The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-11-15
BITS FROM BIG HOTELS.
ODD NOTES ABOUT NEW YORK'S
GREAT CARAVAN5ARIBS.

Bezgars and Big Wigs at the Back
Door and in the Lobby-The Hotel
Detective and His Mission-Cher-
acters Worth Noting.
From the Neto York Herald.
After the fellow had been sitting in the
park till the blood froze in his veins he
naturally concluded that it was time he had
something to eat. He glanced at a quantity
Of stuff he took from his pockets. There
were three rings. two old buttons, some keys
and q lot of fuzz. There was nothing he
could eat or sell. What was he to doa
Well, there was the free lunch route.
But that was played out. Then, there
was the begging act. But that was mo
good" In other words, like many other
things in this world, IL had been done to
death. Besides, he knew, by bitter expert
ence. that he would have to ask fully 200
people, one after another, for alms before
he would net 10 cents. There was danger
of being arrested for vagranoy. he was
sick OF the island. He did not care for any
OF the work house medicine of Supt. Blake.
As he was no Christian. the Kings Daugh-
ters would not look at his case. One glance
at his nose and he was done for
Then he glanced over in the dim distance.
He saw the mighty tide of life in hayward,
oAiuASSS OOuIsS up ana GOWN
broadway, There, near at hand, was q
grand institution of white marble, with
handsomely dressed men and women NOV
ing In and out Of it's marble corridor. Now
and again he caught the glimmer Of splen
did lamps. Carriages rolled along. Guests
came and went. Is was happy scene, but
for him it had no charm.
For he was dead broke.
He had been playing dead, tough, hard
game to beat and he had lost.
1t was the game OF one man against the
world. It was the game Of fellow out Of
work seeking work IN big New York. Many
| another man has succUmbed before that I'M
| timely frost
He put his hands in his pockets and
| thought.
LIKE THIEF IN THE NIGHT.
Like thief in the night the idea suddenly
came to him. he had read of such things
once, long ago. He would now see whether
| or not what he had read was true or
whether it was the mere Pigment Of a nov
| elsts brain.
| He leaves the seat He sinks toward the
grand public institution. He turks on the
corner until he has made up his mind fully
that he will hazard the chance Then he
| goes down a side street.
He moves around the square and finally
| comes to hole in the wall where a grocer's
| boy is delivering goods. The savory smell
of kitchen stuffs greets his nose. 1t smells
| good to him. He creeps closer in thu
| gathering twilight. Half undecided, there
he stands, bathed in the rudy light that
| CLEANS upon him from underneath the
great caldrons. A man with white cap
on, one Of the solutions Of the kitchen, ap-
proaches. The beEgar extends his hand
| and says softly;
"Wlll you please give me some broken
| bits from the tableW
we have nothing for you?"
But lam starving; will work for " hat
ever you give me-
BAH says the scullion, shaking his head.
"Flne work you would do"
The cook then, in pity, hands out plate
of stesming food. l. is the scraps from the
table. But to the starving man the food is
worthy OF kings ransom.
This is no fancy picture. Every day in
the year, every morning, every evening,
1t takes place in big Gotham. enacted In the
areaways that lead to the kitchens of Jhe
aristocratic hotels.
Msny's the vagabond who has been kept
alive, these frosty mornings, with the food
handed out to him at the back door of a
| hotel. This is one of the oddities Of hotels
No one knows the charity except the scull-
ion and the poor tramp.
And God.