CHAPTER IV.

IN PURSUIT OF A THIEF.

“Were the contents of the casket valuable?” asked the land agent.

“Yes; it contained my mother’s jewels, all the more valuable because she is dead,” replied Rodney.

“Were they of much intrinsic worth?”

“They must be worth several hundred dollars at least.”

“Then they must be found,” said Adin Woods energetically. “They have evidently been taken by some passenger during the five minutes we were away from our seat.”

“Were you inquiring about the casket?” asked a lady sitting opposite.

“Yes, madam. Can you give any information about it?”

“Just after you left your seat the man that sat behind you rose and reaching over for it went to the rear end of the car and got out.”

“I wish you had stopped him, madam.”

“He was so cool about it that I thought he might be a friend of the young gentleman.”

“I didn’t know him. He must have been a thief.”

“What was his appearance, madam?” asked the lot agent.

“He was a thin, dark complexioned man, with side whiskers coming half way down his cheeks.”

“And you say he got out of the rear end of the car?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He won’t get on the train again,” said the agent turning to Rodney. “He thinks the casket valuable enough to pay him for the interruption of his journey.”

“What shall I do then?” asked Rodney, feeling helpless and at a loss which way to turn.

“Follow him,” said the agent briefly. “He will probably stop over in the village a day and resume his journey tomorrow.”

“Even if I found him I am afraid I shouldn’t know how to deal with him.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll stop over with you and help you make it hot for him. I’ve had a spite against thieves ever since I had a valuable overcoat stolen in one of my journeys.”

“I shall feel very much obliged to you, Mr. Woods, but won’t it interfere with your business?”

“Not materially. If we succeed in overhauling the rascal I shall feel sufficiently repaid for the small interruption. But come on, we can’t afford to linger here while he is carrying off the plunder.”

“I don’t know how I can repay you, Mr. Woods,” said Rodney gratefully.

“You can buy a lot of me when you get rich enough.”

“I will certainly do so, though I am afraid it will be a long time first.”

“You don’t know what good fortune may be in store for you. Did you notice, madam, in which direction the thief went?”

“Yes, I was looking out of the window. He went over the road to the left.”

“That leads to the village. You will see, Mr. Ropes, that I was right about his plans.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Ropes. Call me Rodney.”

“I will. It don’t seem natural to dub a boy Mr. Now, Rodney, follow me.”

The two passengers set out on the road that led to the village. They could see the latter easily, for it was not more than a mile away.

“He will be surprised to think we have ‘struck his trail’ so quick,” said the agent.

“Where shall we go first?”

“To the hotel if there is one.”

“The village seems small.”

“Yes, there are only a few hundred inhabitant probably. It is not a place where a traveler would be likely to interrupt his journey unless he had a special object in doing so, like our dishonest friend. However, I think we shall be able to balk his little game.”

Ten minutes’ walk brought them to the village. Looking about they saw a small hotel just across the way from a neat white chapel.

“Follow me,” said the agent.

They went into the public room in which there was a small office.

The book of arrivals was open, and Adin Woods went forward and examined it. Silently he pointed to a name evidently just written, for the ink was scarcely dry. This was the name: Louis Wheeler, Philadelphia.

“This may or may not be his real name,” said Mr. Woods in a low voice.

“Do you wish to register, gentlemen?” asked the clerk.

“We will take dinner, and if we decide to stay will register later. By the way, I recognize this name, but it may not be the man I suppose.”

“Yes, the gentleman just registered.”

“Would you mind describing him?”

“He was a tall, dark man as near as I can remember.”

“And he carried a small casket in his hand?”

“Yes, and a gripsack.”

“Oh yes,” said the agent his face lighting up with satisfaction. “It is the man I mean—where is he now?”

“In his room.”

“Did he say how long he intended to stay?”

“No, sir. He said nothing about his plans.”

“Did he seem specially careful about the casket?”

“Yes, sir. He carried that in his hands, but let the servant carry up the gripsack.”

“My friend,” said the agent in an impressive tone, “I am going to surprise you.”

The country clerk looked all curiosity.

“Is it about Mr. Wheeler?” he asked.

