O LIVER did not find his work in the store very laborious. During some parts of the day there was little custom, and therefore little to do. At such times he found John Meadows, though not a refined, at any rate an amusing companion. With his friendly help he soon got a general idea of the stock and the prices. He found that the former was generally of an inferior quality, and the customers belonged to the poorer classes. Obtaining a general idea of the receipts, he began to doubt Mr.Kenyon's assurance of the profits of the business. He intimated as much to his fellow-clerk.

"The old man sold you," he said. "Bond doesn't take in more than twenty thousand dollars a year, and there isn't more than a tenth profit."

"You are sure of that, John?"

"Yes."

"Then Mr.Kenyon has deceived me. I wonder what for."

"Does he love you very much?"

"Who?"

"Old Kenyon."

"Not enough to hurt him," said Oliver, with a smile.

"Then he wanted to get rid of you, and made you think this was a splendid opening."

"I don't know but you are right," returned Oliver thoughtfully. "He seemed very kind, though."

"He's an old fox. I knew it as soon as I set eyes on him."

"I didn't enjoy myself much at home. I would just as soon be here. I don't like this store particularly, but I like New York."

"Lots goin' on here all the time. Don't you want to go out in a torchlight procession to-night? I can get you the chance."

"No, I think not."

"I like it. I've been out ever so many times. Sometimes I'm a Democrat and sometimes I'm a Republican. It makes no difference to me so long as I have fun."

Three weeks passed without developing anything to affect our hero's fortunes.

About this time Ezekiel Bond received the following note from his uncle:

Ezekiel Bond shrugged his shoulders when he received this letter.

"I can't quite understand what Uncle Benjamin is driving at," he said to himself. "He's got the property, and I can't see how the boy stands in the way. However, I am under obligations to him, and must carry out his wishes."

Ten minutes later he entered the store from the back room, and said to Oliver:

"Have you any objection to going out for me?"

"No, sir," answered Oliver with alacrity.

He was glad to escape for a time from the confinement of the store and breathe the outside air. John Meadows would have rebelled against being employed as an errand boy, but Oliver had no such pride.

"Here is a sealed letter which I wish carried to the address marked on it. Be careful of it for it contains a twenty-dollar bill. Look out for pick-pockets."

"Yes, sir."

Oliver put the letter in his coat pocket, put on his hat, and went out into the street. The distance was about a mile, but as trade was dull at that hour, he decided to walk, knowing that he could easily be spared from the store.

The note was addressed to a tailor who had been making a business coat for Mr.Bond.

Oliver entered the tailor's shop and inquired for James Norcross, the head of the establishment.

An elderly man said: "That is my name," and opened the letter.

He read it, and then turned to Oliver.

"Where is the money!" he demanded.

"What money?" asked Oliver, surprised.

"Your employer writes me that he encloses twenty dollars—the amount due me—and wishes me to send back a receipt by you."

"Well, sir?"

"There is no money in the letter," said the tailor, looking sharply at Oliver.

"I don't understand it at all, sir," said Oliver, disturbed.

"Has the letter gone out of your possession?"

"No, sir. I put it in my pocket and it has remained there."

"How, then, could the money be lost?"

"I think Mr.Bond may have neglected to put it in. Shall I go back and ask him about it?"

Again Mr.Norcross looked in Oliver's face. Certainly there was no guilt expressed there, only concerned surprise.

"Perhaps you had better," he said. "You saw me open the letter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you can bear witness that there was nothing in it. Report this to Mr.Bond, and ask him to send me up the money to-morrow at latest, as I need it to help meet a note."

"I will, sir. I am sorry there has been any mistake about it."

"Mr.Bond must certainly have forgotten to put in the bill. I presume he has found out his mistake by this time," thought Oliver.

He had no suspicion that there was no mistake at all—that it was a conspiracy against his own reputation, instigated by Mr.Kenyon, and artfully carried out by Ezekiel Bond.