"I am sorry you leave us under such circ.u.mstances, Ropes," he said. "The time may come when you will be able to establish your innocence, and in that case Mr. Goodnow will probably take you back again."

Rodney did not answer, but with his order went to the cashier's desk and received the four dollars due him. Then, with a heavy heart, he left the store where it had been such a satisfaction to him to work.

On Broadway he met his room mate, Mike Flynn, in the uniform of a telegraph boy.

"Where are you goin', Rodney?" asked Mike. "You ain't let off so early, are you?"

"I am let off for good and all, Mike."

"What's that?"

"I am discharged."

"What for?" asked Mike in amazement.

"I will tell you when you get home tonight."

Rodney went back to his room, and lay down sad and despondent. Some hours later Mike came in, and was told the story. The warm hearted telegraph boy was very angry.

"That boss of yours must be a stupid donkey," he said.

"I don't know. The parcel was found in my room."

"Anybody'd know to look at you that you wouldn't steal."

"Some thieves look very innocent. The only way to clear me is to find out who left the bundle at the house."

"Doesn't Mrs. McCarty know anything about it?"

"No; I asked her."

"Some one might have got into the house without her knowing anything about it. The lock is a very common one. There are plenty of keys that will open it."

"If we could find some one that saw a person with a bundle go up the steps, that would give us a clew."

"That's so. We'll ask."

But for several days no one could be found who had seen any such person.

Meanwhile Rodney was at a loss what to do. He was cut off from applying for another place, for no one would engage him if he were refused a recommendation from his late employer. Yet he must obtain some employment for he could not live on nothing.

"Do you think, Mike," he asked doubtfully, "that I could make anything selling papers?"

"Such business isn't for you," answered the telegraph boy.

"But it is one of the few things open to me. I can become a newsboy without recommendations. Even your business would be closed to me if it were known that I was suspected of theft."

"Thats so," said Mike, scratching his head in perplexity.

"Then would you recommend my becoming a newsboy?"

"I don't know. You couldn't make more'n fifty or sixty cent a day."

"That will be better than nothing."

"And I can pay the rent, or most of it, as I'll be doin' better than you."

"We will wait and see how much I make."

So Rodney swallowed his pride, and procuring a supply of afternoon papers set about selling them. He knew that it was an honest business, and there was no disgrace in following it.

But one day he was subjected to keen mortification. Jasper Redwood and a friend--it was Philip Carton, his confederate--were walking along Broadway, and their glances fell on Rodney.

"I say, Jasper," said the elder of the two, "isn't that the boy who was in the same store with you?"

Jasper looked, and his eyes lighted up with malicious satisfaction.

"Oho!" he said. "Well, this is rich!"

"Give me a paper, boy," he said, pretending not to recognize Rodney at first. "Why, it's Ropes."

"Yes," answered Rodney, his cheek flushing. "You see what I am reduced to. What paper will you buy?"

"The Mail and Express."

"Here it is."

"Can't you get another place?" asked Jasper curiously.

"I might if I could get a recommendation, but probably Mr. Goodnow wouldn't give me one."

"No, I guess not."

"So I must take what I can get."

"Do you make much selling papers?"

"Very little."

"You can't make as much as you did in the store?"

"Not much more than half as much."

"Do you live in the same place?"

"Yes, for the present."

"Oh, by the way, Ropes, I've got your old place," said Jasper in exultation.