“Yes, the man is a thief. He stole the casket, which contains valuable jewelry, from my young friend here. We are here to demand a return of the property or to arrest him. Is there a policeman within call?”

“I can summon a constable.”

“Do so, but don’t breathe a word of what I have told you.”

The clerk called a boy in from the street and gave him instructions in a low voice. He went at once on his errand, and in ten minutes a stout broad shouldered man made his appearance.

“This gentleman sent for you, Mr. Barlow,” said the clerk.

“What can I do for you?” asked the constable.

“Help me to recover stolen property.”

“That I will do with pleasure if you will tell me what you want me to do.”

Adin Woods held a brief conference with the constable, then he led the way up stairs, followed immediately by Rodney, while the constable kept a little behind.

“His room is No. 9,” said the bell boy.

The agent paused before the door of No. 9, and knocked.

“Come in!” said a voice.

The agent opened the door, and entered, accompanied by Rodney. A glance showed that the occupant answered the description given by the lady in the car.

Louis Wheeler changed color, for he recognized both the agent and Rodney.

“What is your business?” he asked in a tone which he tried to make indifferent.

“That,” answered Woods, pointing to the jewel casket on the bureau.

It looked to him as if Wheeler, if that was his name, had been trying to open it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Then I will try to make things clear to you. You have, doubtless by accident” he emphasized the last word, “taken from the car a casket belonging to my young friend here.”

“You are mistaken, sir,” said Wheeler with brazen hardihood. “That casket belongs to me.”

“Indeed. What does it contain?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your business,” returned Wheeler, determined, if possible, to bluff off his visitors.

“I admire your cheek, sir. I really do. But I am too old a traveler to be taken in by such tricks. I propose to have that casket.”

“Well, sir, you are the most impudent thief and burglar I ever met. You break into a gentleman’s room, and undertake to carry off his private property. Unless you go out at once, I will have you arrested.”

“That you can do very readily, for I have an officer within call.”

Louis Wheeler changed color. He began to see that the situation was getting serious.

“There is a great mistake here,” he said.

“I agree with you.”

The agent went to the door, and called “Constable Barlow.”

The constable promptly presented himself.

“Do you want me, sir?” he asked.

“That depends on this gentleman here. If he will peacefully restore to my young friend here yonder jewel casket I am willing to let him go. Otherwise—” and he glanced at Wheeler significantly.

“Perhaps I have made a mistake,” admitted the thief. “I had a casket exactly like this. Possibly I have taken the wrong one.”

“I have the key to the casket here,” said Rodney, “and I can tell you without opening it what it contains.”

“What did yours contain?” asked the agent.

“Jewelry,” answered Wheeler shortly.

“What articles?”

“Never mind. I am inclined to think this casket belongs to the boy.”

“Rodney, you can take it and Mr. Wheeler will probably find his where he left it.”

No objection was made, and the discomfited thief was left a prey to mortification and disappointment.

Rodney handed a dollar to the constable which that worthy official received with thanks, and he and the agent resumed their journey by an afternoon train. They saw nothing further of Louis Wheeler who sent for dinner to be served in his room.

A YOUNG FINANCIAL WRECK.

“You have been very fortunate in recovering your jewels,” said the agent.

“I owe it to you,” replied Rodney gratefully.

“Well, perhaps so. If I have rendered you a service I am very glad.”

“And I am very glad to have found so good a friend. I hope you will let me pay for your ticket to New York.”

“It won’t be necessary. The interruption of our journey won’t invalidate the ticket we have.”

An hour later they reached New York.

“What are your plans, Rodney?” asked Adin Woods, who by this time had become quite intimate with his young companion.

“I shall call on my guardian, and perhaps he may give me some advice as to what I do. Where would you advise me to go—to a hotel?”

“No; it will be too expensive. I know of a plain boarding house on West Fourteenth Street where you can be accommodated with lodging and two meals—breakfast and supper, or dinner as we call it here—for a dollar a day.”

“I shall be glad to go there, for the present, at least. I haven’t much money, and must find something to do as soon as possible.”

“We will both go there, and if you don’t object we will take a room together. That will give us a larger apartment. Mrs. Marcy is an old acquaintance of mine, and will give you a welcome.”

