bar-tender, suspiciously.
"Sir, I never order what I cannot pay for."
"I don't know about that. You've been in here and taken lunch more than once without drinking anything."
"It may be so. I will make up for it now. Another glass, please."
"First pay for what you have already drunk."
"Frank, hand me your money," said Montagu.
Frank incautiously handed him his small stock of money, which he saw instantly transferred to the bar-tender.
"That is right, I believe," said Montagu Percy.
The bar-keeper nodded, and Percy, transferring his attention to the free lunch, stowed away a large amount.
Frank observed with some uneasiness the transfer of his entire cash capital to the bar-tender; but concluded that Mr. Percy would refund a part after they went out. As they reached the street he broached the subject.
"I didn't agree to pay for both dinners," he said, uneasily.
"Of course not. It will be my treat next time. That will be fair, won't it?"
"But I would rather you would give me back a part of my money. I may not see you again."
"I will be in the Park to-morrow at one o'clock."
"Give me back ten cents, then," said Frank, uneasily. "That was all the money I had."
"I am really sorry, but I haven't a penny about me. I'll make it right to-morrow. Good-day, my young friend. Be virtuous and you will be happy."
Frank looked after the shabby figure ruefully. He felt that he had been taken in and done for. His small capital had vanished, and he was adrift in the streets of a strange city without a penny.
CHAPTER II.
DICK RAFFERTY
"I've been a fool," said Frank to himself, in genuine mortification, as he realized how easily he had permitted himself to be duped. "I ought to have stayed in the country."
Even a small sum of money imparts to its possessor a feeling of independence, but one who is quite penniless feels helpless and apprehensive. Frank was unable even to purchase an apple from the snuffy old apple-woman who presided over the stand near by.
"What am I going to do?" he asked himself, soberly.
"What has become of your uncle?" asked a boot-black.
Looking up, Frank recognized one of those who had saluted Percy and himself on their way to the restaurant.
"He isn't my uncle," he replied, rather resentfully.
"You never saw him before, did you?" continued the boy.
"No, I didn't."
"That's what I thought."
There was something significant in the young Arab's tone, which led Frank to inquire, "Do you know him?"
"Yes, he's a dead-beat."
"A what?"
"A dead-beat. Don't you understand English?"
"He told me that he did business on Wall street."
The boot-black shrieked with laughter.
"He do business on Wall street!" he repeated. "You're jolly green, you are!"
Frank was inclined to be angry, but he had the good sense to see that his new friend was right. So he said good-humoredly, "I suppose I am. You see I am not used to the city."
"It's just such fellows as you he gets hold of," continued the boot-black. "Didn't he make you treat?"
"I may as well confess it," thought Frank. "This boy may help me with advice."
"Yes," he said aloud. "I hadn't but twenty-five cents, and he made me spend it all. I haven't a cent left."
"Whew!" ejaculated the other boy. "You're beginnin' business on a small capital."
"That's so," said Frank. "Do you know any way I can earn money?"
Dick Rafferty was a good-natured boy, although rough, and now that Frank had appealed to him for advice he felt willing to help him, if he could.
"What can you do?" he asked, in a business-like tone. "Have you ever worked?"
"Yes," answered Frank.
"What can you do?"
"I can milk cows, hoe corn and potatoes, ride horse to plough, and—"
"Hold up!" said Dick. "All them things aint goin' to do you no good in New York. People don't keep cows as a reg'lar thing here."
"Of course I know that."
"And there aint much room for plantin' corn and potatoes. Maybe you could get a job over in Jersey."
"I'd rather stay in New York. I can do something here."
"Can you black boots, or sell papers?"
"I can learn."
"You need money to set up in either of them lines," said Dick Rafferty.
"Would twenty-five cents have been enough?" asked Frank.
"You could have bought some evening papers with that."
"I wish somebody would lend me some money," said Frank; "I'd pay it back as soon as I'd sold my papers. I was a fool to let that fellow swindle me."
"That's so," assented Dick; "but it's no good thinkin' of that now. I'd lend you the money myself, if I had it; but I've run out my account at the Park Bank, and can't spare the money just at present."
"How long have you been in business?" asked Frank.
"Ever since I was eight years old; and I'm goin' on fifteen now."
"You went to work early."
"Yes, I had to. Father and mother both died, and I was left to take care of myself."
"You took care of yourself when you were only eight years old?" asked Frank, in surprise.
"Yes."
"Then I ought to make a living, for I am fifteen,—a year older than you are now."
"Oh, you'll get along when you get started," said Dick, encouragingly. "There's lots of things to do."
"Is there anything to do that doesn't require any capital?" inquired Frank, anxiously.
"Yes, you can smash baggage."
"Will people pay for that?" asked Frank, with a smile.
"Of course they will. You jest hang round the ferries and steamboat landin's, and when a chap comes by with a valise or carpet-bag, you jest offer to carry it, that's all."
"Is that what you call smashing baggage?"
"Of course. What did you think it was?"
Frank evaded answering, not caring to display his country ignorance.
"Do you think I can get a chance to do that?" he asked.
"You can try it and see."
"I came in by the Hartford boat myself, to-day," said Frank. "If I'd thought of it, I would have begun at once."
"Only you wouldn't have knowed the way anywhere, and if a gentleman asked you to carry his valise to any hotel you'd have had to ask where it was."
"So I should," Frank admitted.
"I'll show you round a little, if you want me to," said Dick. "I shan't have anything to do for an hour or two."
"I wish you would."
So the two boys walked about in the lower part of the city, Dick pointing out hotels, public buildings, and prominent streets. Frank had a retentive memory, and stored away the information carefully. Penniless as he was, he was excited and exhilarated by the scene of activity in which he was moving, and was glad he was going to live in it, or to attempt doing so.
"When I am used to it I shall like it much better than the country," he said to Dick. "Don't you?"
"I