PAUL THE PEDDLER,

OR THE FORTUNES OF A YOUNG STREET MERCHANT

By Horatio Alger,
Jr.

CONTENTS

BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY


PAUL THE PEDDLER

CHAPTER I -- PAUL THE PEDDLER

CHAPTER II -- PAUL AT HOME

CHAPTER III -- PAUL HAS COMPETITORS

CHAPTER IV -- TEDDY GIVES UP BUSINESS

CHAPTER V -- PAUL LOSES HIS BASKET

CHAPTER VI -- PAUL AS AN ARTIST

CHAPTER VII -- A NEW BUSINESS

CHAPTER VIII -- A STROKE OF ILL LUCK

CHAPTER IX -- A NEW PATRON

CHAPTER X -- ANOTHER LOSS

CHAPTER XI -- BARCLAY & CO.

CHAPTER XII -- THE BARREL THIEF

CHAPTER XIII -- OUT OF BUSINESS

CHAPTER XIV -- THE DIAMOND RING

CHAPTER XV -- THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP

CHAPTER XVI -- THE JEWELER'S PRICE

CHAPTER XVII -- MR. FELIX MONTGOMERY

CHAPTER XVIII -- A CLEVER THIEF

CHAPTER XIX -- PAUL DELIBERATES

CHAPTER XX -- THE THIEF IN DISGUISE

CHAPTER XXI -- PAUL IS CHECKMATED

CHAPTER XXII -- A MAN OF RESOURCES

CHAPTER XXIII -- A NEW EXPEDIENT

CHAPTER XXIV -- MR. MONTGOMERY'S ARREST

CHAPTER XXV -- PAUL'S FINAL SUCCESS

CHAPTER XXVI -- CONCLUSION

BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY

Horatio Alger, Jr., an author who lived among and for boys and himself
remained a boy in heart and association till death, was born at Revere,
Mass., January 13, 1834. He was the son of a clergyman, was graduated at
Harvard College in 1852, and at its Divinity School in 1860 and was pastor
of the Unitarian Church at Brewster, Mass., in 1862-66.

In the latter year he settled in New York and began drawing public
attention to the condition and needs of street boys. He mingled with them,
gained their confidence showed a personal concern in their affairs, and
stimulated them to honest and useful living. With his first story he won
the hearts of all red-blooded boys everywhere, and of the seventy or more
that followed over a million copies were sold during the author's
lifetime.

In his later life he was in appearance a short, stout, bald-headed man,
with cordial manners and whimsical views of things that amused all who met
him. He died at Natick, Mass., July 18, 1899.

Mr. Alger's stories are as popular now as when first published, because
they treat of real live boys who were always up and about—just like
the boys found everywhere to-day. They are pure in tone and inspiring in
influence, and many reforms in the juvenile life of New York may be traced
to them. Among the best known are:

Strong and Steady; Strive and Succeed; Try and Trust; Bound to Rise; Risen
from the Ranks; Herbert Carter's Legacy; Brave and Bold; Jack's Ward;
Shifting for Himself; Wait and Hope; Paul the Peddler; Phil the Fiddler;
Slow and Sure; Julius the Street Boy; Tom the Bootblack; Struggling
Upward, Facing the World; The Cash Boy; Making His Way; Tony the Tramp;
Joe's Luck; Do and Dare; Only an Irish Boy; Sink or Swim; A Cousin's
Conspiracy; Andy Gordon; Bob Burton; Harry Vane; Hector's Inheritance;
Mark Mason's Triumph; Sam's Chance; The Telegraph Boy; The Young
Adventurer; The Young Outlaw; The Young Salesman, and Luke Walton.

PAUL THE PEDDLER

CHAPTER I

PAUL THE PEDDLER

“Here's your prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every
package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your luck!”

The speaker, a boy of fourteen, stood in front of the shabby brick
building, on Nassau street, which has served for many years as the New
York post office. In front of him, as he stood with his back to the
building, was a small basket, filled with ordinary letter envelopes, each
labeled “Prize Package.”

His attractive announcement, which, at that time, had also the merit of
novelty—for Paul had himself hit upon the idea, and manufactured the
packages, as we shall hereafter explain—drew around him a
miscellaneous crowd, composed chiefly of boys.

“What's in the packages, Johnny?” asked a bootblack, with his box strapped
to his back.

“Candy,” answered Paul. “Buy one. Only five cents.”

“There ain't much candy,” answered the bootblack, with a disparaging
glance.

“What if there isn't? There's a prize.”

“How big a prize?”

“There's a ten-cent stamp in some of 'em. All have got something in 'em.”

Influenced by this representation, the bootblack drew out a five-cent
piece, and said:

“Pitch one over then. I guess I can stand it.” An envelope was at once
handed him.

“Open it, Johnny,” said a newsboy at his side. Twenty curious eyes were
fixed upon him as he opened the package. He drew out rather a scanty
supply of candy, and then turning to Paul, with a look of indignation,
said:

“Where's the prize? I don't see no prize. Give me back my five cents.”

“Give it to me. I'll show you,” said the young merchant.

He thrust in his finger, and drew out a square bit of paper, on which was
written—One Cent.

“There's your prize,” he added, drawing a penny from his pocket.

“It ain't much of a prize,” said the buyer. “Where's your ten cents?”

“I didn't say I put ten cents into every package,” answered Paul.

“I'd burst up pretty quick if I did that. Who'll have another package?
Only five cents!”

Curiosity and taste for speculation are as prevalent among children as
with men, so this appeal produced its effect.

“Give me a package,” said Teddy O'Brien, a newsboy, stretching out a dirty
hand, containing the stipulated sum. He also was watched curiously as he
opened the package. He drew out a paper bearing the words—Two Cents.

“Bully for you, Teddy! You've had better luck than I,” said the bootblack.

The check was duly honored, and Teddy seemed satisfied, though the amount
of candy he received probably could not have cost over half-a-cent. Still,
he had drawn twice as large a prize as the first buyer, and that was
satisfactory.

“Who'll take the next?” asked Paul, in a businesslike manner. “Maybe
there's ten cents in this package. That's where you double your money.
Walk up, gentlemen. Only five cents!”

Three more responded to this invitation, one drawing a prize of two cents,
the other two of one cent each. Just then, as it seemed doubtful whether
any more would be purchased by those present, a young man, employed in a
Wall street house, came out of the post office.

“What have you got here?” he asked, pausing.

“Prize packages of candy! Money prize in every package! Only five cents!”

“Give me one, then. I never drew a prize in my life.”

The exchange was speedily made.

“I don't see any prize,” he said, opening it.

“It's on a bit of paper, mister,” said Teddy, nearly as much interested as
if it had been his own purchase.

“Oh, yes, I see. Well, I'm in luck. Ten cents!”

“Ten cents!” exclaimed several of the less fortunate buyers, with a shade
of envy.

“Here's your prize, mister,” said Paul, drawing out a ten-cent stamp from
his vest pocket.

“Well, Johnny, you do things on the square, that's a fact. Just keep the
ten cents, and give me two more packages.”

This Paul did with alacrity; but the Wall street clerk's luck was at an
end. He got two prizes of a penny each.

“Well,” he said, “I'm not much out of pocket. I've bought three packages,
and it's only cost me three cents.”

The ten-cent prize produced a favorable effect on the business of the
young peddler. Five more packages were bought, and the contents eagerly
inspected; but no other large prize appeared. Two cents was the maximum
prize drawn. Their curiosity being satisfied, the crowd dispersed; but it
was not long before another gathered. In fact, Paul had shown excellent
judgment in selecting the front of the post office as his place of
business. Hundreds passed in and out every hour, besides those who passed
by on a different destination. Thus many ears caught the young peddler's
cry—“Prize packages! Only five cents apiece!”—and made a
purchase; most from curiosity, but some few attracted by the businesslike
bearing of the young merchant, and willing to encourage him in his efforts
to make a living. These last, as well as some of the former class,
declined to accept the prizes, so that these were so much gain to Paul.

At length but one package remained, and this Paul was some time getting
rid of. At last a gentleman came up, holding a little boy of seven by the
hand.

“Oh, buy me the package, papa?” he said, drawing his father's attention.

“What is there in it, boy?” asked the gentleman.

“Candy,” was the answer.

Alfred, for this was the little boy's name, renewed his entreaties,
having, like most boys, a taste for candy.

“There it is, Alfred,” said his father, handing the package to his little
son.

“There's a prize inside,” said Paul, seeing that they were about to pass.

“We must look for the prize by all means,” said the gentleman. “What is
this? One cent?”

“Yes sir”; and Paul held out a cent to his customer.

“Never mind about that! You may keep the prize.”

“I want it, pa,” interposed Alfred, with his mouth full of candy.

“I'll give you another,” said his father, still declining to accept the
proffered prize.

Paul now found himself in the enviable position of one who, at eleven
o'clock, had succeeded in disposing of his entire stock in trade, and that
at an excellent profit, as we soon shall see. Business had been more brisk
with him than with many merchants on a larger scale, who sometimes keep
open their shops all day without taking in enough to pay expenses. But,
then, it is to be considered that in Paul's case expenses were not a
formidable item. He had no rent to pay, for one thing, nor clerk hire,
being competent to attend to his entire business single-handed. All his
expense, in fact, was the first cost of his stock in trade, and he had so
fixed his prices as to insure a good profit on that. So, on the whole,
Paul felt very well satisfied at the result of his experiment, for this
was his first day in the prize-package business.

“I guess I'll go home,” he said to himself. “Mother'll want to know how I
made out.” He turned up Nassau street, and had reached the corner of
Maiden lane, when Teddy O'Brien met him.

“Did you sell out, Johnny?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Paul.

“How many packages did you have?”

“Fifty.”

“That's bully. How much you made?”

“I can't tell yet. I haven't counted up,” said Paul.

“It's better'n sellin' papers, I'll bet. I've only made thirty cents the
day. Don't you want to take a partner, Johnny?”

“No, I don't think I do,” said Paul, who had good reason to doubt whether
such a step would be to his advantage.

“Then I'll go in for myself,” said Teddy, somewhat displeased at the
refusal.

“Go ahead! There's nobody to stop you,” said Paul.

“I'd rather go in with you,” said Teddy, feeling that there would be some
trouble in making the prize packages, but influenced still more by the
knowledge that he had not capital enough to start in the business alone.

“No,” said Paul, positively; “I don't want any partner. I can do well
enough alone.”

He was not surprised at Teddy's application. Street boys are as
enterprising, and have as sharp eyes for business as their elders, and no
one among them can monopolize a profitable business long. This is
especially the case with the young street merchant. When one has had the
good luck to find some attractive article which promises to sell briskly,
he takes every care to hide the source of his supply from his rivals in
trade. But this is almost impossible. Cases are frequent where such boys
are subjected to the closest espionage, their steps being dogged for hours
by boys who think they have found a good thing and are determined to share
it. In the present case Paul had hit upon an idea which seemed to promise
well, and he was determined to keep it to himself as long as possible. As
soon as he was subjected to competition and rivalry his gains would
probably diminish.

CHAPTER II

PAUL AT HOME

Paul went up Centre street and turned into Pearl. Stopping before a
tenement-house, he entered, and, going up two flights of stairs, opened a
door and entered.

“You are home early, Paul,” said a woman of middle age, looking up at his
entrance.

“Yes, mother; I've sold out.”

“You've not sold out the whole fifty packages?” she asked, in surprise.

“Yes, I have. I had capital luck.”

“Why, you must have made as much as a dollar, and it's not twelve yet.”

“I've made more than that, mother. Just wait a minute, till I've reckoned
up a little. Where's Jimmy?”

“Miss Beckwith offered to take him out to walk with her, so I let him go.
He'll be back at twelve.”

While Paul is making a calculation, a few words of explanation and
description may be given, so that the reader may understand better how he
is situated.

The rooms occupied by Paul and his mother were three in number. The
largest one was about fourteen feet square, and was lighted by two
windows. It was covered with a neat, though well-worn, carpet; a few
cane-bottomed chairs were ranged at the windows, and on each side of the
table. There was a French clock on the mantel, a rocking chair for his
mother, and a few inexpensive engravings hung upon the walls. There was a
hanging bookcase containing two shelves, filled with books, partly school
books, supplemented by a few miscellaneous books, such as “Robinson
Crusoe,” “Pilgrim's Progress,” a volume of “Poetical Selections,” an odd
volume of Scott, and several others. Out of the main room opened two
narrow chambers, both together of about the same area as the main room.
One of these was occupied by Paul and Jimmy, the other by his mother.

Those who are familiar with the construction of a New York tenement-house
will readily understand the appearance of the rooms into which we have
introduced them. It must, however, be explained that few similar
apartments are found so well furnished. Carpets are not very common in
tenement-houses, and if there are any pictures, they are usually the
cheapest prints. Wooden chairs, and generally every object of the
cheapest, are to be met with in the dwellings of the New York poor. If we
find something better in the present instance, it is not because Paul and
his mother are any better off than their neighbors. On the contrary, there
are few whose income is so small. But they have seen better days, and the
furniture we see has been saved from the time of their comparative
prosperity.

As Paul is still at his estimate, let us improve the opportunity by giving
a little of their early history.

Mr. Hoffman, the father of Paul, was born in Germany, but came to New York
when a boy of twelve, and there he grew up and married, his wife being an
American. He was a cabinetmaker, and, being a skillful workman, earned
very good wages, so that he was able to maintain his family in comfort.
They occupied a neat little cottage in Harlem, and lived very happily, for
Mr. Hoffman was temperate and kind, when an unfortunate accident clouded
their happiness, and brought an end to their prosperity. In crossing
Broadway at its most crowded part, the husband and father was run over by
a loaded dray, and so seriously injured that he lived but a few hours.
Then the precarious nature of their prosperity was found out. Mr. Hoffman
had not saved anything, having always lived up to the extent of his
income. It was obviously impossible for them to continue to live in their
old home, paying a rent of twenty dollars per month. Besides, Paul did not
see any good opportunity to earn his living in Harlem. So, at his
instigation, his mother moved downtown, and took rooms in a tenement-house
in Pearl street, agreeing to pay six dollars a month for apartments which
would now command double the price. They brought with them furniture
enough to furnish the three rooms, selling the rest for what it would
bring, and thus obtaining a small reserve fund, which by this time was
nearly exhausted.

Once fairly established in their new home, Paul went out into the streets
to earn his living. The two most obvious, and, on the whole, most
profitable trades, were blacking boots and selling newspapers. To the
first Paul, who was a neat boy, objected on the score that it would keep
his hands and clothing dirty, and, street boy though he had become, he had
a pride in his personal appearance. To selling papers he had not the same
objection, but he had a natural taste for trade, and this led him to join
the ranks of the street peddlers. He began with vending matches, but found
so much competition in the business, and received so rough a reception
oftentimes from those who had repeated calls from others in the same
business, that he gave it up, and tried something else. But the same
competition which crowds the professions and the higher employments
followed by men, prevails among the street trades which are pursued by
boys. If Paul had only had himself to support, he could have made a fair
living at match selling, or any other of the employments he took up; but
his mother could not earn much at making vests, and Jimmy was lame, and
could do nothing to fill the common purse, so that Paul felt that his
earnings must be the main support of the family, and naturally sought out
what would bring him in most money.

At length he had hit upon selling prize packages, and his first experience
in that line are recorded in the previous chapter. Adding only that it was
now a year since his father's death, we resume our narrative.

“Do you want to know how much I've made, mother?” asked Paul, looking up
at length from his calculation.

“Yes, Paul.”

“A dollar and thirty cents.”

“I did not think it would amount to so much. The prizes came to
considerable, didn't they?”

“Listen, and I will tell you how I stand:

     One pound of candy  . . . . . . . .   .20
     Two packs of envelopes . . . . . . .  .10
     Prize. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .90

     ——
     That makes . . . . . . . . . . . .  $1.20

I sold the fifty packages at five cents each, and that brought me in two
dollars and a half. Taking out the expenses, it leaves me a dollar and
thirty cents. Isn't that doing well for one morning's work?”

“It's excellent; but I thought your prizes amounted to more than ninety
cents.”

“So they did, but several persons who bought wouldn't take their prizes,
and that was so much gain.”

“You have done very well, Paul. I wish you might earn as much every day.”

“I'm going to earn some more this afternoon. I bought a pound of candy on
the way home, and some cheap envelopes, and I'll be making up a new stock
while I am waiting for dinner.”

Paul took out his candy and envelopes, and set about making up the
packages.

“Did any complain of the small amount of candy you put in?”

“A few; but most bought for the sake of the prizes.”

“Perhaps you had better be a little more liberal with your candy, and then
there may not be so much dissatisfaction where the prize is only a penny.”

“I don't know but your are right, mother. I believe I'll only make thirty
packages with this pound, instead of fifty. Thirty'll be all I can sell
this afternoon.”

Just then the door opened, and Paul's brother entered.

Jimmy Hoffman, or lame Jimmy, as he was often called, was a
delicate-looking boy of ten, with a fair complexion and sweet face, but
incurably lame, a defect which, added to his delicate constitution, was
likely to interfere seriously with his success in life. But, as frequently
happens, Jimmy was all the more endeared to his mother and brother by his
misfortune and bodily weakness, and if either were obliged to suffer from
poverty, Jimmy would be spared the suffering.

“Well, Jimmy, have you had a pleasant walk?” asked his mother.

“Yes, mother; I went down to Fulton Market. There's a good deal to see
there.”

“A good deal more than in this dull room, Jimmy.”

“It doesn't seem dull to me, mother, while you are here. How did you make
out selling your prize packages?”

“They are all sold, Jimmy, every one. I am making some more.”

“Shan't I help you?”

“Yes, I would like to have you. Just take those envelopes, and write prize
packages on every one of them.”

“All right, Paul,” and Jimmy, glad to be of use, got the pen and ink, and,
gathering up the envelopes, began to inscribe them as he had been
instructed.

By the time the packages were made up, dinner was ready. It was not a very
luxurious repast. There was a small piece of rump steak—not more
than three-quarters of a pound—a few potatoes, a loaf of bread, and
a small plate of butter. That was all; but then the cloth that covered the
table was neat and clean, and the knives and forks were as bright as new,
and what there was tasted good.

“What have you been doing this morning, Jimmy?” asked Paul.

“I have been drawing, Paul. Here's a picture of Friday. I copied it from
'Robinson Crusoe.'”

He showed the picture, which was wonderfully like that in the book, for
this—the gift of drawing—was Jimmy's one talent, and he
possessed it in no common degree.

“Excellent, Jimmy!” said Paul. “You're a real genius. I shouldn't be
surprised if you'd make an artist some day.”

“I wish I might,” said Jimmy, earnestly. “There's nothing I'd like
better.”

“I'll tell you what, Jimmy. If I do well this afternoon, I'll buy you a
drawing-book and some paper, to work on while mother and I are busy.”

“If you can afford it, Paul, I should like it so much. Some time I might
earn something that way.”

“Of course you may,” said Paul, cheerfully. “I won't forget you.”