Rodney was glad to accept his companion’s proposal. They proceeded at once to the boarding house, and fortunately found a good room vacant on the third floor. Mr. Woods went out in the evening to make a call, but Rodney was glad to go to bed at nine o’clock.

The next morning after breakfast Rodney consulted his companion as to what he should do with the casket.

“Do you want to raise money on it?” asked the agent.

“No; I shall not do this unless I am obliged to.”

“Have you any idea as to the value of the jewels?”

“No.”

“Then I will take you first to a jeweler in Maiden Lane, a friend of mine, who will appraise them. Afterwards I advise you to deposit the casket at a storage warehouse, or get Tiffany to keep it for you.”

“I will do as you suggest.”

Maiden Lane is a street largely devoted to jewelers, wholesale and retail. Rodney followed Mr. Woods into a store about midway between Broadway and Nassau Street. A pleasant looking man of middle age greeted the agent cordially.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Do you wish to buy a diamond ring for the future Mrs. Woods?”

“Not much. I would like to have you appraise some jewelry belonging to my young friend here.”

The casket was opened, and the jeweler examined the contents admiringly.

“This is choice jewelry,” he said. “Does your friend wish to sell?”

“Not at present,” answered Rodney.

“When you do give me a call. I will treat you fairly. You wish me to appraise these articles?”

“Yes, sir, if you will.”

“It will take me perhaps fifteen minutes.”

The jeweler retired to the back part of the store with the casket.

In about a quarter of an hour he returned.

“Of course I can’t give exact figures,” he said, “but I value the jewelry at about twelve hundred dollars.”

Rodney looked surprised.

“I didn’t think it so valuable,” he said.

“I don’t mean that you could sell it for so much, but if you wish to dispose of it I will venture to give you eleven hundred.”

“Thank you. If I decide to sell I will certainly come to you.”

“Now,” said the agent, “I advise you on the whole to store the casket with Tiffany.”

“Shall I have to pay storage in advance?” asked Rodney anxiously.

“I think not. The value of the jewels will be a sufficient guarantee that storage will be paid.”

Rodney accompanied Adin Woods to the great jewelry store on the corner of Fifteenth Street and Union Square, and soon transacted his business.

“Now, you won’t have any anxiety as to the safety of the casket,” said the agent. “Your friend of the train will find it difficult to get hold of the jewels. Now I shall have to leave you, as I have some business to attend to. We will meet at supper.”

Rodney decided to call at the office of his late guardian, Benjamin Fielding. It was in the lower part of the city.

On his way down town he purchased a copy of a morning paper. Almost the first article he glanced at proved to be of especial interest to him. It was headed—

SKIPPED TO CANADA

Rumors have been rife for some time affecting the business standing of Mr. Benjamin Fielding, the well known commission merchant. Yesterday it was discovered that he had left the city, but where he has gone is unknown. It is believed that he is very deeply involved, and seeing no way out of his embarrassment has skipped to Canada, or perhaps taken passage to Europe. Probably his creditors will appoint a committee to look into his affairs and report what can be done.

LATER—An open letter has been found in Mr. Fielding’s desk, addressed to his creditors. It expresses regret for their losses, and promises, if his life is spared, and fortune favors him, to do all in his power to make them good. No one doubts Mr. Fielding’s integrity, and regrets are expressed that he did not remain in the city and help unravel the tangle in which his affairs are involved. He is a man of ability, and as he is still in the prime of life, it may be that he will be able to redeem his promises and pay his debts in full, if sufficient time is given him.

“I can get no help or advice from Mr. Fielding,” thought Rodney. “I am thrown upon my own resources, and must fight the battle of life as well as I can alone.”

He got out in front of the Astor House. As he left the car he soiled his shoes with the mud so characteristic of New York streets.

“Shine your boots?” asked a young Arab, glancing with a business eye at Rodney’s spattered shoes.

Rodney accepted his offer, not so much because he thought the blacking would last, as for the opportunity of questioning the free and independent young citizen who was doing, what he hoped to do, that is, making a living for himself.

“Is business good with you?” asked Rodney. “It ought to be with the street in this condition.”

“Yes; me and de Street Commissioner is in league together. He makes business good for me.”

