Ben soon took his stand in the street, with a roll of papers under his arm, supplied by the generosity of his new acquaintance. It was rather a trying ordeal for a country boy, new to the city and its ways. But Ben was not bashful. He was not a timid boy, but was fully able to push his way. So, glancing at the telegraphic headings, he began to call out the news in a business-like way. He had already taken notice of how the other newsboys acted, and therefore was at no loss how to proceed.

He met with very fair success, selling out the twelve papers which had been bought for him, in a comparatively short time. It might have been that the fact that he was neater and better dressed operated in his favor. At any rate, though a new hand, he succeeded better than those who were older in the business.

But his neat dress operated to his disadvantage in another quarter. His business rivals, who were, with scarcely an exception, dressed with no great pretensions to style or neatness, looked upon the interloper with a jealous eye. They regarded him as "stuck up," in virtue of his superior dress, and were indignant to find their sales affected by his competition.

"Who's he? Ever seen him afore?" asked Tim Banks of a newsboy at his side.

"No; he's a new chap."

"What business has he got to come here and steal away our trade, I'd like to know?" continued Tim, eying Ben with no friendly glance.

At that moment a gentleman, passing Tim, bought an "Evening Post" of Ben. It was the third paper that Ben had sold since Tim had effected a sale. This naturally increased his indignation.

"He's puttin' on airs just because he's got good clo'es," said the other newsboy, who shared Tim's feelings on the subject.

"Let's shove him out," suggested Tim.

"All right."

Tim, who was a boy of twelve, with a shock head, which looked as if it had never been combed, and a suit of clothes which bore the marks of severe usage, advanced to Ben, closely followed by his confederate, who had agreed to back him.

Ben had just sold his last paper when the two approached him. He did not understand their object until Tim, swaggering up to him, said offensively, "You'd better clear out; you aint wanted here."

Ben turned and faced his ragged opponent with intrepidity.

"Why aint I wanted here?" he inquired, without manifesting the least symptom of alarm.

Tim rather anticipated that Ben would show the white feather, and was a little surprised at his calmness.

"Cause yer aint, that's why," he answered.

"If you don't like my company, you can go somewhere else," said Ben.

"This is my place," said Tim. "You aint got no right to push in."

"If it's your place, how much did you pay for it?" asked Ben. "I thought that the sidewalk was free to all."

"You aint got no right to interfere with my business."

"I didn't know that I had interfered with it."

"Well, you have. I aint sold more'n half as many papers since you've been here."

"You've got the same chance as I have," said Ben. "I didn't tell them not to buy of you."

"Well, you aint wanted here, and you'd better make tracks," said Tim, who considered this the best argument of all.

"Suppose I don't," said Ben.

"Then I'll give you a lickin'."

Ben surveyed the boy who uttered this threat, in the same manner that a general would examine an opposing force, with a view to ascertain his strength and ability to cope with him. It was clear that Tim was taller than himself, and doubtless older. As to being stronger, Ben did not feel so positive. He was himself well and compactly made, and strong of his age. He did not relish the idea of being imposed upon, and prepared to resist any encroachment upon his rights. He did not believe that Tim had any right to order him off. He felt that the sidewalk was just as free to him as to any other boy, and he made up his mind to assert and maintain his right.

"If you want to give me a licking, just try it," he said. "I've got just as much right to stand here and sell papers as you have, and I'm going to do it."

"You needn't be so stuck up jest because you've got good clo'es on."

"If they are good, I can't help it," said Ben. "They're all I have, and they won't be good long."

"Maybe I could get good clo'es if I'd steal em," said Tim.

"Do you mean to say I stole these?" retorted Ben, angrily. He had no sooner said it, however, than he thought of the pies which he should have stolen if he had not been detected, and his face flushed. Luckily Tim did not know why his words produced an effect upon Ben, or he would have followed up his attack.

"Yes, I do," said Tim.

"Then you judge me by yourself," said Ben, "that's all I've got to say."

"Say that ag'in," said Tim, menacingly.

"So I will, if you want to hear it. You judge me by yourself."

"I'll give you a lickin'."

"You've said that before."

Tim was not particularly brave. Still Ben was a smaller boy, and besides he had a friend at hand to back him, so he concluded that it would be safe to venture. Doubling up a dirty fist, he struck out, intending to hit Ben in the face; but our young adventurer was on his guard, and fended off the blow with his arms.

