New York - The Novel

rode proudly on one of the new fire engines sent over from London. Young Sam helped his father. Sam wasn’t sure what he felt about James Master coming to visit.
    “What am I supposed to do—take him with me selling oysters in the street?” he asked. Oysters, the poor man’s food. Sam often earned some extra money selling oysters.
    “Just be yourself,” replied his father. There was no need to say more. If rich young James Master should become Sam’s friend … Well, you never knew what a friendship like that might lead to.
    The fact was, Charlie White had become quite excited about this visit.After all these years, his childhood friendship with the Masters was to be renewed. Was it back to the old days?
    Last night, he’d told his family stories about the times he and John Master used to spend together. He’d had a few drinks during the evening. He may have boasted a little. His children had always known there had once been a friendship, but it had never seemed to amount to much, and their father seldom spoke of it. Hearing him that evening, therefore, they’d been a bit surprised, and quite impressed.
    His wife was less impressed. Mrs. White was a plump, comfortable woman. She loved Charlie, but after years of marriage, she knew his weaknesses. His carting business had never been as good as her father’s had been. He didn’t always concentrate on the work in hand. She was afraid that he was going to be disappointed with this encounter, and she certainly didn’t want their children getting any foolish ideas. Years of marriage to Charlie had left her skeptical.
    “So you had a few drinks with John Master, and invited his son round.”
    “Wasn’t my idea,” said Charlie. “It was his.”
    “When he was drunk.”
    “I’ve seen him drunk. He wasn’t drunk.”
    “You think rich young Master’s going to show up?”
    “I know he is. His father told me.”
    “Well, maybe he will, and maybe he won’t,” said his wife. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Charlie. John Master wants something. I don’t know what he wants, but when he’s got it, he’ll forget about you again, just like he did before.”
    “You don’t understand,” said Charlie. “He’s my friend.”
    His children were all looking at him. His wife said nothing.
    “You’ll see,” Charlie said.
    So now Charlie and Sam waited. The street was busy. Once in a while, a respectable person came by, but no sign of young James Master. A quarter of an hour passed. Sam glanced at his father.
    “He’ll come,” said Charlie.
    Another quarter-hour passed.
    At one o’clock, Charlie said to his son: “You can go in now, Sam.”
    But he himself remained, for a long time, staring up the street.

    At six o’clock that evening, James Master walked toward his home, and hoped his father was not there. He was still working out what he was going to say.
    He’d meant to go to Charlie White’s house. In a way, when you came to think of it, he’d almost done so. At least he’d set out for the place in good time. But something had held him back. He hadn’t really wanted to meet Sam White. Not that he looked down on poor people. It wasn’t that. But if only his father wouldn’t make all these arrangements for him.
    For he knew what this was, of course. It was another of his father’s plans for improving him. He thinks I need friends like Sam White, so I’ll understand the world and grow up like he did, he thought.
    And then, if only his father hadn’t kept reminding him about it, and giving him directions. You couldn’t tell him, of course, but it seemed to James, right now, that it was really his father’s fault more than his own that he hadn’t turned up.
    Perhaps it was just fate. He’d been on his way when he’d met a friend, which had caused a necessary delay. And after that, he’d still almost gone; but he realized that the delay with his friend had been so long, that it was too late to go now, anyway.
    So maybe the best thing to do was say that he couldn’t find the place and that he’d go back the next day. And he’d pretty much decided that was what he’d do, when he met his father just a minute sooner than he expected, in front of the house.
    “Well, James, did it go well?” His father was smiling expectantly. “Charlie’s quite a character, eh? And what’s Sam like? A chip off the old block?”
    “Well …” James looked at his father’s eager countenance. “No. He’s pretty quiet, I guess.”
    “But he was