do his best for you, I know."

"No doubt of it," said Harry, looking hopeless.

"And I need not tell you, Harry, how sorry I am to leave you so soon."

"And I am sorry enough myself," said Harry, looking very sincere.

"But I will be soon back again, I doubt not," said I.

"Perhaps so," said Harry, shaking his head. "How far is it off?"

"Only a hundred and eighty miles," said I.

"A hundred and eighty miles!" said Harry, drawing the words out like an
endless ribbon. "Why, I couldn't walk that in a month."

"Now, my dear friend," said I, "take my advice, and while I am gone,
keep up a stout heart; never despair, and all will be well."

But notwithstanding all I could say to encourage him, Harry felt so bad,
that nothing would do, but a rush to a neighboring bar, where we both
gulped down a glass of ginger-pop; after which we felt better.

He accompanied me to the steamboat, that was to carry me homeward; he
stuck close to my side, till she was about to put off; then, standing on
the wharf, he shook me by the hand, till we almost counteracted the play
of the paddles; and at last, with a mutual jerk at the arm-pits, we
parted. I never saw Harry again.

I pass over the reception I met with at home; how I plunged into
embraces, long and loving:--I pass over this; and will conclude my first
voyage by relating all I know of what overtook Harry Bolton.

Circumstances beyond my control, detained me at home for several weeks;
during which, I wrote to my friend, without receiving an answer.

I then wrote to young Goodwell, who returned me the following letter,
now spread before me.

"Dear Redburn--Your poor friend, Harry, I can not find any where. After
you left, he called upon me several times, and we walked out together;
and my interest in him increased every day. But you don't know how dull
are the times here, and what multitudes of young men, well qualified,
are seeking