Paul the Peddler, or the Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant, by Horatio Alger

	Enter your search terms Submit search form
	Web www.freematerial.info

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul the Peddler, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Paul the Peddler
       The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

Release Date: March 18, 2006 [EBook #659]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAUL THE PEDDLER ***




Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger





PAUL THE PEDDLER,

OR THE FORTUNES OF A YOUNG STREET MERCHANT


By Horatio Alger, Jr.




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 s