Dinner over, Paul went out to business, and was again successful, getting
rid of his thirty packages, and clearing another dollar. Half of this he
invested in a drawing-book, a pencil and some drawing-paper for Jimmy.
Even then he had left of his earnings for the day one dollar and eighty
cents. But this success in the new business had already excited envy and
competition, as he was destined to find out on the morrow.

CHAPTER III

PAUL HAS COMPETITORS

The next morning Paul took his old place in front of the post office. He
set down his basket in front, and, taking one of the packages in his hand,
called out in a businesslike manner, as on the day before, “Here's your
prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up,
gentlemen, and try your luck!”

He met with a fair degree of success at first, managing in the course of
an hour to sell ten packages. All the prizes drawn were small, with the
exception of one ten-cent prize, which was drawn by a little bootblack,
who exclaimed:

“That's the way to do business, Johnny. If you've got any more of them
ten-cent prizes, I'll give you ten cents a piece for the lot.”

“Better buy some more and see,” said Paul.

“That don't go down,” said the other. “Maybe there'd be only a penny.”

Nevertheless, the effect of this large prize was to influence the sale of
three other packages; but as neither of these contained more than two-cent
prizes, trade began to grow dull, and for ten minutes all Paul's eloquent
appeals to gentlemen to walk up and try their luck produced no effect.

At this point Paul found that there was a rival in the field.

Teddy O'Brien, who had applied for a partnership the day before, came up
with a basket similar to his own, apparently filled with similar packages.
He took a position about six feet distant from Paul, and began to cry out,
in a shrill voice:

“Here's your bully prize packages! Best in the market! Here's where you
get your big prizes, fifty cents in some of 'em. Walk up boys, tumble up,
and take your pick afore they're gone. Fifty cents for five!”

“That's a lie, Teddy,” said Paul, who saw that his rival's attractive
announcement was likely to spoil his trade.

“No, 'tisn't,” said Teddy. “If you don't believe it, just buy one and
see.”

“I'll tell you what I'll do,” said Paul, “I'll exchange.”

“No,” said Teddy; “I ain't a-goin' to risk givin' fifty cents for one.”

“More likely you'd get ten for one. You're a humbug.”

“Have you really got any fifty-cent prizes?” asked a newsboy, who had sold
out his morning stock of papers, and was lounging about the post office
steps.

“Best way is to buy, Johnny,” said Teddy.

The boy did buy, but his prize amounted to only one cent.

“Didn't I tell you so?” said Paul.

“Just wait a while and see,” said Teddy. “The lucky feller hasn't come
along. Here, Mike, jest buy a package!”

Mike, a boy of fifteen, produced five cents, and said, “I don't mind if I
do.”

He selected a package, and, without opening it, slipped it into his
pocket.

“Why don't you open it?” said Teddy.

“What's the use?” said Mike. “There ain't no fifty cents inside.”

However, he drew it out of his pocket, and opened it.

“What's this?” he exclaimed, pulling out a piece of scrip. “Howly St.
Patrick! it's I that's in luck, anyhow I've got the fifty cents!”

And he held up to view a fifty-cent scrip.

“Let me look at it,” said Paul, incredulously.

But there was no room for doubt. It was a genuine fifty cents, as Paul was
compelled to admit.

“Didn't I tell you so?” said Teddy, triumphantly. “Here's where you get
fifty-cent prizes.”

The appeal was successful. The sight of the fifty-cent prize led to a
large call for packages, of which Teddy immediately sold ten, while Paul
found himself completely deserted. None of the ten, however, contained
over two cents. Still the possibility of drawing fifty cents kept up the
courage of buyers, while Paul's inducements were so far inferior that he
found himself wholly distanced.

“Don't you wish you'd gone pardners with me?” asked Teddy, with a
triumphant grin, noticing Paul's look of discomfiture. “You can't do
business alongside of me.”

“You can't make any money giving such big prizes,” said Paul. “You haven't
taken in as much as you've given yet.”

“All right,” said Teddy. “I'm satisfied if you are. Have a package, Jim?”

“Yes,” said Jim. “Mind you give me a good prize.”

The package was bought, and, on being opened, proved to contain fifty
cents also, to Paul's great amazement. How Teddy's business could pay, as
it was managed, he could not comprehend. One thing was certain, however,
his new competitor monopolized the trade, and for two hours Paul did not
get a solitary customer.

“There's something about this I don't understand,” he pondered,
thoughtfully. “He must lose money; but he's spoiled my trade.”

Paul did not like to give up his beat, but he found himself compelled to.
Accordingly he took his basket, and moved off toward Wall street. Here he
was able to start in business without competitors, and succeeded in
selling quite a number of packages, until a boy came up, and said:

“There's a feller up at the post office that's givin' fifty-cent prizes. I
got one of 'em.”

There was a group of half-a-dozen boys around Paul, two of whom were about
to invest; but on hearing thus they changed their intention, and walked of
in the direction of the post office.

Looking up, Paul saw that the boy who had injured his trade was Mike, who
had drawn the first fifty-cent prize from his competitor.

“Can't you stop interfering?” he said, angrily. “I've lost two customers
by you.”

“If you don't like it, you can lump it,” said Mike, insolently. “This is a
free country, ain't it?”

“It's a mean trick,” said Paul, indignantly.

“Say that ag'in, and I'll upset your basket,” returned Mike.

“I'll say it as often as I like,” said Paul, who wasn't troubled by
cowardice. “Come on, if you want to.”

Mike advanced a step, doubling his fists; but, finding that Paul showed no
particular sign of fear, he stopped short, saying: “I'll lick you some
other time.”

“You'd better put it off,” said Paul. “Have a prize package, sir? Only
five cents!”

This was addressed to a young man who came out of an insurance office.

“I don't mind if I do,” said the young man. “Five cents, is it? What prize
may I expect?”

“The highest is ten cents.”

“There's a boy around the post office that gives fifty-cent prizes,
mister,” said Mike. “You'd better buy of him.”

“I'll wait till another time,” said the young man. “Here's the money,
Johnny. Now for the package.”

“Look here,” said Paul, indignantly, when his customer had gone away;
“haven't you anything to do except to drive off my customers?”

“Give me two cents on every package,” said Mike, “and I'll tell 'em you
give dollar prizes.”

“That would be a lie, and I don't want to do business that way.”

Mike continued his persecutions a while longer, and then turned the corner
into Nassau street.

“I'm glad he's gone,” thought Paul. “Now there's a chance for me.”

He managed after a while to sell twenty of his packages. By this time it
was twelve o'clock, and he began to feel hungry. He resolved, therefore,
to go home to dinner and come out again in the afternoon. He didn't know
how much he had made, but probably about fifty cents. He had made more
than double as much the day before in less time; but then he did not
suffer from competition.

He began to doubt whether he could long pursue this business, since other
competitors were likely to spring up.

As he walked by the post office he had the curiosity to look and see how
his competitor was getting along.

Teddy had started, originally, with seventy-five packages; but of those
scarcely a dozen were left. A group of boys were around him. Among them
was Mike, who was just on the point of buying another package. As before,
he put it in his pocket, and it was not till Teddy asked, “What luck,
Mike?” that he drew it out, and opening it again, produced fifty cents.

“It's the big prize!” he said. “Sure I'm in luck, anyhow.”

“You're the boy that's lucky,” said Teddy, with a grin.

As Paul witnessed the scene a light broke upon him. Now he understood how
Teddy could afford to give such large prizes. Mike and the other boy, Jim,
were only confederates of his—decoy ducks—who kept drawing
over again the same prize, which was eventually given back to Teddy. It
was plain now why Mike put the package into his pocket before opening it.
It was to exchange it for another packet into which the money had
previously been placed, but which was supposed by the lookers-on to be the
same that had just been purchased. The prize could afterward be placed in
a new packet and used over again.

“That ain't the same package,” said Paul, announcing his discovery. “He
had it all the while in his pocket.”

“Look here,” blustered Mike, “you jest mind your own business! That's the
best thing for you.”

“Suppose I don't?”

“If you don't there may be a funeral to-morrow of a boy about your size.”

There was a laugh at Paul's expense, but he took it coolly.

“I'll send you a particular invitation to attend, if I can get anybody to
go over to the island.”

As Mike had been a resident at Blackwell's Island on two different
occasions, this produced a laugh at his expense, in the midst of which
Paul walked off.

CHAPTER IV

TEDDY GIVES UP BUSINESS

“Have you sold all your packages, Paul?” asked Jimmy, as our hero entered
the humble room, where the table was already spread with a simple dinner.

“No,” said Paul, “I only sold twenty. I begin to think that the
prize-package business will soon be played out.”

“Why?”

“There's too many that'll go into it.”

Here Paul related his experience of the morning, explaining how it was
that Teddy had managed to distance him in the competition.

“Can't you do the same, Paul?” asked Jimmy. “Mother's got a gold dollar
she could lend you.”

“That might do,” said Paul; “but I don't know any boy I could trust to
draw it except you, and some of them would know we were brothers.”

“I think, Paul, that would be dishonest,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I would
rather make less, if I were you, and do it honestly.”

“Maybe you're right, mother. I'll try it again this afternoon, keeping as
far away from Teddy as I can. If I find I can't make it go, I'll try some
other business.”

“Jimmy, have you shown Paul your drawing?” said his mother.

“Here it is, Paul,” said Jimmy, producing his drawing-book, from which he
had copied a simple design of a rustic cottage.

“Why, that's capital, Jimmy,” said Paul, in real surprise. “I had no idea
you would succeed so well.”

“Do you really think so, Paul?” asked the little boy, much pleased.

“I really do. How long did it take you?”

“Only a short time—not more than half an hour, I should think,” said
Mrs. Hoffman. “I think Jimmy succeeded very well.”

“You'll make a great artist some time, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I wish I could,” said the little boy. “I should like to earn some money,
so that you and mother need not work so hard.”

“Hard work agrees with me. I'm tough,” said Paul. “But when we get to be
men, Jimmy, we'll make so much money that mother needn't work at all. She
shall sit in the parlor all day, dressed in silk, with nothing to do.”

“I don't think I would enjoy that,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“Will you be in the candy business, then, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, Jimmy. It would never do for the brother of a great artist to be
selling candy round the streets. I hope I shall have something better to
do than that.”

“Sit down to dinner, Paul,” said his mother. “It's all ready.”

The dinner was not a luxurious one. There was a small plate of cold meat,
some potatoes, and bread and butter; but Mrs. Hoffman felt glad to be able
to provide even that, and Paul, who had the hearty appetite of a growing
boy, did full justice to the fare. They had scarcely finished, when a
knock was heard at the door. Paul, answering the summons, admitted a
stout, pleasant-looking Irishwoman.

“The top of the mornin' to ye, Mrs. Donovan,” said Paul, bowing
ceremoniously.

“Ah, ye'll be afther havin' your joke, Paul,” said Mrs. Donovan,
good-naturedly. “And how is your health, mum, the day?”

“I am well, thank you, Mrs. Donovan,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Sit down to the
table, won't you? We're just through dinner, but there's something left.”

“Thank you, mum, I've jist taken dinner. I was goin' to wash this
afternoon, and I thought maybe you'd have some little pieces I could wash
jist as well as not.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan, you are very kind; but you must have enough work
of your own to do.”

“I'm stout and strong, mum, and hard work agrees with me; but you're a
rale lady, and ain't used to it. It's only a thrifle, but if you want to
pay me, you could do a bit of sewin' for me. I ain't very good with the
needle. My fingers is too coarse, belike.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan; on those terms I will agree to your kind offer.
Washing is a little hard for me.”

Mrs. Hoffman collected a few pieces, and, wrapping them up in a
handkerchief, handed them to her guest.

“And now what have you been doin', Jimmy darlint?” said Mrs. Donovan,
turning her broad, good-humored face toward the younger boy.

“I've been drawing a picture,” said Jimmy. “Would you like to see it?”

“Now, isn't that illigant?” exclaimed Mrs. Donovan, admiringly, taking the
picture and gazing at it with rapt admiration. “Who showed you how to do
it?”

“Paul bought me a book, and I copied it out of that.”

“You're a rale genius. Maybe you'll make pictures some time like them we
have in the church, of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints. Do you think you
could draw me, now?” she asked, with curiosity.

“I haven't got a piece of paper big enough,” said Jimmy, slyly.

“Ah, it's pokin' fun at me, ye are,” said Mrs. Donovan, good-humoredly.
“Just like my Pat; he run into the room yesterday sayin', 'Mother, there's
great news. Barnum's fat woman is dead, and he's comin' afther you this
afternoon. He'll pay you ten dollars a week and board.' 'Whist, ye
spalpeen!' said I; 'is it makin' fun of your poor mother, ye are?' but I
couldn't help laughing at the impertinence of the boy. But I must be
goin'.”

“Thank you for your kind offer, Mrs. Donovan. Jimmy shall go to your room
for the sewing.”

“There's no hurry about that,” said Mrs. Donovan. “I'll jist bring it in
meself when it's ready.”

“She is very kind,” said Mrs. Hoffman, when Bridget Donovan had gone. “I
shall be glad to have her wash. I am apt to feel weak after it. What are
you going to do this afternoon, Paul?”

“I'll try to sell out the rest of my stock of packages. Perhaps I shan't
succeed, but I'll do my best. Shall you have another picture to show me
when I come back tonight, Jimmy?”

“Yes, Paul; I love to draw. I'm going to try this castle.”

“It's rather hard, isn't it?”

“I can do it,” said Jimmy, confidently.

Paul left the room with his basket on his arm.

He was drawn by curiosity to the spot where he had met with his first
success, as well as his first failure—the front of the post office.
Here he became witness to an unexpectedly lively scene; in other words, a
fight, in which Teddy O'Brien and his confederate, Mike, were the
contestants. To explain the cause of the quarrel, it must be stated that
it related to a division of the spoils.

Teddy had sold out his last package, seventy-five in number. For these he
had received five cents apiece, making in all three dollars and
seventy-five cents, of which all but a dollar and seventy-five cents,
representing the value of the prizes and the original cost of the packages
and their contents, was profit. Now, according to the arrangement entered
into between him and Mike, the latter, for his services, was to receive
one cent on every package sold. This, however, seemed to Teddy too much to
pay, so, when the time of reckoning came, he stoutly asseverated that
there were but sixty packages.

“That don't go down,” said Mike, indignantly; “it's nearer a hundred.”

“No, it isn't. It's only sixty. You've got the fifty cents, and I'll give
you ten more.”

“You must give me the whole sixty, then,” said Mike, changing his ground.
“I drawed the fifty as a prize.”

Teddy was struck with astonishment at the impudence of this assumption.

“It wasn't no prize,” he said.

“Yes, it was,” said Mike. “You said so yourself. Didn't he, Jim?”

Jim, who was also a confederate, but had agreed to accept twenty-five
cents in full for services rendered, promptly answered:

“Shure, Mike's right. It was a prize he drew.”

“You want to chate me!” said Teddy, angrily.

“What have you been doin' all the mornin'?” demanded Mike. “You're the
chap to talk about chatin', ain't you?”

“I'll give you twenty-five cents,” said Teddy, “and that's all I will give
you.”

“Then you've got to fight,” said Mike, squaring off.

“Yes, you've got to fight!” chimed in Jim, who thought he saw a chance for
more money.

Teddy looked at his two enemies, each of whom was probably more than a
match for himself, and was not long in deciding that his best course was
to avoid a fight by running. Accordingly, he tucked all the money into his
pocket, and, turning incontinently, fled down Liberty street, closely
pursued by his late confederates. Paul came up just in time to hear the
termination of the dispute and watch the flight of his late business
rival.

“I guess Teddy won't go into the business again,” he reflected. “I may as
well take my old stand.”

Accordingly he once more installed himself on the post office steps, and
began to cry, “Prize packages. Only five cents!”

Having no competitor now to interfere with his trade, he met with fair
success, and by four o'clock was able to start for home with his empty
basket, having disposed of all his stock in trade.

His profits, though not so great as the day before, amounted to a dollar.

“If I could only make a dollar every day,” thought Paul, “I would be
satisfied.”

CHAPTER V

PAUL LOSES HIS BASKET

Paul continued in the prize-package business for three weeks. His success
varied, but he never made less than seventy-five cents a day, and
sometimes as much as a dollar and a quarter. He was not without
competitors. More than once, on reaching his accustomed stand, he found a
rival occupying it before him. In such cases he quietly passed on, and set
up his business elsewhere, preferring to monopolize the trade, though the
location might not be so good.

Teddy O'Brien did not again enter the field. We left him, at the end of
the last chapter, trying to escape from Mike and Jim, who demanded a
larger sum than he was willing to pay for their services. He succeeded in
escaping with his money, but the next day the two confederates caught him,
and Teddy received a black eye as a receipt in full of all demands. So, on
the whole, he decided that some other business would suit him better, and
resumed the blacking-box, which he had abandoned on embarking in
commercial pursuits.

Mike Donovan and Jim Parker were two notoriously bad boys, preferring to
make a living in any other way than by honest industry. As some of these
ways were not regarded as honest in the sight of the law, each had more
than once been sentenced to a term at Blackwell's Island. They made a
proposition to Paul to act as decoy ducks for him in the same way as for
Teddy. He liked neither of the boys, and did not care to be associated
with them. This refusal Mike and Jim resented, and determined to “pay off”
Paul if they ever got a chance. Our hero from time to time saw them
hovering about him, but took very little notice of them.

He knew that he was a match for either, though Mike exceeded him in size,
and he felt quite capable of taking care of himself.

One day Mike and Jim, whose kindred tastes led them to keep company, met
at the corner of Liberty and William streets. Mike looked unusually
dilapidated. He had had a scuffle the day before with another boy, and his
clothes, always well ventilated, got torn in several extra places. As it
was very uncertain when he would be in a financial condition to provide
himself with another suit, the prospect was rather alarming. Jim Parker
looked a shade more respectable in attire, but his face and hands were
streaked with blacking. To this, however, Jim had become so accustomed
that he would probably have felt uncomfortable with a clean face.

“How are you off for stamps, Jim?” asked Mike.

“Dead broke,” was the reply.

“So am I. I ain't had no breakfast.”

“Nor I 'cept an apple. Couldn't I eat, though?”

“Suppose we borrow a quarter of Paul Hoffman.”

“He wouldn't lend a feller.”

“Not if he knowed it,” said Mike, significantly.

“What do you mean, Mike?” asked Jim, with some curiosity.

“We'll borrow without leave.”

“How'll we do it?”

“I'll tell you,” said Mike.

He proceeded to unfold his plan, which was briefly this. The two were to
saunter up to where Paul was standing; and remain until the group, if
there were any around him should be dispersed. Then one was to pull his
hat over his eyes, while the other would snatch the basket containing his
prize packages, and run down Liberty street, never stopping until he
landed in a certain alley known to both boys. The other would run in a
different direction, and both would meet as soon as practicable for the
division of the spoils. It was yet so early that Paul could not have sold
many from his stock. As each contained a prize, varying from one penny to
ten, they would probably realize enough to buy a good breakfast, besides
the candy contained in the packages. More money might be obtained by
selling packages, but there was risk in this. Besides, it would take time,
and they decided that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.

