O LIVER was walking along Broadway in very good spirits, as he well might, after such an extraordinary piece of good fortune, when all at once he became sensible that his step-brother, Roland, was approaching him.

His first impulse was to avoid the meeting by crossing the street; but, after all, why should he avoid Roland? He had done nothing to be ashamed of. Certainly, Roland was not his friend, but he had been his companion so long that there was something homelike in his face.

Roland recognized him at the instant of meeting.

"Oliver!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"How are you, Roland?" said Oliver composedly.

Roland colored and looked embarrassed.

"Are you still in the city?" he asked.

"You see I am."

"My father told me you were going to sea."

"He advised me to go to sea, but I have not followed his advice."

"I should think you would."

"Why should you think I would? Do you think of going to sea?"

"Of course not."

"Then why should I?"

"It must be rather awkward for you to stay in New York. Are you not afraid of being arrested?"

"Arrested!" repeated Oliver haughtily. "What do you mean?"

"You know well enough what I mean. On account of the money you stole from my cousin."

"Say that again and I will knock you over!"

"You wouldn't dare to—in the public street!" said Roland, startled.

"Don't depend on that. If you insult me, I will."

"I was only repeating what my father told me."

"Your father chose to tell you a lie," said Oliver contemptuously.

"Didn't you lose your place? Tell me that."

"I did lose my place, or rather left it of my own accord."

"Wasn't there a reason for it?" insisted Roland triumphantly.

"There was a charge trumped up against me," said Oliver—"a false charge. Probably your father and your cousin were at the bottom of it. But that isn't what I care to talk about. Is there anything new in Brentville?"

"Carrie Dudley is very well," said Roland significantly.

"I am glad to hear it."

"I called there last evening. I had a splendid time," said Roland.

If Roland expected to excite Oliver's jealousy, he was not likely to succeed. Our hero knew too well Carrie Dudley's real opinion of his step-brother to feel the least fear on the subject.

"I should like to see Frank and Carrie," said Oliver quietly. "They are the only persons I regret in Brentville."

"No love lost between us," returned Roland at once, applying the remark to himself.

"Probably not," said Oliver, with a smile.

"Have you got another place?" enquired Roland curiously.

"Not yet."

"I suppose you will find it hard, as you can't bring any recommendation."

"I wouldn't accept one from Mr.Bond," said Oliver haughtily.

"How do you get along then?"

"Pretty well, thank you."

"I mean, how do you pay your expenses?" persisted Roland. "You have no income, you know."

"I ought to have," blazed out Oliver indignantly. "My mother left a hundred thousand dollars, which you and your father have coolly appropriated."

"My father has no money that is not his own," retorted Roland, "and that is more than——"

"Stop there, Roland, or I may forget myself," interrupted Oliver sternly.

There was a menace in his tone which startled Roland, and he thought it best not to complete his sentence.

"I must be going," said Roland. "Have you dined?"

He asked the question chiefly out of curiosity.

"I dined at Delmonico's," replied Oliver, in a matter-of-fact tone, enjoying Roland's amazement.

"You did!" exclaimed Roland, well aware how expensive Delmonico's famous restaurant is.

"Yes; I had a capital dinner."

"I don't believe it. You are joking," said Roland incredulously.

"What makes you say that?"

"You can't afford to dine at such a place, a boy in your position. I don't believe you have five dollars in the world."

Now was the time for Oliver to confound his incredulous enemy.

He took out the roll of bills he had recently received and displayed it to Roland, letting him see five, ten, and twenty-dollar bills.

"I am not quite reduced to beggary, as you see," he said.

"How did you get all that money?" gasped Roland.

"I don't choose to tell you. I will only say this, that I have made more money since I left Mr.Bond's than I made while I was in his employment—three times over."

"You have?" ejaculated Roland, who was beginning to feel some respect for the boy who could make so much money, even though he disliked him. "I thought you hadn't got a place," he said, after a moment's thought.

"No more I have," replied Oliver. "I am my own employer."

"In business for yourself, hey?"

Oliver nodded.

"Well, good-morning. I'll tell Frank Dudley I have seen you."

"I wish you would."

He looked after Oliver, as he walked away, with the same feeling of wonder.

"How can a boy earn so much money?" he thought. "Oliver must be smart. I thought he'd be a beggar by this time."

In his secret heart Roland had never credited the charge of theft brought against Oliver. He didn't like him, and was ready enough to join in the charge of dishonesty fabricated by his father and Mr.Bond, but really he knew Oliver too well to believe it. Otherwise he might have suspected that Oliver's supply of money was dishonestly obtained. He concluded that his step-brother must be doing some business of a very profitable character.

With a hundred dollars in his pocket, Oliver felt justified in re-engaging the room he had in the morning resolved to leave. He managed to see John Meadows at the time of his leaving the store, and enquired if he had yet hired his old room.

"No," said John, "I am just going round there. Will you go with me?"

"It won't be necessary," said Oliver. "We had better remain where we are."

John stared.

"But how will we pay the rent?" he asked. "You have nothing."

"Haven't I? I made a hundred dollars to-day."

John whistled.

"Come, now, you're gassin'," he said.

"Does that look like gassing?" said Oliver, displaying a roll of bills.

"Good gracious! where did you get it!"

Oliver smiled.

"I thought you would be surprised," he answered. "I'll tell you the story when we get home," he said. "Now let us go and tell our landlady we have changed our minds and will keep the room."

"I'm glad we can," said John Meadows. "I felt bad about going back to my old room, and I felt anxious about you, too."

"I think I shall get along," said Oliver hopefully.

"Perhaps there is more money to be made where you made your money to-day."

"I think not. At any rate, I don't care to earn any more the same way."

The same evening Oliver strayed into a prominent hotel on Broadway. He was alone, his room-mate having retired early on account of fatigue. In the smoking-room he saw, sitting by himself, a tall, bronzed, rather roughly dressed man, evidently not a dweller in cities, but having all the outward marks of a frontiersman. Something in Oliver attracted this man's attention, and led him to address our hero.

"Young man," he said, "do you live in New York?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, perhaps you can recommend me to a quiet house where I can obtain a lodging. I aint used to fine hotels; they don't suit me."

"I can recommend the house where I am living," said Oliver. "It is quiet and comfortable, but not stylish."

"Style aint for me," said the stranger. "If it's where you live, I'll like it better. I like your looks and would like to get acquainted with you."

"Then," said Oliver, "I'll call here to-morrow morning and accompany you to the house. It would be too late to-night to make a change."

"That will do," said the stranger. "I will be here at nine o'clock. If you don't see me enquire for Nicholas Bundy."