"Herald, Times, Tribune! All the news of the day! Have a paper, sir? All about the terrible fire in Harlem! Two lives lost!"

High and clear above the din made by the cabs, trucks, and street cars a boyish voice could be heard. The speaker was but fifteen years of age, tall and thin, with a face that betokened a refinement unusual to such a station in life. But if the lad's look was above the average, his clothes were not, for they were in tatters, while the hat and shoes he wore had seen far better days.

"A fire in Harlem, eh?" queried a stout gentleman, as he stopped short in front of the newsboy.

"Yes, sir; a big one, too, sir. Which paper will you have?"

"Which has the most in about the fire?"

"All about the same, sir. Better take 'em all, sir. Then you'll be sure to have all the news," added the newsboy shrewdly.

At this the stout gentleman laughed.

"I don't know but what you are right," he said. "Give me one of each."

The words were scarcely uttered when the newsboy had the papers ready for him. Taking the several sheets, the stout man passed over a dime and started to cross the crowded thoroughfare.

"Change, sir!" cried the boy, and dove into his pocket for a handful of cents.

"Never mind the change, lad."

"Thank you, sir!" The newsboy wheeled quickly. "Herald, Times, Tribune! Who'll have a paper? All the latest news! Extra!"

The stout man stepped from the curb into the gutter, and there halted to let a truck go by. As he waited he began to scan one of the newspapers he had purchased. Suddenly he gave a violent start.

"Fire in the Starmore apartment house!" he muttered. "The building I purchased only last month! What bad luck is this?"

Still staring at the newspaper, he passed onward behind the heavy truck. Another truck and a street car were coming from the opposite direction, and both traveling at a good rate of speed.

"Hi! look out!" yelled the truck-driver, and the street-car bell clanged violently. But the stout man was too absorbed in the newspaper to heed the warnings.

The cry of the truck-driver reached the ears of the quick-witted newsboy, and in a flash he saw the danger.

"Oh, the gentleman will be run over!" he muttered, and throwing his papers on the pavement, he made a leap into the street and grabbed the man by the arm. Just as he drew the stout individual back the truck horse plunged forward, grazing the man's side. Had it not been for the newsboy, the stout gentleman would have collapsed in the gutter. But as it was each, in a moment more, gained the pavement in safety.

"Phew! that was a narrow escape," puffed the stout gentleman, as soon as he could get back some of the wind he had lost in his consternation.

"So it was," answered the newsboy, as he stepped about to pick up his scattering stock in trade.

The stout gentleman brought out a large handkerchief and began to mop his face, for the excitement had put him into a perspiration.

"My lad, you've done me a great service," he went on, after the boy had collected his papers.

"That's all right, sir," was the ready reply. "Sorry you lost your papers. The truck cut 'em up, and they are all muddy, besides."

"Never mind the papers—you can sell me another set. But I want to thank you for what you did for me."

"You're welcome, sir. Here's the other set of papers."

"If it hadn't been for you, I might have fallen under that horse and truck!" The stout man shuddered. "Here is pay for the papers and for your services to me."

As he finished he held out a two-dollar bill.

"Why, it's two dollars!" cried the newsboy in astonishment. Then he added quickly, "I can't change it."

"I don't want you to change it. I want you to keep it."

"What for?"

"For what you did for me."

"What I did aint worth two dollars."

"Let me be the judge of that, my lad. What is your name?"

"I'm Nelson, sir."

"What is your full name?"

At this question the boy's face fell, and his mouth trembled a little as he gave his answer.

"I don't know, sir."

"What, you don't know what your name is?" cried the stout gentleman in astonishment.

"No, sir."

"But—but—you must have some name. Where do you live?"

"I live over on the East Side with an old sailor named Samuel Pepper. He keeps a lunch room."

"Is he a relative?"

"He calls himself my father—not my real father, you know; only he says he adopted me when I was a little kid. Everybody around there calls me Nelson, or Sam Pepper's boy."

"I see. And he sends you out to sell papers?"

"No, sir; I go out on my own hook."

"But you ought to go to school."

"I go to night school sometimes, when Sam lets me."

"Didn't he ever send you to day school?"

At this Nelson, for so we will call him for the present, shook his head.

"Sam don't like the schools. He says if I go I'll get too smart for him. He says I am almost too smart already."

"Too bad!" The stout gentleman was going to say something more, but suddenly remembered about the fire in Harlem. "Perhaps I'll see you again, Nelson. I can't stop now. Do you know why I forgot myself in the street? It was because that fire proved to be in an apartment house that I purchased only a month ago."

"Your house! That's a big loss, sir."

"The place was insured, so I shall not expect to lose much. I must get up there at once and see see how it was those lives were lost."

In a moment more the stout gentleman was crossing the street again, but this time taking very good care that he should not be taken unawares.

Nelson started to sell more papers, when another boy, who had been selling papers further down the block, came hurrying toward him.

"Wot did de old gent give yer, Nelse?" he asked.

"Gave me two dollars."

"Two dollars! Jest fer hauling him back out of de gutter?"

"I kept him from being run over by a truck."

"Den he oughter give yer ten or twenty."

"Two was more than enough, Billy."

At this Billy Darnley drew down his mouth.

"I would have struck him fer a twenty, sure," he went on.

"You always were greedy, Billy," answered Nelson.

"Do you mean dat fer an insult, Nelse?"

"I mean it for the truth."

"You're gittin' too high-toned fer dis business, Nelse."

"I don't think I am."

"Lend me a dollar of dat money, will yer? I'll pay yer back ter-morrow."

At this Nelson shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Billy, but I'd rather keep my money."

"Are you afraid to trust me?"

"I don't see why I should trust you. You earn as much money as I do."

"You didn't earn dat two dollars."

"The gentleman thought I did."

"He was a soft one."

"He was a very nice man," retorted Nelson promptly.

"O' course you'd stick up fer him. Let me have de dollar."

"What do you want to do with it?"

Now in truth Billy thought of nothing but to have a good time with the money, but he did not deem it prudent to tell Nelson so.

"I—I want to buy myself a new pair of pants," he stammered.

"Your pants are better than mine."

"No, da aint—d'are full o' holes."

"Why don't you sew them up, as I do?"

"I aint no woman, to use a needle. Come, hand over de dollar!" And Billy held out his dirty fingers.

"I shan't let you have it, and that ends it," said Nelson firmly.

He started to move on, but in a moment more Billy Darnley was beside him and had him clutched firmly by the arm.