“That's a good idea,” said Jim, approvingly. “Who'll knock his hat over
his head?”

“You can,” said Mike, “and I'll grab the basket.” But to this Jim
demurred, for two reasons: first, he was rather afraid of Paul, whose
strength of arm he had tested on a previous occasion; and, again, he was
afraid that if Mike got off with the basket he would appropriate the
lion's share.

“I'll grab the basket,” he said.

“What for?” said Mike, suspiciously, for he, too, felt some distrust of
his confederate.

“You're stronger'n I am, Mike,” said Jim. “Maybe he'd turn on me, and I
can't fight him as well as you.”

“That's so,” said Mike, who had rather a high idea of his own prowess, and
felt pleased with the compliment. “I'm a match for him.”

“Of course you be,” said Jim, artfully, “and he knows it.”

“Of course he does,” said Mike, boastfully. “I can lick him with one
hand.”

Jim had serious doubts of this, but he had his reasons for concurring in
Mike's estimate of his own powers.

“We'd better start now,” said Jim. “I'm awful hungry.”

“Come along, then.”

They walked up Liberty street, as far as Nassau. On reaching the corner
they saw their unconscious victim at his usual place. It was rather a
public place for an assault, and both boys would have hesitated had they
not been incited by a double motive—the desire of gain and a feeling
of hostility.

They sauntered along, and Mike pressed in close by Paul.

“What do you want?” asked Paul, not liking the vicinity.

“What's that to you?” demanded Mike.

“Quit crowdin' me.”

“I ain't crowdin'. I've got as much right to be here as you.”

“Here's your prize packages!” exclaimed Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“Maybe I'll buy one if you'll give me credit till to-morrow,” said Mike.

“Your credit isn't good with me,” said Paul. “You must pay cash down.”

“Then you won't trust me?” said Mike, pressing a little closer.

“No, I won't,” said Paul, decidedly.

“Then, take that, you spalpeen!” said Mike, suddenly pulling Paul's hat
over his eyes.

At the same time Jim, to whom he had tipped a wink, snatched the basket,
which Paul held loosely in his hand, and disappeared round the corner.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Paul was at first bewildered.
But he quickly recovered his presence of mind, and saw into the trick. He
raised his hat, and darted in pursuit of Mike, not knowing in what
direction his basket had gone.

“That's a mean trick!” he exclaimed, indignantly. “Give me back my basket,
you thief!”

“I ain't got no basket,” said Mike, facing round.

“Then you know where it is.”

“I don't know nothin' of your basket.”

“You pulled my hat over my eyes on purpose to steal my basket.”

“No, I didn't. You insulted me, that's why I did it.”

“Tell me where my basket is, or I'll lick you,” said Paul, incensed.

“I ain't nothin' to do with your basket.”

“Take that, then, for pulling my hat over my eyes,” and Paul, suiting the
action to the word, dealt Mike a staggering blow in the face.

“I'll murder you!” shouted Mike, furiously, dashing at Paul with a blow
which might have leveled him, if he had not fended it off.

Paul was not quarrelsome, but he knew how to fight, and he was prepared
now to fight in earnest, indignant as he was at the robbery which entailed
upon him a loss he could ill sustain.

“I'll give you all you want,” he said, resolutely, eyeing Mike warily, and
watching a chance to give him another blow.

The contest was brief, being terminated by the sudden and unwelcome
arrival of a policeman.

“What's this?” he asked authoritatively, surveying the combatants; Paul,
with his flushed face, and Mike, whose nose was bleeding freely from a
successful blow of his adversary.

“He pitched into me for nothin',” said Mike, glaring at Paul, and rubbing
his bloody nose on the sleeve of his ragged coat.

“That isn't true,” said Paul, excitedly. “He came up while I was selling
prize packages of candy in front of the post office, and pulled my hat
over my eyes, while another boy grabbed my basket.”

“You lie!” said Mike. “I don't know nothin' of your basket.”

“Why did you pull his hat over his eyes?” asked the policeman.

“Because he insulted me.”

“How did he insult you?”

“He wouldn't trust me till to-morrow.”

“I don't blame him much for that,” said the policeman, who was aware of
Mike's shady reputation, having on a former occasion been under the
necessity of arresting him. Even without such acquaintance, Mike's general
appearance would hardly have recommended him to Officer Jones.

“I'll let you go this time,” he said, “but if I catch you fighting again
on my beat I'll march you off to the station-house.”

Mike was glad to escape, though he would almost have been willing to be
arrested if Paul could have been arrested also.

The officer walked away, and Mike started down the street.

Paul followed him.

That didn't suit Mike's ideas, as he was anxious to meet Jim and divide
the spoils with him.

“What are you follerin' me for?” he demanded, angrily.

“I have my reasons,” said Paul.

“Then you'd better stay where you are. Your company ain't wanted.”

“I know that,” said Paul, “but I'm going to follow you till I find my
basket.”

“What do I know of your basket?”

“That's what I want to find out.”

Mike saw, by Paul's resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous of
shaking him of, he started on a run.

CHAPTER VI

PAUL AS AN ARTIST

Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would have
had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had been
empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot passengers
that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. He kept up pretty well,
however, until, in turning a street corner, he ran at full speed into a
very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was quite knocked out of him by
the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but could not at first obtain
breath enough to speak.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Paul, who, in spite of his desire to
overtake Mike, felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an apology.

“What do you mean, sir,” exploded the fat man, at last, “by tearing
through the streets like a locomotive? You've nearly killed me.”

“I am very sorry, sir.”

“You ought to be. Don't you know better than to run at such speed? You
ought to be indicted as a public nuisance.

“I was trying to catch a thief,” said Paul.

“Trying to catch a thief? How's that?” asked the stout gentleman, his
indignation giving way to curiosity.

“I was selling packages in front of the post office when he and another
boy came up and stole my basket.”

“Indeed! What were you selling?”

“Prize packages, sir.”

“What was in them?”

“Candy.”

“Could you make much that way?”

“About a dollar a day.”

“I'd rather have given you a dollar than had you run against me with such
violence. I feel it yet.”

“Indeed, sir, I'm very sorry.”

“Well, I'll forgive you, under the circumstances. What's your name?”

“Paul Hoffman.”

“Well, I hope you'll get back your basket. Some time, if you see me in the
street, come up and let me know. Would you know me again?”

“I think I should, sir.”

“Well, good-morning. I hope you'll catch the thief.”

“I thank you, sir.”

They parted company, but Paul did not continue the pursuit. The
conversation in which he had taken part had lasted so long that Mike had
had plenty of time to find a refuge, and there would be no use in
following him.

So Paul went home.

“You are home early, Paul,” said his mother. “Surely you haven't sold out
by this time.”

“No, but all my packages are gone.”

“How is that?”

“They were stolen.”

“Tell me about it.”

So Paul told the story.

“That Mike was awful mean,” said Jimmy, indignantly. “I'd like to hit
him.”

“I don't think you would hurt him much, Jimmy,” said Paul, amused at his
little brother's vehemence.

“Then I wish I was a big, strong boy,” said Jimmy.

“I hope you will be, some time.”

“How much was your loss, Paul?” asked his mother.

“There were nearly forty packages. They cost me about a dollar, but if I
had sold them all they would have brought me in twice as much. I had only
sold ten packages.”

“Shall you make some more?”

“No, I think not,” said Paul. “I've got tired of the business. It's
getting poorer every day. I'll go out after dinner, and see if I can't
find something else to do.”

“You ain't going out now, Paul?” said Jimmy.

“No, I'll stop and see you draw a little while.”

“That's bully. I'm going to try these oxen.”

“That's a hard picture. I don't think you can draw it, Jimmy.”

“Yes, I can,” said the little boy, confidently. “Just see if I don't.”

“Jimmy has improved a good deal,” said his mother.

“You'll be a great artist one of these days, Jimmy,” said Paul.

“I'm going to try, Paul,” said the little boy. “I like it so much.”

Little Jimmy had indeed made surprising progress in drawing. With no
instruction whatever, he had succeeded in a very close and accurate
imitation of the sketches in the drawing books Paul had purchased for him.
It was a great delight to the little boy to draw, and hour after hour, as
his mother sat at her work, he sat up to the table, and worked at his
drawing, scarcely speaking a word unless spoken to, so absorbed was he in
his fascinating employment.

Paul watched him attentively.

“You'll make a bully artist, Jimmy,” he said, at length, really surprised
at his little brother's proficiency. “If you keep on a little longer,
you'll beat me.”

“I wish you'd draw something, Paul,” said Jimmy. “I never saw any of your
drawings.”

“I am afraid, if you saw mine, it would discourage you,” said Paul. “You
know, I'm older and ought to draw better.”

His face was serious, but there was a merry twinkle of fun in his eyes.

“Of course, I know you draw better,” said Jimmy, seriously.

“What shall I draw?” asked Paul.

“Try this horse, Paul.”

“All right!” said Paul. “But you must go away; I don't want you to see it
till it is done.”

Jimmy left the table, and Paul commenced his attempt. Now, though Paul is
the hero of my story, I am bound to confess that he had not the slightest
talent for drawing, though Jimmy did not know it. It was only to afford
his little brother amusement that he now undertook the task.

Paul worked away for about five minutes.

“It's done,” he said.

“So quick?” exclaimed Jimmy, in surprise. “How fast you work!”

He drew near and inspected Paul's drawing. He had no sooner inspected it
than he burst into a fit of laughter. Paul's drawing was a very rough one,
and such a horse as he had drawn will never probably be seen until the
race has greatly degenerated.

“What's the matter, Jimmy?” asked Paul. “Don't you like it?”

“It's awful, Paul,” said the little boy, almost choking with mirth.

“I see how it is,” said Paul, with feigned resentment. “You're jealous of
me because you can't draw as well.”

“Oh, Paul, you'll kill me!” and Jimmy again burst into a fit of merriment.
“Can't you really draw any better?”

“No, Jimmy,” said Paul, joining in the laugh. “I can't draw any better
than an old cow. You've got all the talent in the family in that line.”

“But you're smart in other ways, Paul,” said Jimmy, who had a great
admiration of Paul, notwithstanding the discovery of his artistic
inferiority.

“I'm glad there's one that thinks so, Jimmy,” said Paul. “I'll refer to
you when I want a recommendation.”

Jimmy resumed his drawing, and was proud of the praises which Paul freely
bestowed upon him.

“I'll get you a harder drawing book when you've got through with these,”
said Paul; “that is, if I don't get reduced to poverty by having my stock
in trade stolen again.”

After a while came dinner. This meal in Mrs. Hoffman's household usually
came at twelve o'clock. It was a plain, frugal meal always, but on Sunday
they usually managed to have something a little better, as they had been
accustomed to do when Mr. Hoffman was alive.

Paul was soon through.

He took his hat from the bureau, and prepared to go out.

“I'm going out to try my luck, mother,” he said. “I'll see if I can't get
into something I like a little better than the prize-package business.”

“I hope you'll succeed, Paul.”

“Better than I did in drawing horses, eh, Jimmy?”

“Yes, I hope so, Paul,” said the little boy.

“Don't you show that horse to visitors and pretend it's yours, Jimmy.”

“No danger, Paul.”

Paul went downstairs and into the street. He had no definite plan in his
head, but was ready for anything that might turn up. He did not feel
anxious, for he knew there were plenty of ways in which he could earn
something. He had never tried blacking boots, but still he could do it in
case of emergency. He had sold papers, and succeeded fairly in that line,
and knew he could again. He had pitted himself against other boys, and the
result had been to give him a certain confidence in his own powers and
business abilities. When he had first gone into the street to try his
chances there, it had been with a degree of diffidence. But knocking about
the streets soon gives a boy confidence, sometimes too much of it; and
Paul had learned to rely upon himself; but the influence of a good, though
humble home, and a judicious mother, had kept him aloof from the bad
habits into which many street boys are led.

So Paul, though his stock in trade had been stolen, and he was obliged to
seek a new kind of business, was by no means disheartened. He walked a
little way downtown, and then, crossing the City Hall Park, found himself
on Broadway.

A little below the Astor House he came to the stand of a
sidewalk-merchant, who dealt in neckties. Upon an upright framework hung a
great variety of ties of different colors, most of which were sold at the
uniform price of twenty-five cents each.

Paul was acquainted with the proprietor of the stand, and, having nothing
else to do, determined to stop and speak to him.

CHAPTER VII

A NEW BUSINESS

The proprietor of the necktie stand was a slender, dark-complexioned young
man of about twenty-five, or thereabouts.

His name was George Barry. Paul had known him for over a year, and
whenever he passed his stand was accustomed to stop and speak with him.

“Well, George, how's business?” asked Paul.

“Fair,” said Barry. “That isn't what's the matter.”

“What is it, then?”

“I'm sick. I ought not to be out here to-day.”

“What's the matter with you?”

“I've caught a bad cold, and feel hot and feverish. I ought to be at home
and abed.”

“Why don't you go?”

“I can't leave my business.”

“It's better to do that than to get a bad sickness.”

“I suppose it is. I am afraid I am going to have a fever. One minute I'm
hot, another I'm cold. But I can't afford to close up my business.”

“Why don't you get somebody to take your place?”

“I don't know anybody I could get that I could trust. They'd sell my
goods, and make off with the money.”

“Can you trust me?” asked Paul, who saw a chance to benefit himself as
well as his friend.

“Yes, Paul, I could trust you, but I'm afraid I couldn't pay you enough to
make it worth while for you to stand here.”

“I haven't got anything to do just now,” said Paul. “I was in the
prize-package business, but two fellows stole my stock in trade, and I'm
not going into it again. It's about played out. I'm your man. Just make me
an offer.”

“I should like to have you take my place for a day or two, for I know you
wouldn't cheat me.”

“You may be sure of that.”

“I am sure. I know you are an honest boy, Paul. But I don't know what to
offer you.”

“How many neckties do you sell a day?” asked Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“About a dozen on an average.”

“And how much profit do you make?”

“It's half profit.”

Paul made a short calculation. Twelve neckties at twenty-five cents each
would bring three dollars. Half of this was a dollar and a half.

“I'll take your place for half profits,” he said.

“That's fair,” said George Barry. “I'll accept your offer. Can you begin
now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'll go home and go to bed. It's the best place for me.”

“You'd better. I'll come round after closing up, and hand over the money.”

“All right! You know where I live?”

“I'm not sure.”

“No. — Bleecker street.”

“I'll come up this evening.”

George Barry walked away, leaving Paul in charge of his business.

He did so with perfect confidence. Not every boy in Paul's circumstances
can be trusted, but he felt sure that Paul would do the right thing by
him.

I may as well say, in this connection, that George Barry had a mother
living. They occupied two rooms in a lodging-house in Bleecker street, and
lived very comfortably. Mrs. Barry had an allowance of two hundred dollars
a year from a relation. This, with what she earned by sewing, and her son
by his stand, supported them very comfortably, especially as they provided
and cooked their own food, which was, of course, much cheaper than
boarding. Still, the loss of the young man's earnings, even for a short
time, would have been felt, though they had a reserve of a hundred dollars
in a savings bank, from which they might draw if necessary. But George did
not like to do this. The arrangement which he made with Paul was a
satisfactory one, for with half his usual earnings they would still be
able to keep out of debt, and not be compelled to draw upon the fund in
the bank. Of course, something depended on Paul's success as a salesman,
but he would not be likely to fall much below the average amount of sales.
So, on the whole, George Barry went home considerably relieved in mind,
though his head was throbbing, and he felt decidedly sick.

Arrived at home, his mother, who understood sickness, at once took
measures to relieve him.

“Don't mind the loss of a few days, George,” she said, cheerfully; “we
shall be able to get along very well.”

“It'll only be part loss, mother,” he said. “I've got Paul Hoffman to take
my place for half the profits.”

“Paul Hoffman! Do I know him?”

“I don't think he has ever been here but I have known him for a year.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Yes, I'm not at all afraid. He is a smart boy, and as honest as he is
smart. I think he will sell nearly as much as I would.”

“That is an excellent arrangement. You needn't feel uneasy, then.”

“No, the business will go on right.”

“I should like to see your salesman.”

“You'll see him to-night, mother. He's coming round this evening to let me
know how he's got along, and hand over the money he's taken.”

“You'd better be quiet now, George, and go to sleep, if you can. I'll make
you some warm tea. I think it'll do you good.”

Meanwhile Paul assumed charge of George Barry's business. He was sorry his
friend was sick, but he congratulated himself on getting into business so
soon.

“It's more respectable than selling prize packages,” thought Paul. “I wish
I had a stand of my own.”

He was still a street merchant, but among street merchants there are
grades as well as among merchants whose claim to higher respectability
rests upon having rent to pay. Paul felt that it was almost like having a
shop of his own. He had always looked up to George Barry as standing
higher than himself in a business way, and he felt that even if his
earnings should not be as great, that it was a step upward to have sole
charge of his stand, if only for a day or two.

Paul's ambition was aroused. It was for his interest to make as large
sales as possible. Besides, he thought he would like to prove to George
Barry that he had made a good selection in appointing him his substitute.

Now, if the truth must be told, George Barry himself was not possessed of
superior business ability. He was lacking in energy and push. He could
sell neckties to those who asked for them, but had no particular talent
for attracting trade. He would have been a fair clerk, but was never
likely to rise above a very moderate success. Paul was quite different. He
was quick, enterprising, and smart. He was a boy likely to push his way to
success unless circumstances were very much against him.

“I'd like to sell more than George Barry,” he said to himself. “I don't
know if I can, but I'm going to try.”

The day was half over, and probably the most profitable, so far as
business was concerned. Paul had only four or five hours left.

“Let me see,” he said to himself. “I ought to sell six neckties to come up
to the average of half a day's sale. I wonder whether I can do it.”

As his soliloquy ended, his quick eye detected a young man glancing at his
stock, and he observed that he paused irresolutely, as if half inclined to
purchase.

“Can't I sell you a necktie to-day?” asked Paul, promptly.

“I don't know,” said the other. “What do you charge?”

“You can have your choice for twenty-five cents. That is cheap, isn't it?”

“Yes, that's cheap. Let me look at them.”

“Here's one that will suit your complexion,” said Paul.

“Yes, that's a pretty one. I think I'll take it.”

“You have to pay twice as much in the shops,” continued Paul, as he rolled
it up. “You see, we have no rent to pay, and so we can sell cheap. You'll
save money by always buying your neckties here.”

“The only objection to that is that I don't live in the city. I am here
only for a day. I live about fifty miles in the country.”

“Then I'll tell you what you'd better do,” said Paul. “Lay in half a
dozen, while you are about it. It'll only be a dollar and a half, and
you'll save as much as that by doing it.”

“I don't know but you are right,” said his customer, whom the suggestion
impressed favorably. “As you say, it's only a dollar and a half, and it'll
give me a good stock.”

“Let me pick them out for you,” said Paul, briskly, “unless there's
something you see yourself.”

“I like that one.”

“All right. What shall be the next?”

Finally, the young man selected the entire half-dozen, and deposited a
dollar and a half in Paul's hands.

