"Then you're right. You might have got nabbed."

"That wasn't the reason I refused. If I had been sure there'd have been no trouble I wouldn't have done it."

"Why not?" asked d.i.c.k, who did not understand our hero's scruples.

"Because it's wrong."

d.i.c.k shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess you belong to the church," he said.

"No, I don't; what makes you think so?"

"Oh, 'cause you're so mighty particular. I wouldn't mind pa.s.sing it if I was sure I wouldn't be cotched."

"I think it's almost as bad as stealing to buy bread, or anything else, and give what isn't worth anything for it. You might as well give a piece of newspaper."

Though Frank was unquestionably right he did not succeed in making a convert of d.i.c.k Rafferty. d.i.c.k was a pretty good boy, considering the sort of training he had had; but pa.s.sing bad money did not seem to him objectionable, unless "a fellow was cotched," as he expressed it.

"Well, what are you going to do now?" asked d.i.c.k, after a pause.

"I guess I can get a living by selling papers."

"You can get as good a livin' as old Mills gave you. You'll get a better bed at the lodgin'-house than that heap of rags you laid on up there."

"But there's one trouble," continued Frank, "I haven't any money to start on. Can you lend me fifty cents?"

"Fifty cents!" repeated d.i.c.k. "What do you take me for? If I was connected with Vanderbuilt or Astor I might set you up in business, but now I can't."

"Twenty-five cents will do," said Frank.

"Look here, Frank," said d.i.c.k, plunging his hands into his pocket, and drawing therefrom three pennies and a nickel, "do you see them?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's all the money I've got."

"I am afraid you have been extravagant, d.i.c.k," said Frank, in disappointment.

"Last night I went to Tony Pastor's, and when I got through I went into a saloon and got an ice-cream and a cigar. You couldn't expect a feller to be very rich after that. I say, I'll lend you five cents if you want it."

"No, thank you, d.i.c.k. I'll wait till you are richer."

"I tell you what, Frank, I'll save up my money, and by day after to-morrow I guess I can set you up."

"Thank you, d.i.c.k. If I don't have the money by that time myself I'll accept your offer."

There was no other boy with whom Frank felt sufficiently well acquainted to request a loan, and he walked away, feeling rather disappointed. It was certainly provoking to think that nothing but the lack of a small sum stood between him and remunerative employment. Once started he determined not to spend quite all his earnings, but to improve upon his friend d.i.c.k's practice, and, if possible, get a little ahead.

When guiding the blind man he often walked up Broadway, and mechanically he took the same direction, walking slowly along, occasionally stopping to look in at a shop-window.

As he was sauntering along he found himself behind two gentlemen,--one an old man, who wore gold spectacles; the other, a stout, pleasant-looking man, of middle age. Frank would not have noticed them particularly but for a sudden start and exclamation from the elder of the two gentlemen.

"I declare, Thompson," he said, "I've left my umbrella down-town."

"Where do you think you left it?"

"In Peckham's office; that is, I think I left it there."

"Oh, well, he'll save it for you."

"I don't know about that. Some visitor may carry it away."

"Never mind, Mr. Bowen. You are rich enough to afford a new one."

"It isn't the value of the article, Thompson," said his friend, in some emotion. "That umbrella was brought me from Paris by my son John, who died. It is as a souvenir of him that I regard and value it. I would not lose it for a hundred dollars, nay, five hundred."

"If you value it so much, sir, suppose we turn round and go back for it."

Frank had listened to this conversation, and an idea struck him.

Pressing forward, he said respectfully, "Let me go for it, sir. I will get it, and bring it to your house."

The two gentlemen fixed their eyes upon the bright, eager face of the pet.i.tioner.

"Who are you, my boy?" asked Mr. Thompson.

"I am a poor boy, in want of work," answered our hero promptly.

"What is your name?"

"Frank Kavanagh."

"Where do you live?"

"I am trying to live in the city, sir."

"What have you been doing?"

"Leading a blind man, sir."

"Not a very pleasant employment, I should judge," said Thompson, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, have you lost that job?"

"Yes, sir."

"So the blind man turned you off, did he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your services were unsatisfactory, I suppose?"