“And do you pay him a commission?” asked Rodney smiling.

“I can’t tell no official secrets. It might be bad for me.”

“You are an original genius.”

“Am I? I hope you ain’t callin’ me names.”

“Oh no. I am only paying you a compliment. What is your name?”

“Mike Flynn.”

“Were do you live, Mike?”

“At the Lodge.”

“I suppose you mean at the Newsboys’ ‘Lodge?’”

“Yes.”

“How much do you have to pay there?”

“Six cents for lodgin’, and six cents for supper and breakfast.”

“That is, six cents for each.”

“Yes; you ain’t comin’ to live there, are you?” asked Mike.

“I don’t know—I may have to.”

“You’re jokin’.”

“What makes you think I am joking?”

“Because you’re a swell. Look at them clo’es!”

“I have a good suit of clothes, to be sure, but I haven’t much money. You are better off than I am.”

“How’s that?” asked Mike incredulously.

“You’ve got work to do, and I am earning nothing.”

“If you’ve got money enough to buy a box and brush, you can go in with me.”

“I don’t think I should like it, Mike. It would spoil my clothes, and I am afraid I wouldn’t have money enough to buy others.”

“I keep my dress suit at home—the one I wear to parties.”

“Haven’t you got any father or mother, Mike? How does it happen that you are living in New York alone?”

“My farder is dead, and me mudder, she married a man wot ain’t no good. He’d bate me till I couldn’t stand it. So I just run away.”

“Where does your mother live?”

“In Albany.”

“Some time when you earn money enough you can ask her to come here and live with you.”

“They don’t take women at the Lodge.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Rodney, smiling.

“Besides she’s got two little girls by her new husband, and she wouldn’t want to leave them.”

By this time the shine was completed, and Rodney paid Mike.

“If I ever come to the Lodge, I’ll ask for you,” he said.

“Where do you live now?”

“I’m just staying at a place on Fourteenth Street, but I can’t afford to stay there long, for they charge a dollar a day.”

“Geewholliker, that would bust me, and make me a financial wreck as the papers say.”

“How did you lose your fortune and get reduced to blacking boots?” asked Rodney jocosely.

“I got scooped out of it in Wall Street,” answered Mike. “Jay Gould cleaned me out.”

“And I suppose now he has added your fortune to his.”

“You’ve hit it boss.”

“Well, good day, Mike, I’ll see you again some day——”

“All right! I’m in my office all de mornin’.”

AN IMPUDENT ADVENTURER.

While Rodney was talking with Mike Flynn he was an object of attention to a man who stood near the corner of Barclay Street, and was ostensibly looking in at the window of the drug store. As Rodney turned away he recognized him at once as his enterprising fellow traveler who had taken possession of the casket of jewels.

He did not care to keep up an acquaintance with him, and started to cross the street. But the other came forward smiling, and with a nod said: “I believe you are the young man I met yesterday in the cars and afterwards at Kentville?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I had got back my jewel box, the one for which I mistook yours.”

“Indeed!” said Rodney, who did not believe a word the fellow said.

“Quite an amusing mistake, I made.”

“It might have proved serious to me.”

“Very true, as I shouldn’t have known where to find you to restore your property.”

“I don’t think that would have troubled you much,” thought Rodney. “Where did you find your box?” he asked.

“In the car. That is, the conductor picked it up and left it at the depot for me. Where are you staying here in the city? At the Astor House?”

“No, I have found a boarding house on West Fourteenth Street.”

“If it is a good place, I should like to go there. What is the number?”

“I can’t recall it, though I could find it,” answered Rodney with reserve, for he had no wish to have his railroad acquaintance in the house.

“Is the gentleman who was traveling with you there also?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He is a very pleasant gentleman, though he misjudged me. Ha, ha! my friends will be very much amused when I tell them that I was taken for a thief. Why, I venture to say that my box is more valuable than yours.”

“Very likely,” said Rodney coldly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I hope we may meet again.”

Rodney nodded, but he could not in sincerity echo the wish.

He was now confronted by a serious problem. He had less than ten dollars in his pocketbook, and this would soon be swallowed up by the necessary expenses of life in a large city. What would he do when that was gone?