“Come and see me again,” said Paul, “and if you have any friends coming to
the city, send them to me.”

“I will,” said the other.

“Tell them it's the first stand south of the Astor House. Then they won't
miss it.”

“That's a good beginning,” said Paul to himself, with satisfaction. “Half
a day's average sales already, and I've only been here fifteen minutes.
Let me see, what will my profits be on that? Three shillings, I declare.
That isn't bad, now!”

Paul had reason to be satisfied with himself. If he had not spoken, the
young man would very probably have gone on without purchasing at all, or,
at any rate, remained content with a single necktie. Paul's manner and
timely word had increased his purchase sixfold. That is generally the
difference between a poor salesman and one of the first class. Anybody can
sell to those who are anxious to buy; but it takes a smart man to persuade
a customer that he wants what otherwise he would go without. The
difference in success is generally appreciated by dealers, and a superior
salesman is generally paid a handsome salary.

“I don't believe George Barry would have sold that man so many ties,”
thought Paul. “I hope I shall have as good luck next time.”

But this, of course, was not to be expected. It is not every customer who
can be persuaded to buy half-a-dozen ties, even by the most eloquent
salesman. However, in the course of an hour more, Paul had sold three more
to single customers. Then came a man who bought two. Then there was a
lull, and for an hour Paul sold none at all. But business improved a
little toward the close of the afternoon, and when it was time to close
up, our young merchant found that he had disposed of fifteen.

“My share of the profits will be ninety-three cents,” thought Paul, with
satisfaction. “That isn't bad for an afternoon's work.”

CHAPTER VIII

A STROKE OF ILL LUCK

Paul transferred his frame of goods to a neighboring office at the end of
the afternoon, the arrangement having been made by George Barry, on first
entering into business as a street merchant. This saved a good deal of
trouble, as otherwise he would have been compelled to carry them home
every night and bring them back in the morning.

“Well, Paul,” asked his mother, when he returned to supper, “have you
found anything to do yet?”

“I have got employment for a few days,” said Paul, “to tend a necktie
stand. The man that keeps it is sick.”

“How much does he pay you, Paul?” asked Jimmy.

“Half the profits. How much do you think I have made this afternoon?”

“Forty cents.”

“What do you say to ninety-three cents? Just look at this,” and Paul
displayed his earnings.

“That is excellent.”

“I had good luck. Generally, I shan't make more in a whole day than this.”

“That will be doing very well.”

“But I shall make more, if I can. One fellow bought six neckties of me
this afternoon. I wish everybody would do that. Now, mother, I hope supper
is most ready, for selling neckties has made me hungry.”

“Almost ready, Paul.”

It was a humble meal, but a good one. There were fresh rolls and butter,
tea and some cold meat. That was all; but the cloth was clean, and
everything looked neat. All did justice to the plain meal, and never
thought of envying the thousands who, in their rich uptown mansions, were
sitting down at the same hour to elaborate dinners costing more than their
entire week's board.

“Are you going out, Paul?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, noticing that he took his
hat.

“Yes, I must go and see George Barry, and carry the money I have received
for sales.”

“Where does he live?”

“In Bleecker street. I shan't be gone long.”

Paul reached the number which had been given him. It was a large,
four-story house, with the appearance of a barracks.

“Mr. Barry,” said the servant, in answer to his question—“he lives
upstairs on the fourth floor. Room on the right.”

Paul plodded his way upstairs, and found the room without difficulty.

On knocking, the door was opened by Mrs. Barry, who looked at him
inquiringly.

“Does George Barry live here?” asked Paul.

“Yes. Are you the one he left in charge of his business?”

Paul answered in the affirmative, adding, “How is he?”

“He seems quite feverish. I am afraid he is going to have a fever. It's
fortunate he came home. He was not able to attend to his business.”

“Can I see him?”

“Come in,” said Mrs. Barry.

The room was covered with a worn carpet, but looked neat and comfortable.
There was a cheap sewing-machine in one corner, and some plain furniture.
There was a bedroom opening out of this room, and here it was that George
Barry lay upon the bed.

“Is that Paul Hoffman, mother?” was heard from the bedroom.

“Yes,” said Paul, answering for himself.

“Go in, if you like,” said Mrs. Barry. “My son wishes to see you.

“How do you feel now, George?” asked Paul.

“Not very well, Paul. I didn't give up a minute too soon. I think I am
going to have a fever.”

“That is not comfortable,” said Paul. “Still, you have your mother to take
care of you.”

“I don't know how I should get along without her. Can you look after my
business as long as I am sick?”

“Yes; I have nothing else to do.”

“Then that is off my mind. By the way, how many ties did you sell this
afternoon?”

“Fifteen.”

“What!” demanded Barry, in surprise. “You sold fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I never sold so many as that in an afternoon.”

“Didn't you?” said Paul, gratified. “Then you think I did well?”

“Splendidly. How did you do it?”

“You see, there was a young man from the country that I persuaded to buy
six, as he could not get them so cheap at home. That was my first sale,
and it encouraged me.”

“I didn't think you'd sell more than six in the whole afternoon.”

“Nor did I, when I started; but I determined to do my best. I don't expect
to do as well every day.”

“No, of course not. I've been in the business more than a year; and I know
what it is. Some days are very dull.”

“I've got the money for you. The fifteen ties came to three dollars and
seventy-five cents. I keep one-fourth of this as my commission. That
leaves two dollars and eighty-two cents.”

“Quite correct. However, you needn't give me the money. You may need to
change a bill, or else lose a sale. It will do if you settle with me at
the end of the week.”

“I see you have confidence in me, George. Suppose I should take a fancy to
run away with the money?”

“I am not afraid.”

“If I do, I will give you warning a week beforehand.”

After a little more conversation, Paul withdrew, thinking he might worry
the sick man. He offered to come up the next evening, but George Barry
said, “It would be too much to expect you to come up every evening. I
shall be satisfied if you come up every other evening.”

“Very well,” said Paul. “Then you may expect me Saturday. I hope I shall
have some good sales to report, and that I shall find you better.”

Paul descended to the street, and walked slowly homeward. He couldn't help
wishing that the stand was his own, and the entire profits his. This would
double his income, and enable him to save up money. At present this was
hardly possible. His own earnings had been, and were likely to continue,
very fluctuating.

Still, they constituted the main support of the family. His mother made
shirts for an establishment on Broadway at twenty-five cents each, which
was more than some establishments paid. She could hardly average more than
one shirt a day, in addition to her household work, and in order to
accomplish this, even, she was obliged to work very steadily all day.
Jimmy, of course, earned nothing. Not that he was too young. There were
plenty of little newsboys who were as small as he—perhaps smaller. I
have seen boys, who did not appear to be more than four years old,
standing at the corners, crying the news in their childish treble. But
Paul was not willing to have Jimmy sent out into the streets to undergo
the rough discipline of street life. He was himself of a strong, robust
nature, and did not shrink from the rough and tumble of life. He felt sure
he could make his way, and give as well as receive blows. But Jimmy was
shy and retiring, of a timid, shrinking nature, who would suffer from what
would only exhilarate Paul, and brace him for the contest. So it was
understood that Jimmy was to get an education, studying at present at home
with his mother, who had received a good education, and that Mrs. Hoffman
and Paul were to be the breadwinners. “I wish mother didn't have to sit so
steadily at her work,” thought Paul, many a time. He resolved some time to
relieve her from the necessity; but at present it was impossible.

To maintain their small family in comfort required all that both could
earn.

The next morning Paul started out after breakfast for the street stand,
wondering what success he was destined to meet with.

About the middle of the forenoon Mrs. Hoffman prepared to go out.

“Do you think you can stay alone for an hour or two, Jimmy?” she asked.

“Yes, mother,” answered Jimmy, who was deep in a picture which he was
copying from one of the drawing-books Paul had bought him. “Where are you
going mother?”

“To carry back some work, Jimmy. I have got half-a-dozen shirts done, and
must return them, and ask for more.”

“They ought to pay you more than twenty-five cents apiece, mother. How
long has it taken you to make them?”

“Nearly a week.”

“That is only a dollar and a half for a week's work.”

“I know it, Jimmy; but they can get plenty to work at that price, so it
won't do for me to complain. I shall be very glad if I can get steady
work, even at that price.”

Jimmy said no more, and Mrs. Hoffman, gathering up her bundle, went out.

She had a little more than half a mile to go. This did not require long.
She entered the large door, and advanced to the counter behind which stood
a clerk with a pen behind his ear.

“How many?” he said, as she laid the bundle upon the counter.

“Six.”

“Name?”

“Hoffman.”

“Correct. I will look at them.”

He opened the bundle hastily, and surveyed the work critically. Luckily
there was no fault to find, for Mrs. Hoffman was a skillful seamstress.

“They will do,” he said, and, taking from a drawer the stipulated sum,
paid for them.

“Can I have some more?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, anxiously.

“Not to-day. We're overstocked with goods made up. We must contract our
manufacture.”

This was unexpected, and carried dismay to the heart of the poor woman.
What she could earn was very little but it was important to her.

“When do you think you can give me some more work?” she asked.

“It may be a month or six weeks,” he answered, carelessly.

A month or six weeks! To have her supply of work cut off for so long a
time would, indeed, be a dire misfortune. But there was nothing to say.
Mrs. Hoffman knew very well that no one in the establishment cared for her
necessities. So, with a heavy heart, she started for home, making up her
mind to look elsewhere for work in the afternoon. She could not help
recalling, with sorrow, the time when her husband was living, and they
lived in a pleasant little home, before the shadow of bereavement and
pecuniary anxiety had come to cloud their happiness. Still, she was not
utterly cast down. Paul had proved himself a manly and a helpful boy,
self-reliant and courageous, and, though they might be pinched, she knew
that as long as he was able to work they would not actually suffer.

CHAPTER IX

A NEW PATRON

Mrs. Hoffman went out in the afternoon, and visited several large
establishments in the hope of obtaining work. But everywhere she was met
with the stereotyped reply, “Business is so dull that we are obliged to
turn off some who are accustomed to work for us. We have no room for new
hands.”

Finally she decided that it would be of no use to make any further
applications, and went home, feeling considerably disheartened.

“I must find something to do,” she said to herself. “I cannot throw upon
Paul the entire burden of supporting the family.”

But it was not easy to decide what to do. There are so few paths open to a
woman like Mrs. Hoffman. She was not strong enough to take in washing,
nor, if she had been, would Paul, who was proud for his mother, though not
for himself, have consented to her doing it. She determined to think it
over during the evening, and make another attempt to get work of some kind
the next day.

“I won't tell Paul till to-morrow night,” she decided. “Perhaps by that
time I shall have found something to do.”

All that day, the first full day in his new business, Paul sold eighteen
ties. He was not as successful proportionately as the previous afternoon.
Still his share of the profits amounted to a dollar and twelve cents, and
he felt quite satisfied. His sales had been fifty per cent. more than
George Barry's average sales, and that was doing remarkably well,
considering that the business was a new one to him.

The next morning about ten o'clock, as he stood behind his stand, he saw a
stout gentleman approaching from the direction of the Astor House. He
remembered him as the one with whom he had accidentally come in collision
when he was in pursuit of Mike Donovan. Having been invited to speak to
him, he determined to do so.

“Good-morning, sir,” said Paul, politely.

“Eh? Did you speak to me?” inquired the stout gentleman.

“Yes, sir; I bade you good-morning.”

“Good-morning. I don't remember you, though. What's your name?”

“Paul Hoffman. Don't you remember my running against you a day or two
since?”

“Oho! you're the boy, then. You nearly knocked the breath out of me.”

“I am very sorry, sir.”

“Of course you didn't mean to. Is this your stand?”

“No, sir; I am tending for the owner, who is sick.”

“Does he pay you well?”

“He gives me half the profits.”

“And does that pay you for your labor?”

“I can earn about a dollar a day.”

“That is good. It is more than I earned when I was of your age.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“Yes; I was a poor boy, but I kept steadily at work, and now I am rich.”

“I hope I shall be rich some time,” said Paul.

“You have the same chance that I had.”

“I don't care so much for myself as for my mother and my little brother. I
should like to become rich for their sake.”

“So you have a mother and a brother. Where do they live?”

Paul told him.

“And you help support them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's a good boy,” said the gentleman, approvingly. “Is your mother able
to earn anything?”

“Not much, sir. She makes shirts for a Broadway store, but they only pay
her twenty-five cents apiece.”

“That's very small. She can sew well, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, sir; no fault is ever found with her work.”

“Do you think she would make me a dozen shirts?”

“She would be glad to do so,” said Paul, quickly, for he knew that his new
acquaintance would pay far more liberally than the Broadway firm.

“I will give the price I usually pay—ten shillings apiece.”

Ten shillings in New York currency amount to a dollar and a quarter, which
would be five times the price Mrs Hoffman had been accustomed to receive.
A dozen shirts would come to fifteen dollars, which to a family in their
circumstances would be a great help.

“Thank you, sir,” said Paul. “My mother will accept the work thankfully,
and will try to suit you. When shall I come for the cloth?”

“You may come to my house this evening, and I will give you a pattern, and
an order for the materials on a dry goods dealer in Broadway.”

“Where do you live, sir?”

“No. —— Madison avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Thirty-fifth
streets. My name is Preston. Can you remember it?”

“Yes, sir; but I will put it down to make sure.”

“Well, good-morning.”

“Good-morning, sir. I suppose you don't want a tie this morning?”

“I don't think you keep the kind I am accustomed to wear,” said Mr.
Preston, smiling. “I stick to the old fashions, and wear a stock.”

The old gentleman had scarcely gone, when two boys of twelve or thirteen
paused before the stand.

“That's a bully tie, Jeff!” said George, the elder of the two. “I have a
good mind to buy it.”

“It won't cost much,” said Jeff. “Only twenty-five cents. But I like that
one better.”

“If you buy one, I will.”

“All right,” said Jeff, whose full name was Jefferson. “We can wear them
to dancing-school this afternoon.”

So the two boys bought a necktie, and this, in addition to previous sales,
made six sold during the morning.

“I hope I shall do as well as I did yesterday,” thought Paul. “If I can
make nine shillings every day I won't complain. It is better than selling
prize-packages.”

Paul seemed likely to obtain his wish, since at twelve o'clock, when he
returned home to dinner, he had sold ten ties, making rather more than
half of the previous day's sales.

Mrs. Hoffman had been out once more, but met with no better success than
before. There seemed to be no room anywhere for a new hand. At several
places she had seen others, out of employment like herself, who were also
in quest of work. The only encouragement she received was that probably in
a month or six weeks business might so far improve that she could obtain
work. But to Mrs. Hoffman it was a serious matter to remain idle even four
weeks. She reflected that Paul's present employment was only temporary,
and that he would be forced to give up his post as soon as George Barry
should recover his health, which probably would be within a week or two.
She tried in vain to think of some temporary employment, and determined,
in case she should be unsuccessful in the afternoon, which she hardly
anticipated, to consult Paul what she had better do.

Paul noticed when he came in that his mother looked more sober and
thoughtful than usual.

“Have you a headache, mother?” he inquired.

“No, Paul,” she said, smiling faintly.

“Something troubles you, I am sure,” continued Paul.

“You are right, Paul,” said Mrs. Hoffman, “though I didn't mean to tell
you till evening.”

“What is it?” asked Paul, anxiously.

“When I carried back the last shirts I made for Duncan & Co., they
told me I couldn't have any more for a month or six weeks.”

“That will give you some time to rest, mother,” said Paul, who wanted to
keep back his good news for a while.

“But I can't afford to rest, Paul.”

“You forget that I am earning money, mother. I am sure I can earn a dollar
a day.”

“I know you are a good, industrious boy, Paul, and I don't know how we
should get along without you. But it is necessary for me to do my part,
though it is small.”

“Don't be anxious, mother; I am sure we can get along.”

“But I am not willing that the whole burden of supporting the family
should come upon you. Besides, you are not sure how long you can retain
your present employment.”

“I know that, mother; but something else will be sure to turn up. If I
can't do anything else, I can turn bootblack, though I would prefer
something else. There is no chance of my being out of work long.”

“There are fewer things for me to do,” said his mother, “but perhaps you
can think of something. I shall go out this afternoon, and try my luck
once more. If I do not succeed, I will consult with you this evening.”

“Suppose I tell you that I have work for you, enough to last for two or
three weeks, that will pay five times as well as the work you have been
doing; what would you say to that?” asked Paul, smiling.

“Are you in earnest, Paul?” asked his mother, very much surprised.

“Quite in earnest, mother. There's a gentleman up-town that wants a dozen
shirts made, and is willing to pay ten shillings apiece.”

“Ten shillings! Why, that's a dollar and a quarter.”

“Of course it is. I told him I thought you would accommodate him.”

“You are sure I can get the work to do?”

“Certainly. I am to go up to his house this evening and get the pattern
and an order for the materials.”

“It seems too good to be true,” said his mother. “Why, I can earn at least
a dollar a day.”

“Then you will be doing as well as I am.”

“Tell me how you heard of it, Paul,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

Paul told the story of the manner in which he formed Mr. Preston's
acquaintance.

“It's lucky you ran into him, Paul,” said Jimmy.

“He didn't think so at the time,” said Paul, laughing. “He said I nearly
knocked the breath out of him.”

“You won't go out this afternoon, mother, will you?” asked Jimmy.

“No, it will not be necessary now; I didn't think this morning that such a
piece of good luck was in store for, me.”

CHAPTER X

ANOTHER LOSS

After supper Paul brushed his clothes carefully and prepared to go to the
address given him by Mr. Preston. He decided to walk one way, not wishing
to incur the expenses of two railroad fares.

The distance was considerable, and it was nearly eight o'clock when he
arrived at his destination.

Paul found himself standing before a handsome house of brown stone. He
ascended the steps, and inquired, on the door being opened, if Mr. Preston
was at home.

“I'll see,” said the servant.

She returned in a short time, and said: “He says you may come upstairs.”

Paul followed the servant, who pointed out a door at the head of the first
staircase.

Paul knocked, and, hearing “Come in” from within, he opened the door and
entered.

He found himself in a spacious chamber, handsomely furnished. Mr. Preston,
in dressing-gown and slippers, sat before a cheerful, open fire.

“Come and sit down by the fire,” he said, sociably.

“Thank you, sir, I am warm with walking,” and Paul took a seat near the
door.

“I am one of the cold kind,” said Mr. Preston, “and have a fire earlier
than most people. You come about the shirts, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will your mother undertake them?”

“With pleasure, sir. She can no longer get work from the shop.”

“Business dull, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I am glad I thought of giving her the commission. How's business
with you to-day, eh?”

“Pretty good, sir.”

“How many neckties did you sell?”

“Nineteen, sir.”

“And how much do you get for that?”

“Nine shillings and a half—a dollar and eighteen cents.”

“That's pretty good for a boy like you. When I was of your age I was
working on a farm for my board and clothes.”

“Were you, sir?” asked Paul, interested.

“Yes, I was bound out till I was twenty-one. At the end of that time I was
to receive a hundred dollars and a freedom suit to begin the world with.
That wasn't a very large capital, eh?”