"Will yer go now?" demanded Tim, pausing after his attack.

"Why should I?"

"If you don't I'll give you another lick."

"I can stand it, if it isn't any worse than that."

Tim was spurred by this to renew the assault. He tried to throw his arms around Ben, and lift him from the ground, which would enable him to throw him with greater ease. But Ben was wary, and experienced in this mode of warfare, having often had scuffles in fun with his school-fellows. He evaded Tim's grasp, therefore, and dealt him a blow in the breast, which made Tim stagger back. He began to realize that Ben, though a smaller boy, was a formidable opponent, and regretted that he had undertaken a contest with him. He was constrained to appeal to his companion for assistance.

"Just lend a hand, Jack, and we'll give it to him."

"So you have to ask help," said Ben, scornfully, "though you're bigger than I am."

"I could lick yer well enough alone," said Tim, "but you've been interferin' with Jack's business, as well as mine."

Jack responded to his friend's appeal, and the two advanced to the assault of Ben. Of course all this took place much more quickly than it has taken to describe it. The contest commenced, and our young adventurer would have got the worst of it, if help had not arrived. Though a match for either of the boys singly, he could not be expected to cope with both at a time, especially as he was smaller than either.

Tim found himself seized forcibly by the arm, just as he was about to level a blow at Ben. Looking up, he met the glance of another newsboy, a boy of fourteen, who was known among his comrades as "Rough and Ready." This boy was stout and strong, and was generally liked by those of his class for his generous qualities, as well as respected for his physical strength, which he was always ready to exert in defence of a weaker boy.

"What's all this, Tim?" he demanded. "Aint you ashamed, the two of you, to pitch into a smaller boy?"

"He aint got no business here," said Tim, doggedly.

"Why not?"

"He's takin' away all our trade."

"Hasn't he just as much right to sell papers as you?"

"He can go somewhere else."

"So can you."

"He's a new boy. This is the first day he's sold papers."

"Then you ought to be able to keep up with him. What's your name, young un?"

This question was, of course, addressed to Ben.

"Ben," answered our young hero. He did not think it necessary to mention his other name, especially as, having run away from home, he had a vague idea that it might lead to his discovery.

"Well, Ben, go ahead and sell your papers. I'll see that you have fair play."

"Thank you," said Ben. "I'm not afraid of either of them."

"Both of them might be too much for you."

"I don't want to interfere with their business. They've got just as good a chance to sell as I have."

"Of course they have. Is this your first day?"

"Yes."

"How many papers have you sold?"

"Six 'Posts' and six 'Expresses.'"

"That's pretty good for a beginning. Are you going to get some more?"

"Yes, I was just going into the office when that boy," pointing to Tim, "tried to drive me off."

"He won't do it again. Come in with me. I'm going to buy some papers too."

"What's your name?" asked Ben. "I like you; you're not mean, like those fellows."

"My name is Rufus, but the boys call me Rough and Ready."

"Where do you live,—at the Newsboys' Lodging House?"

"No, I live in Leonard Street. I've got a mother and a little sister. I live with them."

"Have you got a father?"

"No, that is, not a real father. I've got a step-father; but he's worse than none, for he is loafing round most of the time, and spends all the money he can get on drink. If it wasn't for me, he'd treat mother worse than he does. How long have you been in New York?"

"Only a day or two," said Ben.

"Where are you living?"

"Anywhere I can. I haven't got any place."

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"In a hay-barge, at one of the piers, along with a boot-black named Jerry. That was the first night I ever slept out."

"How did you like it?"

"I think I'd prefer a bed," said Ben.

"You can get one at the Lodge for six cents."

"I didn't have six cents last night."

"They'll trust you there, and you can pay next time."

"Where is the Lodging House?"

"It's on the corner of this street and Fulton," said Rough and Ready. "I'll show it to you, if you want me to."

"I'd like to have you. I'd rather pay six cents than sleep out again."

By this time they reached the office of the "Express," and, entering, purchased a supply of papers. He was about to invest his whole capital, but, by the advice of his companion, bought only eight copies, as by the time these were disposed of a later edition would be out, which of course would be more salable.