When he landed at New York, Michael Pupin had only five cents in his pocket and this he spent on a piece of prune pie. He did not know one word of the English language, nor had he a single friend in America. When he reached Broadway he rubbed his eyes in amazement and something akin to fear took possession of him. The crowded streets with telegraph wires like so many spider’s webs, together with the tremendous noise on every hand, bewildered him and for some moments he stood stock-still. His puzzled expression, together with the odd-looking Turkish fez, must have attracted considerable attention, for suddenly he found himself surrounded by a crowd of boys, big and little, who were jeering and laughing at him. They were newsboys and bootblacks who were anxious to have some fun at his expense. One of the biggest of them knocked his fez off, and Michael promptly punched his nose. Immediately they closed and a wrestling-bout began, with scores of lads shouting in a language not one word of which the young Serbian understood. But Michael had learned to wrestle in his village home and promptly had the big bully on his back. At this, all the boys cheered and Michael thought that this must be the signal for a general attack. A policeman came along and took hold of him rather roughly. However, the boys who had witnessed the fight explained matters to the constable and he was allowed to go and the lads gave him three hearty cheers. Michael got a job driving mules on a farm in Delaware State. He was very lonely at first. He did not understand what the other-farm-hands said, so there was very little he could do, except attend to his duties and eat his meals in silence. He had to learn the American way of doing things and sometimes he was roundly abused for being such a “greenhorn.” A young girl on the farm taught him a good many English words, and as his memory was excellent and his eagerness to learn great, he soon was able to carry on simple conversations.