“No, sir.”

“But the death of my employer put an end to my apprenticeship at the age
of eighteen. I hadn't a penny of money and was thrown upon my own
resources. However, I had a pair of good strong arms, and a good stock of
courage. I knew considerable about farming, but I didn't like it. I
thought I should like trade better. So I went to the village merchant, who
kept a small dry-goods store, and arranged with him to supply me with a
small stock of goods, which I undertook to sell on commission for him. His
business was limited, and having confidence in my honesty, he was quite
willing to intrust me with what I wanted. So I set out with my pack on my
back and made a tour of the neighboring villages.”

Paul listened with eager interest. He had his own way to make, and it was
very encouraging to find that Mr. Preston, who was evidently rich and
prosperous, was no better off at eighteen than he was now.

“You will want to know how I succeeded. Well, at first only moderately;
but I think I had some tact in adapting myself to the different classes of
persons with whom I came in contact; at any rate, I was always polite, and
that helped me. So my sales increased, and I did a good thing for my
employer as well as myself. He would have been glad to employ me for a
series of years, but I happened to meet a traveling salesman of a New York
wholesale house, who offered to obtain me a position similar to his own.
As this would give me a larger field and larger profits, I accepted
gladly, and so changed the nature of my employment. I became very
successful. My salary was raised from time to time, till it reached five
thousand dollars. I lived frugally and saved money, and at length bought
an interest in the house by which I had been so long employed. I am now
senior partner, and, as you may suppose, very comfortably provided for.

“Do you know why I have told you this?” asked Mr. Preston, noticing the
eagerness with which Paul had listened.

“I don't know, sir; but I have been very much interested.”

“It is because I like to give encouragement to boys and young men who are
now situated as I used to be. I think you are a smart boy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, though you are poor, you can lift yourself to prosperity, if you are
willing to work hard enough and long enough.”

“I am not afraid of work,” said Paul, promptly.

“No, I do not believe you are. I can tell by a boy's face, and you have
the appearance of one who is willing to work hard. How long have you been
a street peddler?”

“About a year, sir. Before that time my father was living, and I was kept
at school.”

“You will find the street a school, though of a different kind, in which
you can learn valuable lessons. If you can get time in the evening,
however, it will be best to keep up your school studies.”

“I am doing that now, sir.”

“That is well. And now, about the shirts. Did your mother say how long it
would take her to make them?”

“About three weeks, I think, sir. Will that be soon enough?”

“That will do. Perhaps it will be well, however, to bring half the number
whenever they are finished.”

“All right, sir.”

“I suppose your mother can cut them out if I send a shirt as a pattern?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Preston rose, and, going to a bureau, took therefrom a shirt which he
handed to Paul. He then wrote a few lines on a slip of paper, which he
also handed our hero.

“That is an order on Barclay & Co.,” he explained, “for the requisite
materials. If either you or your mother presents it, they will be given
you.”

“Very good, sir,” said Paul.

He took his cap, and prepared to go.

“Good-evening, Mr. Preston,” he said.

“Good-evening. I shall expect you with the shirts when they are ready.”

Paul went downstairs and into the street, thinking that Mr. Preston was
very sociable and agreeable. He had fancied that rich men were generally
“stuck up,” but about Mr. Preston there seemed an absence of all pretense.
Paul's ambition was aroused when he thought of the story he had heard, and
he wondered whether it would be possible for him to raise himself to
wealth and live in as handsome a house as Mr. Preston. He thought what a
satisfaction it would be if the time should ever come when he could free
his mother from the necessity of work, and give little Jimmy a chance to
develop his talent for drawing. However, such success must be a long way
off, if it ever came.

He had intended to ride home, but his mind was so preoccupied that he
forgot all about it, and had got some distance on his way before it
occurred to him. Then, not feeling particularly tired, he concluded to
keep on walking, as he had commenced.

“It will save me six cents,” he reflected, “and that is something. If I am
ever going to be a prosperous merchant, I must begin to save now.”

So he kept on walking. Passing the Cooper Institute, he came into the
Bowery, a broad and busy street, the humble neighbor of Broadway, to which
it is nearly parallel.

He was still engaged in earnest thought, when he felt a rude slap on the
back. Looking round, he met the malicious glance of Mike Donovan, who
probably would not have ventured on such a liberty if he had not been
accompanied by a boy a head taller than himself, and, to judge from
appearances, of about the same character.

“What did you do that for, Mike?” demanded Paul.

“None of your business. I didn't hurt you, did I?” returned Mike, roughly.

“No, but I don't care to be hit that way by you.”

“So you're putting on airs, are you?”

“No, I don't do that,” returned Paul; “but I don't care about having
anything to do with you.”

“That's because you've got a new shirt, is it?” sneered Mike.

“It isn't mine.”

“That's what I thought. Who did you steal it from?”

“Do you mean to insult me, Mike Donovan?” demanded Paul, angrily.

“Just as you like,” said Mike, independently.

“If you want to know why I don't want to have anything to do with you, I
will tell you.”

“Tell ahead.”

“Because you're a thief.”

“If you say that again, I'll lick you,” said Mike, reddening with anger.

“It's true. You stole my basket of candy the other day, and that isn't the
only time you've been caught stealing.”

“I'll give you the worst licking you ever had. Do you want to fight?” said
Mike, flourishing his fist.

“No, I don't,” said Paul. “Some time when I haven't a bundle, I'll
accommodate you.”

“You're a coward!” sneered Mike, gaining courage as he saw Paul was not
disposed for an encounter.

“I don't think I am,” said Paul, coolly.

“I'll hold your shirt,” said Mike's companion, with a grin, “if you want
to fight.”

Paul, however, did not care to intrust the shirt to a stranger of so
unprepossessing an appearance.

He, therefore, attempted to pass on. But Mike, encouraged by his
reluctance, stepped up and shook his fist within an inch of Paul's nose,
calling him at the same time a coward. This was too much for Paul's
self-restraint. He dropped the shirt and pitched into Mike in so
scientific a manner that the latter was compelled to retreat, and finally
to flee at the top of his speed, not without having first received several
pretty hard blows.

“I don't think he will meddle with me again,” said Paul to himself, as he
pulled down the sleeves of his jacket.

He walked back, and looked for the shirt which he had laid down before
commencing the combat. But he looked in vain. Nothing was to be seen of
the shirt or of Mike's companion. Probably both had disappeared together.

CHAPTER XI

BARCLAY & CO.

The loss of the shirt was very vexatious. It was not so much the value of
it that Paul cared for, although this was a consideration by no means to
be despised by one in his circumstances; but it had been lent as a
pattern, and without it his mother would be unable to make Mr. Preston's
shirts. As to recovering it, he felt that there was little chance of this.
Besides, it would involve delay, and his mother could not afford to remain
idle. Paul felt decidedly uncomfortable. Again Mike Donovan had done him
an injury, and this time of a more serious nature than before.

What should he do?

There seemed but one answer to this question. He must go back to Mr.
Preston, explain the manner in which he had lost his shirt, and ask him
for another, promising, of course, to supply the place of the one lost. He
was not sure whether Mr. Preston would accept this explanation. He might
think it was only an attempt to defraud him. But, at any rate, it seemed
the only thing to do, and it must be done at once. He entered a passing
car, for it was too late to walk.

“I wish I had taken the car down,” thought Paul. “Then I shouldn't have
lost the shirt.”

But it was too late for regrets now. He must do the best that remained to
him.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Paul once more stood before the door of Mr.
Preston's boarding-place. He rang the bell and asked to see him.

“You have been here before this evening?” said the servant.

“Yes.”

“Then you know the room. You can walk right up.”

Paul went upstairs and knocked at Mr. Preston's room. He was bidden to
come in, and did so.

Mr. Preston looked up with surprise.

“I suppose you are surprised to see me,” said Paul, rather awkwardly.

“Why, yes. I did not anticipate that pleasure quite so soon,” said Mr.
Preston, smiling.

“I am afraid it won't be a pleasure, for I bring bad news.”

“Bad news?” repeated the gentleman, rather startled.

“Yes; I have lost the shirt you gave me.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Mr. Preston, looking relieved. “But how did you
lose it?”

“I was walking home down the Bowery, when two fellows met me. One of them,
Mike Donovan, forced me into a fight. I gave him a licking,” added Paul,
with satisfaction; “but when it was all over, I found the other fellow had
run off with the shirt.”

“I don't believe it will fit him,” said Mr. Preston, laughing.

As the speaker probably weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, it was,
indeed, rather doubtful. Paul couldn't help laughing himself at the
thought.

“You were certainly unlucky,” said Mr. Preston. “Did you know the boy you
fought with?”

“Yes, sir; he once before stole my stock of candy, when I was in the
prize-package business.”

“That was the day we got acquainted,” remarked Mr. Preston.

“Yes, sir.”

“He doesn't seem to be a very particular friend of yours.”

“No; he hates me, Mike does, though I don't know why. But I hope you won't
be angry with me for losing the shirt?”

“No; it doesn't seem to be your fault, only your misfortune.”

“I was afraid you might think I had made up the story, and only wanted to
get an extra shirt from you.”

“No, my young friend; I have some faith in physiognomy, and you have an
honest face. I don't believe you would deceive me.”

“No, I wouldn't,” said Paul, promptly. “If you will trust me with another
shirt, mother will make you an extra one to make up for the one I have
lost.”

“Certainly you shall have the extra shirt, but you needn't supply the
place of the one lost.”

“It is only fair that I should.”

“That may be, and I am glad you made the offer, but the loss is of little
importance to me. It was no fault of yours that you lost it, and you shall
not suffer for it.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said Paul, gratefully.

“Only just, Paul.”

Mr. Preston went to the bureau, and drew out another shirt, which he
handed to Paul.

“Let me suggest, my young friend,” he said, “that you ride home this time.
It is late, and you might have another encounter with your friend. I
should like to see him with the shirt on,” and Mr. Preston laughed
heartily at the thought.

Paul decided to follow his patron's advice. He had no idea of running any
more risk in the matter. He accordingly walked to Fourth avenue and got on
board the car.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when he reached home. As it was never his
habit to stay out late, his mother had become alarmed at his long absence.

“What kept you so late, Paul?” she asked.

“I'll tell you, pretty soon, mother. Here's the shirt that is to serve as
a pattern. Can you cut out the new shirts by it?”

Mrs. Hoffman examined it attentively.

“Yes,” she said; “there will be no difficulty about that. Mr. Preston must
be a pretty large man.”

“Yes, he is big enough for an alderman; but he is very kind and
considerate, and I like him. You shall judge for yourself when I tell you
what happened this evening.”

It will not be necessary to tell Paul's adventure over again. His mother
listened with pardonable indignation against Mike Donovan and his
companion.

“I hope you won't have anything to do with that bad boy, Paul,” she said.

“I shan't, if I can help it,” said Paul. “I didn't want to speak to him
to-night, but I couldn't help myself. Oh, I forgot to say, when half the
shirts are ready, I am to take them to Mr. Preston.”

“I think I can make one a day.”

“There is no need of working so steadily, mother. You will be well paid,
you know.”

“That is true; and for that reason I shall work more cheerfully. I wish I
could get paid as well for all my work.”

“Perhaps Mr. Preston will recommend you to his friends, and you can get
more work that way.”

“I wish I could.”

“I will mention it to him, when I carry back the last half dozen.”

“Is he going to send the cloth?”

“I nearly forgot that, too. I have an order on Barclay & Co. for the
necessary amount of cloth. I can go up there to-morrow morning and get
it.”

“That will take you from your work, Paul.”

“Well, I can close up for a couple of hours.”

“I don't think that will be necessary. I will go up myself and present the
order, and get them to send it home for me.”

“Will they do that?”

“It is their custom. Or, if the bundle isn't too large. I can bring it
home myself in the car.”

“That's all right, then. And now, mother, as it's past eleven o'clock, I
think we may as well both go to bed.”

The next day Paul went as usual to his business, and Mrs. Hoffman, after
clearing away the breakfast, put on her bonnet and shawl, and prepared to
go for the materials for the shirts.

The retail store of Barclay & Co. is of great size, and ranks among
the most important in New York. It was not so well filled when Mrs.
Hoffman entered as it would be later. She was directed to the proper
counter, where she presented the order, signed by Mr. Preston. As he was a
customer of long standing, there was no difficulty about filling the
order. A bundle was made up, which, as it contained the materials for
twelve shirts, necessarily was of considerable size.

“Here is your bundle, ma'am,” said the clerk.

Mrs. Hoffman's strength was slender, and she did not feel able to carry
the heavy bundle offered her. Even if she took the car, she would be
obliged to carry it a portion of the way, and she felt that it would
overtask her strength.

“Don't you send bundles?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” said the clerk, looking superciliously at the modest attire
of the poor widow, and mentally deciding that she was not entitled to much
consideration. Had she been richly dressed, he would have been very
obsequious, and insisted on sending home the smallest parcel. But there
are many who have two rules of conduct, one for the rich, and quite a
different one for the poor, and among these was the clerk who was
attending upon Mrs. Hoffman.

“Then,” said Mrs. Hoffman, “I should like to have you send this.”

“It's a great deal of trouble to send everything,” said the clerk,
impertinently.

“This bundle is too heavy for me to carry,” said the widow, deprecatingly.

“I suppose we can send it,” said the clerk, ill-naturedly, “if you insist
upon it.”

Meanwhile, though he had not observed it, his employer had approached, and
heard the last part of the colloquy. He was considered by some as a hard
man, but there was one thing he always required of those in his employ;
that was to treat all purchasers with uniform courtesy, whatever their
circumstances.

“Are you objecting to sending this lady's bundle?” said Mr. Barclay,
sternly.

The clerk looked up in confusion.

“I told her we would send it,” he stammered.

“I have heard what passed. You have been deficient in politeness. If this
happens again, you leave my employ.”

“I will take your address,” said the clerk, in a subdued tone.

Mrs. Hoffman gave it, and left the store, thankful for the interference of
the great merchant who had given his clerk a lesson which the latter, as
he valued his situation, found it advisable to bear in mind.

CHAPTER XII

THE BARREL THIEF

While Mike Donovan was engaged in his contest with Paul, his companion had
quietly walked off with the shirt. It mattered very little to him which
party conquered, as long as he carried off the spoils. His conduct in the
premises was quite as unsatisfactory to Mike as it was to Paul. When Mike
found himself in danger of being overpowered, he appealed to his companion
for assistance, and was incensed to see him coolly disregarding the
appeal, and selfishly appropriating the booty.

“The mane thafe!” he exclaimed after the fight was over, and he was
compelled to retreat. “He let me be bate, and wouldn't lift his finger to
help me. I'd like to put a head on him, I would.”

Just at that moment Mike felt quite as angry with his friend, Jerry
McGaverty, as with his late opponent.

“The shirt's mine, fair,” he said to himself, “and I'll make Jerry give it
to me.”

But Jerry had disappeared, and Mike didn't know where to look for him. In
fact, he had entered a dark alleyway, and, taking the shirt from the paper
in which it was wrapped, proceeded to examine his prize.

The unusual size struck him.

“By the powers,” he muttered, “it's big enough for me great-grandfather
and all his children. I wouldn't like to pay for the cloth it tuck to make
it. But I'll wear it, anyway.”

Jerry was not particular as to an exact fit. His nether garments were
several sizes too large for him, and the shirt would complete his costume
appropriately. He certainly did need a new shirt, for the one he had on
was the only article of the kind he possessed, and was so far gone that
its best days, if it ever had any, appeared to date back to a remote
antiquity. It had been bought cheap in Baxter street, its previous history
being unknown.

Jerry decided to make the change at once. The alley afforded a convenient
place for making the transfer. He accordingly pulled off the ragged shirt
he wore and put on the article he had purloined from Paul. The sleeves
were too long, but he turned up the cuffs, and the ample body he tucked
inside his pants.

“It fits me too much,” soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself after
the exchange. “I could let out the half of it, and have enough left for
meself. Anyhow, it's clane, and it came chape enough.”

He came out of the alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if it had
been worth carrying away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more than one
shirt. It was his habit to wear one until it was ready to drop off from
him, and then get another if he could. There is a practical convenience in
this arrangement, though there are also objections which will readily
occur to the reader.

On the whole, though the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it, he
regarded himself complacently.

The superabundant material gave the impression of liberal expenditure and
easy circumstances, since a large shirt naturally costs more than a small
one. So Jerry, as he walked along the Bowery, assumed a jaunty air,
precisely such as some of my readers may when they have a new suit to
display. His new shirt was quite conspicuous, since he was encumbered
neither with vest nor coat.

Mike, feeling sore over his defeat, met Jerry the next morning on Chatham
street. His quick eye detected the improved state of his friend's apparel,
and his indignation rose, as he reflected that Jerry had pocketed the
profits while the hard knocks had been his.

“Jerry!” he called out.

Jerry did not see fit to heed the call. He was sensible that Mike had
something to complain of, and he was in no hurry to meet his reproaches.

“Jerry McGaverty!” called Mike, coming near.

“Oh, it's you, Mike, is it?” answered Jerry, unable longer to keep up the
pretense of not hearing.

“Yes, it's me,” said Mike. “What made you leave me for last night?”

“I didn't want to interfere betwane two gintlemen,” said Jerry, with a
grin. “Did you mash him, Mike?”

“No,” said Mike, sullenly, “he mashed me. Why didn't you help me?”

“I thought you was bating him, so, as I had some business to attind to, I
went away.”

“You went away wid the shirt.”

“Yes, I took it by mistake. Ain't it an illigant fit?”

“It's big enough for two of you.”

“Maybe I'll grow to it in time,” said Jerry.

“And how much are you goin' to give me for my share?” demanded Mike.

“Say that ag'in,” said Jerry.

Mike repeated it.

“I thought maybe I didn't hear straight. It ain't yours at all. Didn't I
take it?”

“You wouldn't have got it if I hadn't fit with Paul.”

“That ain't nothin' to me,” said Jerry. “The shirt's mine, and I'll kape
it.”

Mike felt strongly tempted to “put a head on” Jerry, whatever that may
mean; but, as Jerry was a head taller already, the attempt did not seem
quite prudent. He indulged in some forcible remarks, which, however, did
not disturb Jerry's equanimity.

“I'll give you my old shirt, Mike,” he said, “if you can find it. I left
it in an alley near the Old Bowery.”

“I don't want the dirty rag,” said Mike, contemptuously.

Finally a compromise was effected, Jerry offering to help Mike on the next
occasion, and leave the spoils in his hands.

I have to chronicle another adventure of Jerry's, in which he was less
fortunate than he had been in the present case. He was a genuine vagabond,
and lived by his wits, being too lazy to devote himself to any regular
street employment, as boot blacking or selling newspapers. Occasionally he
did a little work at each of these, but regular, persistent industry was
out of his line. He was a drone by inclination, and a decided enemy to
work. On the subject of honesty his principles were far from strict. If he
could appropriate what did not belong to him he was ready to do so without
scruple. This propensity had several times brought him into trouble, and
he had more than once been sent to reside temporarily on Blackwell's
Island, from which he had returned by no means improved.