It was clear that he must go to work as soon as possible. If his guardian had remained in the city, probably through his influence a situation might have been secured. Now nothing was to be looked for in that quarter.

He bought a morning paper and looked over the Want Column. He found two places within a short distance of the Astor House, and called at each. One was in a railroad office.

“My boy,” said the manager, a pleasant looking man, “the place was taken hours since. You don’t seem to get up very early in the morning.”

“I could get up at any hour that was necessary,” replied Rodney, “but I have only just made up my mind to apply for a position.”

“You won’t meet with any luck today. It is too late. Get up bright and early tomorrow morning, buy a paper, and make early application for any place that strikes you as desirable.”

“Thank you, sir. I am sure your advice is good.”

“If you had been the first to call here, I should have taken you. I like your appearance better than that of the boy I have selected.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“This boy may not prove satisfactory. Call in six days, just before his week expires, and if there is likely to be a vacancy I will let you know.”

“Thank you, sir. You are very kind.”

“I always sympathize with boys. I have two boys of my own.”

This conversation quite encouraged Rodney. It seemed to promise success in the future. If he had probably impressed one man, he might be equally fortunate with another.

It was about half past twelve when he passed through Nassau Street.

All at once his arm was grasped, and a cheery voice said, “Where are you going, Rodney?”

“Mr. Woods!” he exclaimed, with pleased recognition.

“Yes, it’s your old friend Woods.”

“You are not the only railroad friend I have met this morning.”

“Who was the other?”

“The gentleman who obligingly took care of my jewel box for a short time.”

“You don’t mean to say you have met him? Where did you come across him?”

“In front of the Astor House, almost two hours since.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“He spoke to me. You will be glad to hear that he has recovered his own casket of jewels.”

Adin Woods smiled.

“He must think you are easily imposed upon,” he said, “to believe any such story. Anything more?”

“He said his friends would be very much surprised to hear that he had been suspected of theft.”

“So he wanted to clear himself with you?”

“Yes; he asked where I was staying.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him.”

“I only said I was at a boarding house on West Fourteenth Street, but didn’t mention the number.”

“He thinks you have the casket with you, and that he may get possession of it. It is well that you stored it at Tiffany’s.”

“I think so. Now I have no anxiety about it. Do you think he will find out where we live?”

“Probably, as you gave him a clew. But, Rodney, it is about lunch time, and I confess I have an appetite. Come and lunch with me.”

“But I am afraid, Mr. Woods, I shall not be able to return the compliment.”

“There is no occasion for it. I feel in good humor this morning. I have sold one lot, and have hopes of disposing of another. The one lot pays me a commission of twenty dollars.”

“I wish I could make twenty dollars in a week.”

“Sometimes I only sell one lot in a week. It isn’t like a regular business. It is precarious. Still, take the year through and I make a pretty good income. Come in here. We can get a good lunch here,” and he led the way into a modest restaurant, not far from the site of the old post office, which will be remembered by those whose residence in New York dates back twenty years or more.

“Now we will have a nice lunch,” said the agent. “I hope you can do justice to it.”

“I generally can,” responded Rodney, smiling. “I am seldom troubled with a poor appetite.”

“Ditto for me. Now what have you been doing this morning?”

“Looking for a place.”

“With what success?”

“Pretty good if I had only been earlier.”

Rodney told the story of his application to the manager of the railroad office.

“You will know better next time. I think you’ll succeed. I did. When I came to New York at the age of twenty two I had only fifty dollars. That small sum had to last me twelve weeks. You can judge that I didn’t live on the fat of the land during that time. I couldn’t often eat at Delmonico’s. Even Beefsteak John’s would have been too expensive for me. However, those old days are over.”

The next day and the two following Rodney went about the city making application for positions, but every place seemed full.

On the third day Mr. Woods said, “I shall have to leave you for a week or more, Rodney.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Philadelphia. There’s a man there who is a capitalist and likes land investments. I am going to visit him, and hope to sell him several lots. He once lived in this city, so he won’t object to New York investments.”

“I hope you will succeed, Mr. Woods. I think if you are going away I had better give up the room, and find cheaper accommodations. I am getting near the end of my money.”

“You are right. It is best to be prudent.”