Mike was not quite so much of a vagabond as his companion. He could work
at times, though he did not like it, and once pursued the vocation of a
bootblack for several months with fair success.

But Jerry's companionship was doing him no good, and it seemed likely that
eventually he would become quite as shiftless as Jerry himself.

Jerry, having no breakfast, strolled down to one of the city markets. He
frequently found an opportunity of stealing here, and was now in search of
such a chance. He was a dexterous and experienced barrel thief, a term
which it may be necessary to explain. Barrels, then, have a commercial
value, and coopers will generally pay twenty-five cents for one in good
condition. This is enough, in the eyes of many a young vagabond, to pay
for the risk incurred in stealing one.

Jerry prowled round the market for some time, seeking a good opportunity
to walk off with an apple or banana, or something eatable. But the
guardians of the stands seemed unusually vigilant, and he was compelled to
give up the attempt, as involving too great risk. Jerry was hungry, and
hunger is an uncomfortable feeling. He began to wish he had remained
satisfied with his old shirt, dirty as it was, and carried the new one to
some of the Baxter street dealers, from whom he could perhaps have got
fifty cents for it. Now, fifty cents would have paid for a breakfast and a
couple of cigars, and those just now would have made Jerry happy.

“What a fool I was not to think of it!” he said. “The old shirt would do
me, and I could buy a bully breakfast wid the money I'd get for this.”

Just at this moment he espied an empty barrel—a barrel apparently
quite new and in an unguarded position. He resolved to take it, but the
affair must be managed slyly.

He lounged up to the barrel, and leaned upon it indolently. Then, in
apparent unconsciousness, he began to turn it, gradually changing its
position. If observed, he could easily deny all felonious intentions. This
he kept up till he got round the corner, when, glancing around to see if
he was observed, he quickly lifted it on his shoulder and marched off.

All this happened without his being observed by the owner of the barrel.
But a policeman, who chanced to be going his rounds, had been a witness of
Jerry's little game. He remained quiet till Jerry's intentions became
evident, then walked quietly up and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Put down that barrel!” he said, authoritatively.

Jerry had been indulging in visions of the breakfast he would get with the
twenty-five cents he expected to obtain for the barrel, and the
interruption was not an agreeable one. But he determined to brazen it out
if possible.

“What for will I put it down?” he said.

“Because you have stolen it, that's why.”

“No,” said Jerry, “I'm carrying it round to my boss. It's his.”

“Where do you work?”

“In Fourth street,” said Jerry, at random.

“What number?”

“No. 136.”

“Then your boss will have to get some one in your place, for you will have
to come with me.”

“What for?”

“I saw you steal the barrel. You're a barrel thief, and this isn't the
first time you've been caught at it. Carry back the barrel to the place
you took it from and then come with me.”

Jerry tried to beg off, but without avail.

At that moment Mike Donovan lounged up. When he saw his friend in custody,
he felt a degree of satisfaction, remembering the trick Jerry had played
on him.

“Where are you goin', Jerry?” he asked, with a grin, as he passed him.
“Did ye buy that barrel to kape your shirt in?”

Jerry scowled but thought it best not to answer, lest his unlawful
possession of the shirt might also be discovered, and lead to a longer
sentence.

“He's goin' down to the island to show his new shirt,” thought Mike, with
a grin. “Maybe he'll set the fashion there.”

Mike was right. Jerry was sent to the island for two months, there
introducing Mr. Preston's shirt to company little dreamed of by its
original proprietor.

CHAPTER XIII

OUT OF BUSINESS

The next day Mrs. Hoffman commenced work upon Mr. Preston's shirts. She
worked with much more cheerfulness now that she was sure of obtaining a
liberal price for her labor. As the shirts were of extra size, she found
herself unable to finish one in a day, as she had formerly done, but had
no difficulty in making four in a week. This, however, gave her five
dollars weekly, instead of a dollar and a half as formerly. Now, five
dollars may not seem a very large sum to some of my young readers, but to
Mrs. Hoffman it seemed excellent compensation for a week's work.

“If I could only earn as much every week,” she said to Paul on Saturday
evening, “I should feel quite rich.”

“Your work will last three weeks, mother, and perhaps at the end of that
time some of Mr. Preston's friends may wish to employ you.”

“I hope they will.”

“How much do you think I have made?” continued Paul.

“Six dollars.”

“Seven dollars and a half.”

“So between us we have earned over twelve dollars.”

“I wish I could earn something,” said little Jimmy, looking up from his
drawing.

“There's time enough for that, Jimmy. You are going to be a great artist
one of these days.”

“Do you really think I shall?” asked the little boy, wistfully.

“I think there is a good chance of it. Let me see what you are drawing.”

The picture upon which Jimmy was at work represented a farmer standing
upright in a cart, drawn by a sturdy, large-framed horse. The copy bore a
close resemblance to the original, even in the most difficult portions—the
face and expression, both in the man and the horse, being carefully
reproduced.

“This is wonderful, Jimmy,” exclaimed Paul, in real surprise. “Didn't you
find it hard to get the man's face just right?”

“Rather hard,” said Jimmy; “I had to be careful, but I like best the parts
where I have to take the most pains.”

“I wish I could afford to hire a teacher for you,” said Paul. “Perhaps, if
mother and I keep on earning so much money, we shall be able to some
time.”

By the middle of the next week six of the shirts were finished, and Paul,
as had been agreed upon, carried them up to Mr. Preston. He was fortunate
enough to find him at home.

“I hope they will suit you,” said Paul.

“I can see that the sewing is excellent,” said Mr. Preston, examining
them. “As to the fit, I can tell better after I have tried one on.”

“Mother made them just like the one you sent; but if there is anything
wrong, she will, of course, be ready to alter them.”

“If they are just like the pattern, they will be sure to suit me.”

“And now, my young friend,” he added, “let me know how you are getting on
in your own business.”

“I am making a dollar a day, sometimes a little more.”

“That is very good.”

“Yes, sir; but it won't last long.”

“I believe you told me that the stand belonged to some one else.”

“Yes, sir; I am only tending it in his sickness; but he is getting better,
and when he gets about again, I shall be thrown out of business.”

“But you don't look like one who would remain idle long.”

“No, sir; I shall be certain to find something to do, if it is only
blacking boots.”

“Have you ever been in that business?”

“I've tried about everything,” said Paul, laughing.

“I suppose you wouldn't enjoy boot-blacking much?”

“No, sir; but I would rather do that than be earning nothing.”

“You are quite right there, and I am glad you have no false shame in the
matter. There are plenty who have. For instance, a stout, broad-shouldered
young fellow applied to me thus morning for a clerkship. He said he had
come to the city in search of employment, and had nearly expended all his
money without finding anything to do. I told him I couldn't give him a
clerkship, but was in want of a porter. I offered him the place at two
dollars per day. He drew back, and said he should not be willing to accept
a porter's place.”

“He was very foolish,” said Paul.

“So I thought. I told him that if such were his feelings, I could not help
him. Perhaps he may regret his refusal, when he is reduced to his last
penny. By the way, whenever you have to give up your stand, you may come
to me, and I will see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And now, about these shirts; I believe I agreed to pay a dollar and a
quarter each.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As they are of extra size, I think I ought to pay twelve shillings,
instead of ten.”

“My mother thinks herself well paid at ten shillings.”

“There must be a great deal of work about one. Twelve shillings are none
too much,” and Mr. Preston placed nine dollars in Paul's hand.

“Thank you,” said Paul, gratefully. “My mother will consider herself very
lucky.”

When Mrs. Hoffman received from Paul a dollar and a half more than she
anticipated, she felt in unusually good spirits. She had regretted the
loss of her former poorly paid work, but it appeared that her seeming
misfortune had only prepared the way for greater prosperity. The trouble
was that it would not last. Still, it would tide over the dull time, and
when this job was over, she might be able to resume her old employment. At
any rate, while the future seemed uncertain, she did not feel like
increasing her expenditures on account of her increased earnings, but laid
carefully away three-quarters of her receipts to use hereafter in case of
need.

Meanwhile, Paul continued to take care of George Barry's business. He had
been obliged to renew the stock, his large sales having materially reduced
it. Twice a week he went up to see his principal to report sales. George
Barry could not conceal the surprise he felt at Paul's success.

“I never thought you would do so well,” he said. “You beat me.”

“I suppose it's because I like it,” said Paul. “Then, as I get only half
the profits, I have to work the harder to make fair wages.”

“It is fortunate for my son that he found you to take his place,” said
Mrs. Barry. “He could not afford to lose all the income from his
business.”

“It is a good thing for both of us,” said Paul. “I was looking for a job
just when he fell sick.”

“What had you been doing before?”

“I was in the prize-package business, but that got played out, and I was a
gentleman at large, seeking for a light, genteel business that wouldn't
require much capital.”

“I shall be able to take my place pretty soon now,” said the young man. “I
might go to-morrow, but mother thinks it imprudent.”

“Better get back your strength first, George,” said his mother, “or you
may fall sick again.”

But her son was impatient of confinement and anxious to get to work again.
So, two days afterward, about the middle of the forenoon, Paul was
surprised by seeing George Barry get out of a Broadway omnibus, just in
front of the stand.

“Can I sell you a necktie, Mr. Barry?” he asked, in a joke.

“I almost feel like a stranger,” said Barry, “it's so long since I have
been here.”

“Do you feel strong enough to take charge now?” asked Paul.

“I am not so strong as I was, and the walk from our rooms would tire me;
but I think if I rode both ways for the present I shall be able to get
along.”

“Then you won't need me any longer?”

“I would like to have you stay with me to-day. I don't know how I shall
hold out.”

“All right! I'll stop.”

George Barry remained in attendance the rest of the day. He found that his
strength had so far returned that he should be able to manage alone
hereafter, and he told Paul so.

“I am glad you are well again, George,” said Paul. “It must have been dull
work staying at home sick.”

“Yes, it was dull; but I felt more comfortable from knowing that you were
taking my place. If I get sick again I will send for you.”

“I hope you won't get sick; but if you do, I will do what I can to help
you.”

So the two parted on the best of terms. Each had been of service to the
other, and neither had cause to complain.

“Well,” said Paul to himself, “I am out of work again. What shall I go at
next?”

It was six o'clock, and there was nothing to be done till the morrow. He
went slowly homeward, revolving this subject in his mind. He knew that he
need not remain idle. He could black boots, or sell newspapers, if nothing
better offered, and he thought it quite possible that he might adopt the
latter business, for a few days at least. He had not forgotten Mr.
Preston's injunction to let him know when he got out of business; but, as
the second half dozen shirts would be ready in three or four days, he
preferred to wait till then, and not make a special call on Mr Preston. He
had considerable independence of feeling, and didn't like to put himself
in the position of one asking a favor, though he had no objection to
accept one voluntarily offered.

“Well, mother,” he said, entering his humble home, “I am out of business.”

“Has George recovered, then?”

“Yes, he was at the stand to-day, but wanted me to stay with him till this
evening.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” said Jimmy.

“Sorry that George has got well? For shame, Jimmy!”

“No, I don't mean that, Paul. I am sorry you are out of work.”

“I shall find plenty to do, Jimmy. Perhaps Mr. Stewart will take me in as
senior partner, if I ask him.”

“I don't think he will,” said Jimmy, laughing.

“Then perhaps I can get a few scholars in drawing. Can't you recommend
me?”

“I am afraid not, Paul, unless you have improved a good deal.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE DIAMOND RING

Paul was up betimes the next morning. He had made up his mind for a few
days, at least, to sell newspapers, and it was necessary in this business
to begin the day early. He tool a dollar with him and invested a part of
it in a stock of dailies. He posted himself in Printing House square, and
began to look out for customers. Being an enterprising boy, he was sure to
meet with fair success in any business which he undertook. So it happened
that at ten o'clock he had sold out his stock of papers, and realized a
profit of fifty cents.

It was getting late for morning papers, and there was nothing left to do
till the issue of the first edition of the afternoon papers.

“I'll go down and see how George Barry is getting along,” thought Paul.

He crossed Broadway and soon reached the familiar stand.

“How's business, George?” he inquired.

“Fair,” said Barry. “I've sold four ties.”

“How do you feel?”

“I'm not so strong as I was, yet. I get tired more easily. I don't think I
shall stay in this business long.”

“You don't? What will you do then?”

“I've got a chance in Philadelphia, or I shall have by the first of the
month.”

“What sort of a chance?”

“Mother got a letter yesterday from a cousin of hers who has a store on
Chestnut street. He offers to take me as a clerk, and give me ten dollars
a week at first, and more after a while.”

“That's a good offer. I should like to get one like it.”

“I'll tell you what, Paul, you'd better buy out my stand. You know how to
sell ties, and can make money.”

“There's only one objection, George.”

“What's that?”

“I haven't got any capital.”

“It don't need much.”

“How much?”

“I'll sell out all my stock at cost price.”

“How much do you think there is?”

“About twenty-five dollars' worth. Then there is the frame, which is
worth, say ten dollars, making thirty-five in all. That isn't much.”

“It's more than I've got. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take it, and
pay you five dollars down and the rest in one month.”

“I would take your offer, Paul, but I need all the money how. It will be
expensive moving to Philadelphia and I shall want all I can get.”

“I wish I could buy you out,” said Paul, thoughtfully.

“Can't you borrow the money?”

“How soon do you want to give up?”

“It's the seventeenth now. I should like to get rid of it by the
twenty-second.”

“I'll see what I can do. Just keep it for me till to-morrow.”

“All right.”

Paul walked home revolving in his mind this unexpected opportunity. He had
made, as George Barry's agent, a dollar a day, though he received only
half the profits. If he were himself the proprietor, and did equally well,
he could make twelve dollars a week. The calculation almost took away his
breath. Twelve dollars a week would make about fifty dollars a month. It
would enable him to contribute more to the support of the family, and save
up money besides. But the great problem was, how to raise the necessary
money. If Paul had been a railroad corporation, he might have issued first
mortgage bonds at a high rate of interest, payable in gold, and negotiated
them through some leading banker. But he was not much versed in financial
schemes, and therefore was at a loss. The only wealthy friend he had was
Mr. Preston, and he did not like to apply to him till he had exhausted
other ways and means.

“What makes you so sober, Paul?” asked his mother, as he entered the room.
“You are home early.”

“Yes, I sold all my papers, and thought I would take an early dinner, so
as to be on hand in time for the first afternoon papers.”

“Don't you feel well?”

“Tiptop; but I've had a good offer, and I'm thinking whether I can accept
it.”

“What sort of an offer?”

“George Barry wants to sell out his stand.”

“How much does he ask?”

“Thirty-five dollars.”

“Is it worth that?”

“Yes, it's worth all that, and more, too. If I had it I could make two
dollars a day. But I haven't got thirty-five dollars.”

“I can let you have nine, Paul. I had a little saved up, and I haven't
touched the money Mr. Preston paid me for the shirts.”

“I've got five myself, but that will only make fourteen.”

“Won't he wait for the rest?”

“No, he's going to Philadelphia early next week, and wants the whole in
cash.”

“It would be a pity to lose such a good chance,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

“That's what I think.”

“You could soon save up the money on two dollars a day.”

“I could pay for it in a month—I mean, all above the fourteen
dollars we have.”

“In a day or two I shall have finished the second half-dozen shirts, and
then I suppose Mr. Preston will pay me nine dollars more. I could let you
have six dollars of that.”

“That would make twenty. Perhaps George Barry will take that. If he won't
I don't know but I will venture to apply to Mr. Preston.”

“He seems to take an interest in you. Perhaps he would trust you with the
money.”

“I could offer him a mortgage on the stock,” said Paul.

“If he has occasion to foreclose, he will be well provided with neckties,”
said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“None of which he could wear. I'll tell you what, mother, I should like to
pick up a pocketbook in the street, containing, say, twenty or twenty-five
dollars.”

“That would be very convenient,” said his mother; “but I think it will
hardly do to depend on such good luck happening to you. By the way,” she
said, suddenly, “perhaps I can help you, after all. Don't you remember
that gold ring I picked up in Central Park two years ago?”

“The one you advertised?”

“Yes. I advertised, or, rather, your father did; but we never found an
owner for it.”

“I remember it now, mother. Have you got the ring still?”

“I will get it.”

Mrs. Hoffman went to her trunk, and, opening it, produced the ring
referred to. It was a gold ring with a single stone of considerable size.

“I don't know how much it is worth,” said Mrs. Hoffman; “but if the ring
is a diamond, as I think it is, it must be worth as much as twenty
dollars.”

“Did you ever price it?”

“No, Paul; I have kept it, thinking that it would be something to fall
back upon if we should ever be hard pressed. As long as we were able to
get along without suffering, I thought I would keep it. Besides, I had
another feeling. It might belong to some person who prized it very much,
and the time might come when we could find the owner. However, that is not
likely after so long a time. So, if you cannot raise the money in any
other way, you may sell the ring.”

“I might pawn it for thirty days, mother. By that time I should be able to
redeem it with the profits of my business.”

“I don't think you could get enough from a pawn-broker.”

“I can try, at any rate; but first I will see George Barry, and find out
whether he will take twenty dollars down, and the rest at the end of a
month.”

Paul wrapped up the ring in a piece of paper, and deposited it in his vest
pocket. He waited till after dinner, and then went at once to the necktie
stand, where he made the proposal to George Barry.

The young man shook his head.

“I'd like to oblige you, Paul,” he said, “but I must have the money. I
have an offer of thirty-two dollars, cash, from another party, and I must
take up with it if I can't do any better. I'd rather sell out to you, but
you know I have to consult my own interest.”

“Of course, George, I can't complain of that.”

“I think you will be able to borrow the money somewhere.”

“Most of my friends are as poor as myself,” said Paul. “Still, I think I
shall be able to raise the money. Only wait for me two days.”

“Yes, Paul, I'll wait that long. I'd like to sell out to you, if only
because you have helped me when I was sick. But for you all that would
have been lost time.”

“Where there's a will there's a way, George,” said Paul. “I'm bound to buy
your stand and I will raise the money somehow.”

Paul bought a few papers, for he did not like to lose the afternoon trade,
and in an hour had sold them all off, realizing a profit of twenty cents.
This made his profits for the day seventy cents.

“That isn't as well as I used to do,” said Paul to himself, “but perhaps I
can make something more by and by. I will go now and see what I can get
for the ring.”

As he had determined, he proceeded to a pawnbroker's shop which he had
often passed. It was on Chatham street, and was kept by an old man, an
Englishman by birth, who, though he lived meanly in a room behind his
shop, was popularly supposed to have accumulated a considerable fortune.

CHAPTER XV

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP

Stuffed behind the counter, and on the shelves of the pawnbroker's shop,
were articles in almost endless variety. All was fish that came to his
net. He was willing to advance on anything that had a marketable value,
and which promised to yield him, I was about to say, a fair profit. But a
fair profit was far from satisfying the old man. He demanded an
extortionate profit from those whom ill-fortune drove to his door for
relief.

Eliakim Henderson, for that was his name, was a small man, with a bald
head, scattering yellow whiskers, and foxlike eyes. Spiderlike he waited
for the flies who flew of their own accord into his clutches, and took
care not to let them go until he had levied a large tribute. When Paul
entered the shop, there were three customers ahead of him. One was a young
woman, whose pale face and sunken cheeks showed that she was waging an
unequal conflict with disease. She was a seamstress by occupation, and had
to work fifteen hours a day to earn the little that was barely sufficient
to keep body and soul together. Confined in her close little room on the
fourth floor, she scarcely dared to snatch time to look out of the window
into the street beneath, lest she should not be able to complete her
allotted task. A two days' sickness had compelled her to have recourse to
Eliakim Henderson. She had under her arm a small bundle covered with an
old copy of the Sun.

“What have you got there?” asked the old man, roughly. “Show it quick, for
there's others waiting.”

Meekly she unfolded a small shawl, somewhat faded from long use.

“What will you give me on that?” she asked, timidly.

“It isn't worth much.”

“It cost five dollars.”

“Then you got cheated. It never was worth half the money. What do you want
on it?”

The seamstress intended to ask a dollar and a half, but after this
depreciation she did not venture to name so high a figure.

“A dollar and a quarter,” she said.

“A dollar and a quarter!” repeated the old man, shrilly. “Take it home
with you. I don't want it.”

“What will you give?” asked the poor girl, faintly.

“Fifty cents. Not a penny more.”

“Fifty cents!” she repeated, in dismay, and was about to refold it. But
the thought of her rent in arrears changed her half-formed intention.

“I'll take it, sir.”

The money and ticket were handed her, and she went back to her miserable
attic-room, coughing as she went.

“Now, ma'am,” said Eliakim.

His new customer was an Irish woman, by no means consumptive in
appearance, red of face and portly of figure.

“And what'll ye be givin' me for this?” she asked, displaying a pair of
pantaloons.

“Are they yours, ma'am?” asked Eliakim, with a chuckle.

“It's not Bridget McCarty that wears the breeches,” said that lady. “It's
me husband's, and a dacent, respectable man he is, barrin' the drink,
which turns his head. What'll ye give for 'em?”

“Name your price,” said Eliakim, whose principle it was to insist upon his
customers making the first offer.

“Twelve shillin's,” said Bridget.

“Twelve shillings!” exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands. “That's all
they cost when they were new.”

“They cost every cint of five dollars,” said Bridget. “They was made at
one of the most fashionable shops in the city. Oh, they was an illigant
pair when they was new.”

“How many years ago was that?” asked the pawnbroker.

“Only six months, and they ain't been worn more'n a month.”

“I'll give you fifty cents.”

“Fifty cints!” repeated Mrs. McCarty, turning to the other customers, as
if to call their attention to an offer so out of proportion to the
valuable article she held in her hand. “Only fifty cints for these
illigant breeches! Oh, it's you that's a hard man, that lives on the poor
and the nady.”

“You needn't take it. I should lose money on it, if you didn't redeem it.”

“He says he'd lose money on it,” said Mrs. McCarty. “And suppose he did,
isn't he a-rollin' in gold?”

“I'm poor,” said Eliakim; “almost as poor as you, because I'm too liberal
to my customers.”

“Hear till him!” said Mrs. McCarty. “He says he's liberal and only offers
fifty cints for these illigant breeches.”

“Will you take them or leave them?” demanded the pawnbroker, impatiently.

“You may give me the money,” said Bridget; “and it's I that wonder how you
can slape in your bed, when you are so hard on poor folks.”

Mrs. McCarty departed with her money, and Eliakim fixed his sharp eyes on
the next customer. It was a tall man, shabbily dressed, with a thin,
melancholy-looking face, and the expression of one who had struggled with
the world, and failed in the struggle.

“How much for this?” he asked, pointing to the violin, and speaking in a
slow, deliberate tone, as if he did not feel at home in the language.

“What do you want for it?”

“Ten dollar,” he answered.

“Ten dollars! You're crazy!” was the contemptuous comment of the
pawnbroker.

“He is a very good violin,” said the man. “If you would like to hear him,”
and he made a movement as if to play upon it.

“Never mind!” said Eliakim. “I haven't any time to hear it. If it were new
it would be worth something; but it's old, and——”

“But you do not understand,” interrupted the customer, eagerly. “It is
worth much more than new. Do you see, it is by a famous maker? I would not
sell him, but I am poor, and my Bettina needs bread. It hurts me very much
to let him go. I will buy him back as soon as I can.”

“I will give you two dollars, but I shall lose on it, unless you redeem
it.”

“Two dollar!” repeated the Italian. “Ocielo! it is nothing. But Bettina is
at home without bread, poor little one! Will you not give three dollar?”

“Not a cent more.”

“I will take it.”

“There's your money and ticket.”

And with these the poor Italian departed, giving one last lingering glance
at his precious violin, as Eliakim took it roughly and deposited it upon a
shelf behind him. But he thought of his little daughter at home, and the
means of relief which he held in his hand, and a smile of joy lightened
his melancholy features. The future might be dark and unpromising, but for
three days, at any rate, she should not want bread.

Paul's turn came next.

“What have you got?” asked the pawnbroker.

Paul showed the ring.

Eliakim took it, and his small, beadlike eyes sparkled avariciously as he
recognized the diamond, for his experience was such that he could form a
tolerably correct estimate of its value. But he quickly suppressed all
outward manifestations of interest, and said, indifferently, “What do you
want for it?”

“I want twenty dollars,” said Paul, boldly.

“Twenty dollars!” returned the pawnbroker. “That's a joke.”

“No, it isn't,” said Paul. “I want twenty dollars, and you can't have the
ring for less.”

“If you said twenty shillings, I might give it to you,” said Eliakim; “but
you must think I am a fool to give twenty dollars.”

“That's cheap for a diamond ring,” said Paul. “It's worth a good deal
more.”

The pawnbroker eyed Paul sharply. Did the boy know that it was a diamond
ring? What chance was there of deceiving him as to its value? The old man,
whose business made him a good judge, decided that the ring was not worth
less than two hundred and fifty dollars, and if he could get it into his
possession for a trifle, it would be a paying operation.

“You're mistaken, boy,” he said. “It's not a diamond.”

“What is it?”

“A very good imitation.”

“How much is it worth?”

“I'll give you three dollars.”

“That won't do. I want to raise twenty dollars, and if I can't get that,
I'll keep the ring.”

The pawnbroker saw that he had made a mistake. Paul was not as much in
need of money as the majority of his customers. He would rather pay twenty
dollars than lose the bargain, though it went against the grain to pay so
much money. But after pronouncing the stone an imitation, how could he
rise much above the offer he had already made? He resolved to approach it
gradually. Surveying it more closely, he said:

“It is an excellent imitation. I will give you five dollars.”

Paul was not without natural shrewdness, and this sudden advance convinced
him that it was, after all, a real stone. He determined to get twenty
dollars or carry the ring home.

“Five dollars won't do me any good,” he said. “Give me back the ring.”

“Five dollars is a good deal of money,” said Eliakim.

“I'd rather have the ring.”

“What is your lowest price?”

“Twenty dollars.”

“I'll give you eight.”

“Just now you said it was worth only three,” said Paul, sharply.

“It is very fine gold. It is better than I thought. Here is the money.”

“You're a little too fast,” said Paul, coolly. “I haven't agreed to part
with the ring for eight dollars, and I don't mean to. Twenty dollars is my
lowest price.”

“I'll give you ten,” said the old man, whose eagerness increased with
Paul's indifference.

“No, you won't. Give me back the ring.”

“I might give eleven, but I should lose money.”

“I don't want you to lose money, and I've concluded to keep the ring,”
said Paul, rightly inferring from the old man's eagerness that the ring
was much more valuable than he had at first supposed.

But the old pawnbroker was fascinated by the sparkling bauble. He could
not make up his mind to give it up. By fair means or foul he must possess
it. He advanced his bid to twelve, fourteen, fifteen dollars, but Paul
shook his head resolutely. He had made up his mind to carry it to Ball
& Black's, or some other first-class jewelers, and ascertain whether
it was a real diamond or not, and if so to obtain an estimate of its
value.

“I've changed my mind,” he said. “I'll keep the ring. Just give it back to
me.”

CHAPTER XVI

THE JEWELER'S PRICE

But to give it back was not Eliakim's intention. Should he buy it at
twenty dollars, he would make at least two hundred, and such bargains were
not to be had every day. He decided to give Paul his price.

“I will give you twenty dollars,” he said; “but it is more than the ring
is worth.”

“I have concluded not to take twenty dollars,” said Paul. “You may give it
back.”

“You agreed to take twenty dollars,” said Eliakim, angrily.

“That was when I first came in. You said you wouldn't give it.”

“I have changed my mind.”

“So have I,” said Paul. “You had a chance to get it, but now it's too
late.”

Eliakim was deeply disappointed. Generally he had his own way with his
customers, who, being in urgent need of money, were obliged to accept such
terms as he chose to offer. But now the tables were turned, and Paul
proved more than a match for him. He resolved to attempt intimidation.

“Boy, where did you get this ring?” he asked, in a significant tone.

“Honestly,” said Paul. “That's all you need to know.”

“I don't believe it,” said the old man, harshly. “I believe you stole it.”

“You may believe what you like, but you must give it back to me,” said
Paul, coolly.

“I've a great mind to call a policeman,” said Eliakim.

“If you did,” said Paul, “I'd tell him that you were anxious to get the
ring, though you believed it to be stolen. Perhaps he might have something
to say to you.”

Eliakim perceived the force of Paul's argument, for in law the receiver of
stolen goods is as bad as the thief, and there had been occasions when the
pawnbroker had narrowly escaped punishment for thus indirectly conniving
at theft.

“If you say you got it honestly, I'll buy it of you,” he said, changing
his tune. “What will you take?”

“I don't care about selling to-day,” answered Paul.

“I'll give you twenty-five dollars.”

“I can't sell without consulting my mother. It belongs to her.”

Reluctantly Eliakim gave back the ring, finding his wiles of no effect.

“Bring your mother round to-morrow,” he said. “I'll give you a better
price than you will get anywhere else.”

“All right,” said Paul. “I'll tell her what you say.”

The old pawnbroker followed Paul with wistful glances, vainly wishing that
he had not at first depreciated the ring to such an extent, that his
subsequent advances had evidently excited his customer's suspicion that it
was more valuable than he supposed. He felt that he had lost it through
not understanding the character of the boy with whom he had to deal.

“Well, Paul, what news of the ring?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, as he re-entered
the room.

“I was offered twenty-five dollars for it,” said Paul.

“Did you sell it?”

“No, mother.”

“Why not?” asked Jimmy. “Twenty-five dollars is a lot of money.”

“I know it,” said Paul; “but the ring is worth a great deal more.”

“What makes you think so, Paul?”

“Because the offer was made by a pawnbroker, who never pays quarter what
an article is worth. I am sure the ring is worth a hundred dollars.”

“Yes, I am sure it is worth all that.”

“A hundred dollars!” repeated Jimmy, awestruck at the magnitude of the
sum.

“What shall we do about it, Paul?” asked his mother. “A hundred dollars
will do us more good than the ring.”

“I know that, mother. What I propose is, to carry it to Ball &
Black's, or Tiffany's, and sell it for whatever they say it is worth. They
are first-class houses, and we can depend upon fair treatment.”

“Your advice is good, Paul. I think we will follow it. When will you go?”

“I will go at once. I have nothing else to do, and I would like to find
out as soon as I can how much it will bring. Old Henderson wanted me to
think, at first, that it was only imitation, and offered me twenty
shillings on it. He's an old cheat. When he found that I wasn't to be
humbugged, he raised his offer by degrees to twenty-five dollars. That was
what made me suspect its value.”

“If you get a hundred dollars, Paul,” said Jimmy, “you can buy out the
stand.”

“That depends on whether mother will lend me the money,” said Paul. “You
know it's hers. She may not be willing to lend without security.”

“I am so unaccustomed to being a capitalist,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling,
“that I shan't know how to sustain the character. I don't think I shall be
afraid to trust you, Paul.”

Once more, with the ring carefully wrapped in a paper and deposited in his
pocketbook, Paul started uptown. Tiffany, whose fame as a jeweler is
world-wide, was located on Broadway. He had not yet removed to his present
magnificent store on Union Square.

Paul knew the store, but had never entered it. Now, as he entered, he was
struck with astonishment at the sight of the immense and costly stock,
unrivaled by any similar establishment, not only in the United States, but
in Europe. Our hero walked up to the counter, and stood beside a
richly-dressed lady who was bargaining for a costly bracelet. He had to
wait ten minutes while the lady was making her choice from a number
submitted to her for inspection. Finally she selected one, and paid for
it. The clerk, now being at leisure, turned to our hero and asked:—

“Well, young man, what can I do for you?”

“I have a ring which I should like to show you. I want to know how much it
is worth.”

“Very well. Let me see it.”

When Paul produced the diamond ring, the clerk, who had long been in the
business, and perceived its value at once, started in surprise.

“This is a very valuable ring,” he said.

“So I thought,” said Paul. “How much is it worth?”

“Do you mean how much should we ask for it?”

“No; how much would you give for it?”

“Probably two hundred and fifty dollars.” Paul was quite startled on
finding the ring so much more valuable than he had supposed. He had
thought it might possibly be worth a hundred dollars; but he had not
imagined any rings were worth as much as the sum named.

“Will you buy it of me?” he asked.

The clerk regarded Paul attentively, and, as he thought, a little
suspiciously.

“Does the ring belong to you?” he asked.

“No, to my mother.”

“Where did she buy it?”

“She didn't buy it at all. She found it one day at Central Park. It
belongs to her now. She advertised for an owner, and examined the papers
to see if it was advertised as lost, but could hear nothing of the one to
whom it belonged.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Two years ago.”

“I will show this ring to Mr. Tiffany,” said the clerk.

“Very well.”

Paul took a seat and waited.

Soon Mr. Tiffany came up.

“Are you the boy who brought in the ring?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You say your mother found it two years ago in Central Park?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is a valuable ring. I should be willing to buy it for two hundred and
fifty dollars, if I were quite certain that you had a right to dispose of
it.”

“I have told you the truth, Mr. Tiffany,” said Paul, a little nettled at
having his word doubted.

“That may be, but there is still a possibility that the original owner may
turn up.”

“Won't you buy it, then?” asked Paul, disappointed, for, if he were unable
to dispose of the ring, he would have to look elsewhere for the means of
buying out Barry's street stand.

“I don't say that; but I should want a guaranty of indemnity against loss,
in case the person who lost it should present a claim.”

“In that case,” said Paul, “I would give you back the money you paid me.”

Mr. Tiffany smiled.

“But suppose the money were all spent,” he suggested. “I suppose you are
intending to use the money?”

“I am going to start in business with it,” said Paul, “and I hope to add
to it.”

“Every one thinks so who goes into business; but some get disappointed.
You see, my young friend, that I should incur a risk. Remember, I don't
know you. I judge from your appearance that you are honest; but
appearances are sometimes deceitful.”

“Then I suppose you won't buy it?” said Paul, who saw the force of this
remark.

“If you can bring here any responsible gentleman who knows you, and is
willing to guarantee me against loss in the event of the owner's being
found I will buy the ring for two hundred and fifty dollars.”

Paul brightened up. He thought at once of Mr. Preston, and, from the
friendly interest which that gentleman appeared to take in him, he judged
that he would not refuse him this service.

“I think I can do that,” he said. “Do you know Mr. Andrew Preston? He is a
wealthy gentleman, who lives on Madison avenue, between Thirty-fourth and
Thirty-fifth streets.”

“Not personally. I know him by reputation.”

“Will he be satisfactory?”

“Entirely so.”

“He knows me well,” said Paul. “I think he will be willing to stand
security for me. I will come back in a day or two.”

Paul took the ring, and left the store. He determined to call that evening
on Mr. Preston, and ask the favor indicated.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. FELIX MONTGOMERY

Paul had an errand farther uptown, and, on leaving Tiffany's walked up as
far as Twenty-third street. Feeling rather tired, he got on board a
University place car to return. They had accomplished, perhaps, half the
distance, when, to his surprise, George Barry entered the car.

“How do you happen to be here, at this time, Barry?” he asked. “I thought
you were attending to business.”

“I closed up for a couple of hours, having an errand at home. Where have
you been?”

“To Tiffany's.”

“What, the jewelers?”

“Yes.”

“To buy a diamond ring, I suppose,” said Barry, jocosely.

“No—not to buy, but to sell one.”

“You are joking,” said his companion, incredulously.

“No, I am not. The ring belongs to my mother. I am trying to raise money
enough on it to buy you out.”

“I didn't know your mother was rich enough to indulge in such expensive
jewelry.”

“She isn't, and that's the reason I am trying to sell it.”

“I mean, I didn't think she was ever rich enough.”

“I'll explain it,” said Paul. “The ring was found some time since in
Central Park. As no owner has ever appeared, though we advertised it, we
consider that it belongs to us.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Mr. Tiffany offered two hundred and fifty dollars for it.”

Barry uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Well, that is what I call luck. Of course, you accepted it.”

“I intend to do so; but I must bring some gentleman who will guarantee
that I am all right and have the right to sell it.”

“Can you do that?”

“I think so! I am going to ask Mr. Preston. I think he will do me that
favor.”

“Then there's a fair chance of your buying me out.”

“Yes. I guess I can settle the whole thing up to-morrow.”

“Have you got the ring with you?”

“Yes.”

“I should like to see it, if you have no objection.”

Paul drew it from his pocket, and passed it over to Barry.

“It's a handsome one, but who would think such a little thing could be
worth two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“I'd rather have the money than the ring.”

“So would I.”

On the right of Paul sat a man of about forty, well-dressed and
respectable in appearance, with a heavy gold chain ostentatiously
depending from his watch pocket, and with the air of a substantial
citizen. He listened to the conversation between Barry and Paul with
evident interest, and when Barry had returned the ring, he said:

“Young gentleman, would you be kind enough to let me look at your ring? I
am myself in business as a jeweler in Syracuse, and so feel an interest in
examining it.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Paul, the stranger's explanation of his motives
inspiring him with perfect confidence.

The jeweler from Syracuse took the ring in his hands and appeared to
examine it carefully.

“This is a handsome ring,” he said, “and one of great value. How much were
you offered for it at Tiffany's?”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“It is worth more.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Paul; “but he has to sell it, and make a
profit.”

“He could do that, and yet make a profit. I will pay you two hundred and
seventy-five dollars, myself—that is, on one condition.”

“I don't object to getting twenty-five dollars more,” said Paul. “What is
the condition?”

“I have an order from a gentleman for a diamond ring for a young lady—an
engagement ring, in short. If this suits him, as I think it will, I will
pay you what I said. I can easily get three hundred and twenty-five from
him.”

“How are you going to find out whether it will suit him?”

“Easily. He is stopping at the same hotel with me.”

“What hotel is that?”