That evening Rodney found a room which he could rent for two dollars a week. He estimated that by economy he could get along for fifty cents a day for his eating, and that would be a decided saving.

He was just leaving the house the next morning, gripsack in hand, when on the steps he met Louis Wheeler, his acquaintance of the train.

“Where are you going?” asked Wheeler.

“I am leaving this house. I have hired a room elsewhere.”

Wheeler’s countenance fell, and he looked dismayed.

“Why, I have just taken a room here for a week,” he said.

“You will find it a good place.”

“But—I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t thought I should have company.”

“I ought to feel complimented.”

Rodney was convinced that Wheeler had come in the hopes of stealing the casket of jewels a second time, and he felt amused at the fellow’s discomfiture.

“You haven’t got your jewel box with you?”

“No, I can take that another time.”

“Then it’s still in the house,” thought Wheeler with satisfaction. “It won’t be my fault if I don’t get it in my hands. Well, good morning,” he said. “Come around and call on me.”

“Thank you!”

AT THE NEWSBOY’S LODGING HOUSE.

Within a week Rodney had spent all his money, with the exception of about fifty cents. He had made every effort to obtain a place, but without success.

Boys born and bred in New York have within my observation tried for months to secure a position in vain, so it is not surprising that Rodney who was a stranger proved equally unsuccessful.

Though naturally hopeful Rodney became despondent.

“There seems to be no place for me,” he said to himself. “When I was at boarding school I had no idea how difficult it is for a boy to earn a living.”

He had one resource. He could withdraw the box of jewels from Tiffany’s, and sell some article that it contained. But this he had a great objection to doing. One thing was evident however, he must do something.

His friend, the lot agent, was out of town, and he hardly knew whom to advise with. At last Mike Flynn, the friendly bootblack, whose acquaintance he had made in front of the Astor House, occurred to him.

Mike, humble as he was, was better off than himself. Moreover he was a New York boy, and knew more about “hustling” than Rodney did. So he sought out Mike in his “office.”

“Good morning, Mike,” said Rodney, as the bootblack was brushing off a customer.

“Oh, its you, Rodney,” said Mike smiling with evident pleasure. “How you’re gettin’ on?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s bad. Can I help you? Just say the word, and I’ll draw a check for you on the Park Bank.”

“Is that where you keep your money?”

“It’s one of my banks. You don’t think I’d put all my spondulics in one bank, do you?”

“I won’t trouble you to draw a check this morning. I only want to ask some advice.”

“I’ve got plenty of that.”

“I haven’t been able to get anything to do, and I have only fifty cents left. I can’t go on like that.”

“That’s so.”

“I’ve got to give up my room on Fourteenth Street. I can’t pay for it any longer. Do you think I could get in at the Lodge?”

“Yes. I’ll introduce you to Mr. O’Connor.”

“When shall I meet you?”

“At five o’clock. We’ll be in time for supper.”

“All right.”

At five o’clock Mike accompanied Rodney to the large Newsboys’ Lodging House on New Chambers Street. Mr. O’Connor, the popular and efficient superintendent, now dead, looked in surprise at Mike’s companion. He was a stout man with a kindly face, and Rodney felt that he would prove to be a friend.

“Mr. O’Connor, let me introduce me friend, Mr. Rodney Ropes,” said Mike.

“Could you give me a lodging?” asked Rodney in an embarrassed tone.

“Yes; but I am surprised to see a boy of your appearance here.”

“I am surprised to be here myself,” admitted Rodney.

The superintendent fixed upon him a shrewd, but kindly glance.

“Have you run away from home?” he asked.

“No, sir. It is my home that has run away from me.”

“Have you parents?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you come from the country?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where have you been living?”

“At a boarding school a few hours from New York.”

“Why did you leave it?”

“Because my guardian sent me word that he had lost my fortune, and could no longer pay my bills.”

“You have been unfortunate truly. What do you propose to do now?”

“Earn my living if I can. I have been in the city for about two weeks, and have applied at a good many places but in vain.”

“Then you were right in coming here. Supper is ready, and although it is not what you are used to, it will satisfy hunger. Mike, you can take Rodney with you.”