“Lovejoy's. If you can spare the time and will come with me now, we can
arrange matters at once. By the way, you can refer me to some responsible
citizen, who will guarantee you. Not, of course, that I have any doubts,
but we business men are forced to be cautious.”

Paul mentioned Mr. Preston's name.

“Quite satisfactory,” answered the jeweler. “I know Mr. Preston
personally, and as I am pressed for time, I will accept his name without
calling upon him. What is your name?”

“Paul Hoffman.”

“I will note it down.”

The gentleman from Syracuse drew out a memorandum book, in which he
entered Paul's name.

“When you see Mr. Preston, just mention my name; Felix Montgomery.”

“I will do so.”

“Say, if you please, that I would have called upon him, but, coming to the
city strictly on business, was too hurried to do so.”

This also Paul promised, and counted himself fortunate in falling in with
a friend, or, at all events, acquaintance of Mr. Preston, since he was
likely to make twenty-five dollars more than he would otherwise have done.

When he got out of the car at the Astor House, the stranger said:

“It will be half an hour before I can reach Lovejoy's, as I have a
business call to make first. Can you call there, say, in three-quarters of
an hour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then, I will expect you. Inquire for me at the desk, and ask
the servant to conduct you to my room—you remember my name?”

“Yes, sir—Mr. Felix Montgomery.”

“Quite right. Good-by, then, till we meet.”

Mr. Felix Montgomery went into the Astor House, and remained about five
minutes. He then came out on the steps, and, looking about him to see if
Paul was anywhere near, descended the steps, and walked across to
Lovejoy's Hotel. Going up to the desk, he inquired:

“Can you accommodate me with a room?”

“Yes, sir; please enter your name.”

The stranger entered his name with a flourish, as Felix Montgomery,
Syracuse.

“Room No. 237,” said the clerk; “will you go up now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Any luggage?”

“My trunk will be brought from the St. Nicholas in the course of the
afternoon.”

“We require payment in advance where there is no luggage.”

“Very well. I will pay for one day. I am not sure but I shall get through
my business in time to go away to-morrow.”

Here the servant appeared to conduct Mr. Montgomery to his room.

“By the way,” he said, turning back, as if it were an afterthought, “I
directed a boy to call here for me in about half an hour. When he comes
you may send him up to my room.”

“Very well, sir.”

Mr. Montgomery followed the servant upstairs to room No. 237. It was
rather high up, but he seemed well pleased that this was the case.

“Hope you won't get tired of climbing, sir,” said the servant.

“No—I've got pretty good wind.”

“Most gentlemen complain of going up so far.”

“It makes little difference to me.”

At length they reached the room, and Mr. Montgomery entered.

“This will answer very well,” he said, with a hasty glance about him.
“When my trunk comes, I want it sent up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe that is all; you can go.”

The servant retired and Mr. Felix Montgomery sat down upon the bed.

“My little plot seems likely to succeed,” he said to himself. “I've been
out of luck lately, but this boy's ring will give me a lift. He can't
suspect anything. He'll be sure to come.”

Probably the reader has already suspected that Mr. Felix Montgomery was
not a jeweler from Syracuse, nor had he any claim to the name under which
he at present figured. He was a noted confidence man, who lived by preying
upon the community. His appearance was in his favor, and it was his
practice to assume the dress and air of a respectable middle-aged citizen,
as in the present instance. The sight of the diamond ring had excited his
cupidity, and he had instantly formed the design of getting possession of
it, if possible. Thus far, his plan promised success.

Meanwhile, Paul loitered away the time in the City Hall Park for half an
hour or more. He did not care to go home until his negotiation was
complete, and he could report the ring sold, and carry home the money.

“Won't mother be astonished,” he thought, “at the price I got for the
ring? I'm in luck this morning.”

When the stipulated time had passed, Paul rose from the bench on which he
was seated, and walked to Lovejoy's Hotel, not far distant.

“Has Mr. Felix Montgomery a room here?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered the clerk. “Did you wish to see him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He mentioned that a boy would call by appointment. Here, James, show this
boy up to No. 237—Mr. Montgomery's room.”

A hotel servant appeared, and Paul followed him up several flights of
stairs till they stood before No. 237.

“This is the room, sir,” said James. “Wait a minute, and I'll knock.”

In answer to the knock, Mr. Montgomery himself opened the door.

“Come in,” he said to Paul; “I was expecting you.”

So Paul, not suspecting treachery, entered No. 237.

CHAPTER XVIII

A CLEVER THIEF

“Take a seat,” said Mr. Montgomery. “My friend will be in directly.
Meanwhile will you let me look at the ring once more?”

Paul took it from his pocket, and handed it to the jeweler from Syracuse,
as he supposed him to be.

Mr. Montgomery took it to the window, and appeared to be examining it
carefully.

He stood with his back to Paul, but this did not excite suspicion on the
part of our hero.

“I am quite sure,” he said, still standing with his back to Paul, “that
this will please my friend. From the instructions he gave me, it is
precisely what he wanted.”

While uttering these words, he had drawn a sponge and a vial of chloroform
from his side pocket. He saturated the former from the vial, and then,
turning quickly, seized Paul, too much taken by surprise to make immediate
resistance, and applied the sponge to his nose. When he realized that foul
play was meditated, he began to struggle, but he was in a firm grasp, and
the chloroform was already beginning to do its work. His head began to
swim, and he was speedily in a state of insensibility. When this was
accomplished, Mr. Felix Montgomery, eyeing the insensible boy with
satisfaction, put on his hat, walked quickly to the door, which he locked
on the outside, and made his way rapidly downstairs. Leaving the key at
the desk, he left the hotel and disappeared.

Meanwhile Paul slowly recovered consciousness. As he came to himself, he
looked about him bewildered, not at first comprehending where he was. All
at once it flashed upon him, and he jumped up eagerly and rushed to the
door. He tried in vain to open it.

“I am regularly trapped!” he thought, with a feeling of mingled anger and
vexation. “What a fool I was to let myself be swindled so easily! I wonder
how long I have been lying here insensible?”

Paul was not a boy to give up easily. He meant to get back the ring if it
was a possible thing. The first thing was, of course, to get out of his
present confinement. He was not used to hotel arrangements and never
thought of the bell, but, as the only thing he could think of, began to
pound upon the door. But it so happened that at this time there were no
servants on that floor, and his appeals for help were not heard. Every
moment that he had to wait seemed at least five, for no doubt the man who
had swindled him was improving the time to escape to a place of safety.
Finding that his blows upon the door produced no effect, he began to jump
up and down upon the floor, making, in his heavy boots, a considerable
noise.

The room directly under No. 237 was occupied by an old gentleman of a very
nervous and irascible temper, Mr. Samuel Piper, a country merchant, who,
having occasion to be in the city on business for a few days, had put up
at Lovejoy's Hotel. He had fatigued himself by some business calls, and
was now taking a little rest upon the bed, when he was aroused from
half-sleep by the pounding overhead.

“I wish people would have the decency to keep quiet,” he said to himself,
peevishly. “How can I rest with such a confounded racket going on above!”

He lay back, thinking the noise would cease, but Paul, finding the
knocking on the door ineffectual, began to jump up and down, as I have
already said. Of course this noise was heard distinctly in the room below.

“This is getting intolerable!” exclaimed Mr. Piper, becoming more and more
excited. “The man ought to be indicted as a common nuisance. How they can
allow such goings-on in a respectable hotel, I can't understand. I should
think the fellow was splitting wood upstairs.”

He took his cane, and, standing on the bed, struck it furiously against
the ceiling, intending it as signal to the man above to desist. But Paul,
catching the response, began to jump more furiously than ever, finding
that he had attracted attention.

Mr. Piper became enraged.

“The man must be a lunatic or overcome by drink,” he exclaimed. “I can't
and I won't stand it.”

But the noise kept on.

Mr. Piper put on his shoes and his coat, and, seizing his cane, emerged
upon the landing. He espied a female servant just coming upstairs.

“Here, you Bridget, or Nancy, or whatever your name is,” he roared,
“there's a lunatic upstairs, making a tremendous row in the room over
mine. If you don't stop him I'll leave the hotel. Hear him now!”

Bridget let fall her duster in fright.

“Is it a crazy man?” she asked.

“Of course he must be. I want you to go up and stop him.”

“Is it me that would go near a crazy man?” exclaimed Bridget,
horror-struck; “I wouldn't do it for a million dollars; no, I wouldn't.”

“I insist upon your going up,” said Mr. Piper, irritably. “He must be
stopped. Do you think I am going to stand such an infernal thumping over
my head?”

“I wouldn't do it if you'd go down on your knees to me,” said Bridget,
fervently.

“Come along, I'll go with you.”

But the terrified girl would not budge.

“Then you go down and tell your master there's a madman up here. If you
don't, I will.”

This Bridget consented to do; and, going downstairs, gave a not very
coherent account of the disturbance. Three male servants came back with
her.

“Is that the man?” asked the first, pointing to Mr. Piper, who certainly
looked half wild with irritation.

“Yes,” said Bridget, stupidly.

Immediately Mr. Piper found himself pinioned on either side by a stout
servant.

“What have you been kickin' up a row for?” demanded the first.

“Let me alone, or I'll have the law take care of you,” screamed the
outraged man. “Can't you hear the fellow that's making the racket?”

Paul, tired with thumping, had desisted for a moment, but now had
recommenced with increased energy. The sounds could be distinctly heard on
the floor below.

“Excuse me, sir. I made a mistake,” said the first speaker, releasing his
hold. “We'll go up and see what's the matter.”

So the party went upstairs, followed at a distance by Bridget, who,
influenced alike by fear and curiosity, did not know whether to go up or
retreat.

The sounds were easily traced to room No. 237. In front of this,
therefore, the party congregated.

“What's the matter in there?” asked James, the first servant, putting his
lips to the keyhole.

“Yes,” chimed in Mr. Piper, irritably; “what do you mean by such an
infernal hubbub?”

“Open the door, and let me out,” returned Paul, eagerly.

The party looked at each other in surprise. They did not expect to find
the desperate maniac a boy.

“Perhaps there's more than one of them,” suggested the second servant,
prudently.

“Why don't you come out yourself?” asked James. “I am locked in.”

The door was opened with a passkey and Paul confronted the party.

“Now, young man, what do you mean by making such a disturbance?” demanded
Mr. Piper, excitably. “My room is just below, and I expected every minute
you would come through.”

“I am sorry if I disturbed you, sir,” said Paul, politely; “but it was the
only way I could attract attention.”

“How came you locked up here?”

“Yes,” chimed in James, suspiciously, “how came you locked up here?”

“I was drugged with chloroform, and locked in,” said Paul.

“Who did it?”

“Mr. Felix Montgomery; or that's what he called himself. I came here by
appointment to meet him.”

“What did he do that for?”

“He has carried off a diamond ring which I came up here to sell him.”

“A very improbable story,” said Mr. Piper, suspiciously. “What should such
a boy have to do with a diamond ring?”

Nothing is easier than to impart suspicion. Men are prone to believe evil
of each other; and Paul was destined to realize this. The hotel servants,
ignorant and suspicious, caught the suggestion.

“It's likely he's a' thafe,” said Bridget, from a safe distance.

“If I were,” said Paul, coolly, “I shouldn't be apt to call your attention
by such a noise. I can prove to you that I am telling the truth. I stopped
at the office, and the bookkeeper sent a servant to show me up here.”

“If this is true,” said Mr. Piper, “why, when you found yourself locked
in, didn't you ring the bell, instead of making such a confounded racket?
My nerves won't get over it for a week.”

“I didn't think of the bell,” said Paul; “I am not much used to hotels.”

“What will we do with him?” asked James, looking to Mr. Piper for counsel.

“You'd better take him downstairs, and see if his story is correct,” said
the nervous gentleman, with returning good sense.

“I'll do it,” said James, to whom the very obvious suggestion seemed
marked by extraordinary wisdom, and he grasped Paul roughly by the arm.

“You needn't hold me,” said our hero, shaking off the grasp. “I haven't
any intention of running away. I want to find out, if I can, what has
become of the man that swindled me.”

James looked doubtfully at Mr. Piper.

“I don't think he means to run away,” said that gentleman. “I begin to
think his story is correct. And hark you, my young friend, if you ever get
locked up in a hotel room again, just see if there is a bell before you
make such a confounded racket.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” said Paul, half-smiling; “but I'll take care not to
get locked up again. It won't be easy for anybody to play that trick on me
again.”

The party filed downstairs to the office and Paul told his story to the
bookkeeper.

“Have you seen Mr. Montgomery go out?” asked our hero.

“Yes, he went out half an hour ago, or perhaps more. He left his key at
the desk, but said nothing. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“You didn't notice in what direction he went?”

“No.”

Of course no attempt was made to detain Paul. There could be no case
against him. He went out of the hotel, and looked up and down Broadway in
a state of indecision. He did not mean to sit down passively and submit to
the swindle. But he had no idea in what direction to search for Mr. Felix
Montgomery.

CHAPTER XIX

PAUL DELIBERATES

Paul stood in the street irresolute. He looked hopelessly up and down
Broadway, but of course the jeweler from Syracuse was not to be seen.
Seeking for him in a city containing hundreds of streets and millions of
inhabitants was about as discouraging as hunting for a needle in a
haystack. But difficult as it was, Paul was by no means ready to give up
the search. Indeed, besides the regret he felt at the loss, he was
mortified at having been so easily outwitted.

“He's taken me in just as if I was a country boy,” thought Paul. “I dare
say he's laughing at me now. I'd like to get even with him.”

Finally he decided to go to Tiffany's, and ask them to detain any one who
might bring in the ring and offer it for sale. He at once acted upon this
thought, and, hailing a Broadway stage, for no time was to be lost, soon
reached his destination. Entering the store, he walked up to the counter
and addressed the clerk to whom he had before shown the ring.

“Do you remember my offering you a diamond ring for sale this morning?” he
asked.

“Yes, I remember it very well. Have you got it with you?”

“No, it has been stolen from me.”

“Indeed! How was that?” asked the clerk, with interest.

“I met in the cars a well-dressed man, who called himself a jeweler from
Syracuse. He examined the ring, and offered me more than Mr. Tiffany, but
asked me to bring it to him at Lovejoy's Hotel. When I got there, he
drugged me with chloroform, and when I recovered he was gone.”

“You have been unlucky. There are plenty of such swindlers about. You
should have been careful about displaying the ring before strangers.”

“I was showing it to a friend.”

“Have you notified the police?”

“Not yet. I came here to let you know, because I thought the thief might
bring it in here to sell.”

“Very likely. Give me a description of him.”

Paul described Mr. Felix Montgomery to the best of his ability.

“I think I should know him from your description. I will speak to Mr.
Tiffany, and he will no doubt give orders to detain any person who may
offer the ring for sale.”

“Thank you.”

“If you will give me your address, we will notify you in case the ring is
brought in.”

Paul left his address, and went out of the store, feeling that he had
taken one step toward the recovery of his treasure. He next visited the
police headquarters, and left a detailed description of the man who had
relieved him of the ring and of the circumstances attending the robbery.
Then he went home.

His mother looked up as he entered.

“Well, Paul?” she said, inquiringly.

“I've got bad news, mother,” he said.

“What is it? Tell me quick!” she said, nervously.

“The ring has been stolen from me.”

“How did it happen, Paul?”

“First, I must tell you how much the ring is worth. I went up to
Tiffany's, and showed the ring to Mr. Tiffany himself. He told me that he
would give me two hundred and fifty dollars for it, if I would satisfy him
that I had a right to sell it.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars!” repeated Mrs. Hoffman, in amazement.

“Yes, the diamond is very large and pure.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars would be a great help to us.”

“Yes, mother, that is what makes me feel so bad about being swindled out
of it.”

“Tell me how it happened. Is there no chance of recovering it?”

“A little. I shall do what I can. I have already notified the police, and
Mr. Tiffany.”

“You have not told me yet how you lost it.”

When Paul had told the story, his mother asked, “Did you mention it in the
cars that you had offered it at Tiffany's?”

“Yes, and I mentioned his offer.”

“Perhaps the thief would be cautious about going there, for that very
reason. He might think the ring would be recognized.”

“He would go to a large place, thinking that so valuable a ring would be
more readily purchased there.”

“He might go to Ball & Black's.”

“That is true.”

“It would be well to give notice there also.”

“I will go up there at once. I only wish I could meet Mr. Felix
Montgomery; I don't think he would find it so easy to outreach me a second
time.”

“Take some dinner first, Paul.”

“Then I must hurry it down, mother; I don't want to run the risk of
getting too late to Ball & Black's. I can't help thinking what a
splendid thing it would be if we had the two hundred and fifty dollars. I
would buy out Barry's stand, and I would get a sewing-machine for you, and
we could live much more comfortably. It makes me mad to think I let that
villain take me in so! He must think me jolly green.”

“Anybody might have been deceived, Paul. You mustn't blame yourself too
much for that.”

Leaving Paul on his way to Ball & Black's, we return to Mr. Felix
Montgomery, as we shall continue to call him, though he had no right to
the name. After stupefying Paul, as already described, he made his way
downstairs, and, leaving his key at the desk, went out.

“I hope my young friend will enjoy himself upstairs,” he chuckled to
himself. “He's quite welcome to the use of the room till to-morrow
morning. It's paid for in advance, and I don't think I shall find it
convenient to stop there.”

He took the ring from his vest pocket and glanced at it furtively.

“It's a beauty,” he murmured, complacently. “I never saw a handsomer ring
of the size. What was it the boy said he was offered for it? Two hundred
and fifty dollars! That'll give me a lift, and it doesn't come any too
soon. My money is pretty low.”

He walked across the City Hall Park, and at Barclay street entered a
University place car.

“Evenin' paper, mister?” said a ragged newsboy, whose garments were
constructed on the most approved system of ventilation.

“What have you got?”

“Evenin' Post, Mail, Express!”

“Give me an Express. Here's ten cents.”

“I haven't got but three cents change, mister.”

“Never mind the change,” said Mr. Montgomery, in a fit of temporary
generosity, occasioned by his good luck.

“Thank you, sir,” said the newsboy, regarding Mr. Montgomery as a
philanthropist worthy of his veneration.

Felix Montgomery leaned back in his seat, and, with a benevolent smile,
ran his eyes over the columns of the Express. Among the paragraphs which
attracted his attention was one relating to a comrade, of similar
profession, who had just been arrested in Albany while in the act of
relieving a gentleman of his pocketbook.

“Jerry always was a bungler,” said Mr. Montgomery, complacently, to
himself. “He can't hold a candle to me. I flatter myself that I know how
to manage a little affair, like this, for instance, as well as the next
man. It'll take a sharp detective to lay hold of me.”

It might have been thought that the manner in which he had gained
possession of the ring would have troubled Mr. Montgomery, but it was many
years since he had led an honest life. He had made a living by
overreaching others, and his conscience had become so blunted as to
occasion him little trouble. He appeared to think that the world owed him
a living, and that he was quite justified in collecting the debt in any
way he could.

About twenty minutes brought the car to Amity street and Mr. Montgomery
signaled the conductor, and, the car being stopped, he got out.