Within five minutes Rodney was standing at a long table with a bowl of coffee and a segment of bread before him. It wouldn’t have been attractive to one brought up to good living, as was the case with him, but he was hungry.

He had eaten nothing since morning except an apple which he had bought at a street stand for a penny, and his stomach urgently craved a fresh supply of food.

Mike stood next to him. The young bootblack, who was used to nothing better, ate his portion with zest, and glanced askance at Rodney to see how he relished his supper. He was surprised to see that his more aristocratic companion seemed to enjoy it quite as much as himself.

“I didn’t think you’d like it,” he said.

“Anything tastes good when you’re hungry, Mike.”

“That’s so.”

“And I haven’t eaten anything except an apple, since morning.”

“Is dat so? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stood treat at de Boss Tweed eatin’ house.”

“I had money, but I didn’t dare to spend it. I was afraid of having nothing left.”

When Rodney had eaten his supper he felt that he could have eaten more, but the craving was satisfied and he felt relieved.

He looked around him with some curiosity, for he had never been in such a motley gathering before. There were perhaps one hundred and fifty boys recruited from the street, to about all of whom except himself the term street Arab might be applied.

The majority of them had the shrewd and good humored Celtic face. Many of them were fun loving and even mischievous, but scarcely any were really bad.

Naturally Rodney, with his good clothes, attracted attention. The boys felt that he was not one of them, and they had a suspicion that he felt above them.

“Get on to de dude!” remarked one boy, who was loosely attired in a ragged shirt and tattered trousers.

“He means me, Mike,” said Rodney with a smile.

“I say, Patsy Glenn, what do you mean by callin’ me friend Rodney a dude?” demanded Mike angrily.

“Coz he’s got a dandy suit on.”

“What if he has? Wouldn’t you wear one like it if you could!”

“You bet!”

“Then just let him alone! He’s just got back from de inauguration.”

“Where’d you pick him up, Mike?”

“Never mind! He’s one of us. How much money have you got in your pocket Rodney?”

“Thirty two cents.”

“He can’t put on no frills wid dat money.”

“That’s so. I take it all back,” and Patsy offered a begrimed hand to Rodney, which the latter shook heartily with a pleasant smile.

That turned the tide in favor of Rodney, the boys gathered around him and he told his story in a few words.

“I used to be rich, boys,” he said, “but my guardian spent all my money, and now I am as poor as any of you.”

“You’d ought to have had me for your guardian, Rodney,” observed Mike.

“I wish you had. You wouldn’t have lost my money for me.”

“True for you! I say so, boys, if we can find Rodney’s guardian, what’ll we do to him?”

“Give him de grand bounce,” suggested Patsy.

“Drop him out of a high winder,” said another.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t care to tell you, boys. He’s written me a letter, saying he will try to pay me back some day. I think he will. He isn’t a bad man, but he has been unlucky.”

Mike, at the request of Mr. O’Connor, showed Rodney a locker in which he could store such articles of clothing as he had with him. After that he felt more at home, and as if he were staying at a hotel though an humble one.

At eight o’clock some of the boys had already gone to bed, but Mike and Rodney were among those who remained up. Rodney noticed with what kindness yet fairness the superintendent managed his unruly flock. Unruly they might have been with a different man, but he had no trouble in keeping them within bounds.

It was at this time that two strangers were announced, one a New York merchant named Goodnow, the other a tall, slender man with sandy whiskers of the mutton chop pattern.

“Good evening, Mr. Goodnow,” said the superintendent, who recognized the merchant as a friend of the society.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Connor. I have brought my friend and correspondent Mr. Mulgrave, of London, to see some of your young Arabs.”

“I shall be glad to give him all the opportunity he desires.”

The Englishman looked curiously at the faces of the boys who in turn were examining him with equal interest.

“They are not unlike our boys of a similar grade, but seem sharper and more intelligent,” he said. “But surely,” pointing to Rodney, “that boy is not one of the—Arabs. Why, he looks like a young gentleman.”

“He is a new comer. He only appeared tonight.”

“He must have a history. May I speak with him?”

“By all means. Rodney, this gentleman would like to talk with you.”

Rodney came forward with the ease of a boy who was accustomed to good society, and said: “I shall be very happy to speak with him.”

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