Sam Pepper got no chance to talk to Nelson further that day. As soon as the noon trade was over, our hero hurried off to sell afternoon papers. This time he went up the Bowery, to where Mrs. Kennedy kept her fruit-and-candy stand. It was a small stand, and the entire stock was not worth over ten dollars, but the old woman made enough to keep the wolf from the door, and she was content.

"I was after thinking you'd come," she said, smiling broadly. "I knew you'd want to know about the young lady."

"How is she?"

"I left her this morning, sorrowful enough, I can tell ye that, Nelson. She don't know how to turn. She thinks she might take in sewing, or something like that, but, bless ye! how much would she make at that? Why, thim Jews that work night and day hardly make enough to keep 'em from starving!"

"Yes, I know it, and it's a shame," said the boy. "They get about five cents for a pair of pants and ten cents for a coat, and some of 'em make shirts for three and four cents apiece. I don't see how they stand it. No, she wouldn't earn anything at that."

"I was a-telling her of Gladys Summers, who sells flowers up on Fourteenth Street and at the theater doors, but she said she didn't want to go out on the street. She's afraid some of her friends would see her, I suppose."

"She hasn't any friends—'cepting you and me, Mrs. Kennedy. We've got to do for her."

"It's little I can offer, Nelson; ye know that well enough. She can stay under my roof, but to board her——"

"I'll pay her board, until she finds something to do. I'll give you three dollars a week for keeping her."

"Will ye now? Nelson, you're more than kind-hearted. But where will ye be after getting the money?"

"I'll earn it," he answered resolutely. "I earn a dollar and over a day now, and I know I can make it more, if I try real hard."

He soon left the fruit-and-candy stand and started in to sell papers. He felt that he had a new responsibility on his shoulders, and he determined to do his best. Soon his efforts began to tell, and by five o'clock he was sold out, and the day's earnings amounted to a dollar and thirty-two cents.

"Half for Miss Horton and half for myself," he murmured. "That's the way it's got to be, after this."

He was soon on his way to the tenement house in which Mrs. Kennedy's rooms were located. Ascending two flights of stairs, he knocked on one of the doors.

"Who is it?" came from Gertrude Horton.

"It's Nelson."

"Oh!" And instantly the door was unlocked.

A glance at the girl's face told the boy that she had been crying. More than this he saw she was far from well, and the hand she gave him was as hot as fire.

"Oh, Miss Horton, you're sick!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter?"

"I have a severe headache," she answered. "I think it will pass away soon."

She sank down on a dilapidated lounge, and he took a kitchen chair. He saw that she trembled from head to foot, and that she had been worrying ever since he had left her.

"You mustn't worry too much," he said, as kindly as he could. "Mrs. Kennedy says you can stay here as long as you feel like it."

"But she is poor, Nelson, and I—I haven't any money, excepting what you gave me, and you must take that back—you need it."

"No, I don't need it, Miss Gertrude. See, I've got a lot of money now. I collared that thief and made him give up what he had left, over three dollars—and I've earned the rest selling papers. That's why I didn't come before. I've fixed it up with Mrs. Kennedy, and you can stay just as long as you please."

"And you are going to pay her?" cried the girl warmly. "Oh, Nelson! you are indeed good-hearted. But, no; I must support myself."

"Well, you needn't hurry about it. I can earn enough for both of us just now—and that's what I am going to do. Why shouldn't I? It was my fault that your uncle put you out."

"No, Nelson; the fault, if it was a fault, was my own. The matter was of long standing. Homer Bulson had wished to marry me for a long time, but I have constantly refused him. Now he has gotten my uncle to side with him. They expect to bring me to terms, I suppose. More than likely my uncle thought I would come back to-day, to do as he wishes."

"I wouldn't go back."

"I shall not. I have made up my mind fully. I will support myself, and Homer Bulson can have Uncle Mark's whole estate, if he wishes it. Surely, in such a big city as this there is something I can do."

"I wouldn't go at sewing—it don't pay."

"What does pay—that I can do?"

"You might get a position in a store. Or maybe you know how to play the piano?" went on our hero suddenly.

"I do know how to play. I took instructions for several years, and have played at private concerts, in Philadelphia."

"Then you can give piano lessons."

"But where can I get pupils?"

"We'll advertise in the papers," went on the newsboy, with some importance. "I know an advertising man down on the Row. He says anybody can do business by advertising. I'll ask him about it. Of course you'll want to give lessons at folks' houses—being as you haven't a piano of your own."

"Yes," answered Gertrude, and her face brightened greatly. "I could do that, and I would go cheaply first, to get a start."

"Do you want to put your name in the advertisement?"

"No, have the letters sent to the newspaper offices, and sign the advertisement——" Gertrude paused in thought.

"Weber," finished Nelson. "That's the name of a swell piano, isn't it?"

"It might be too grand for the folks we wish to reach," said Gertrude. "Sign it 'Earnest.'"

"And how much will the lessons be?"

"I ought to get at least fifty cents."

"Then I'll tell the advertising man that. Oh, he's a dandy to write the ads up—makes 'em look like regular bargains!" added the boy enthusiastically.

Nelson remained at the rooms a while longer, and then hurried to Sam Pepper's place. To his surprise Pepper had locked up, and on the window was the sign:

"Closed for repairs. Will open as a first-class cafÉ in about two weeks."

"He hasn't lost any time in going ahead," thought our hero. "I wonder where he is?"

"Sam's out of town," called out a bootblack who had some chairs close by. "Told me to give you this." And he passed over an envelope, containing a sheet of paper and the store key. On the sheet was written:

"Am going away for two or three days on business. A man will be here at ten o'clock to-morrow morning to measure the place for new fixtures. You stay around while he is here. Then you keep the place locked up until I get back."

"Gone away for two or three days," thought Nelson. "I wonder what he is up to now?"

He went inside, and saw at once that many of the old fixtures had been removed, and that the little kitchen in the rear had been turned almost inside out. The living apartment, however, was as it had been, excepting that Sam Pepper had used it for packing purposes, and the floor was strewn with bits of paper and some excelsior.

"If I'm to stay here, I might as well clean up," thought our hero, and set to work with a broom. "And then I'll take an hour off and clean and mend my clothes."

In cleaning up Nelson came across several letters, which were old and mussed. Whether Sam Pepper had thought to throw them away or not, he did not know. To make sure, he picked the letters up and looked them over.

"Hullo!" he cried. "Here's more of a mystery."

The letters were addressed to Pepperill Sampson and were signed Mark Horton. The majority of them concerned some orders for dry goods to be shipped to various Western cities, but there was one which was not of that nature. This ran in part as follows:

"I have watched your doings closely for three weeks, and I am now satisfied that you are no longer working for my interest, but in the interest of rival concerns. More than that, I find that you are putting down sums to your expense account which do not belong there. The books for the past month show that you are behind over a hundred and fifty dollars. At this rate I cannot help but wonder how far behind you must be on the year and two months you have been with our house.

"You can consider yourself discharged from this date. Our Mr. Smith will come on immediately and take charge of your samples. Should you attempt to make any trouble for him or for us, I will immediately take steps to prosecute you. You need never apply to our house for a recommendation, for it will not be a satisfactory one."

The letter was dated twelve years back, and had been sent to Pepperill Sampson while he was stopping in Cleveland. Nelson read the communication twice before he put it away.

Who was Pepperill Sampson? The name sounded as if it might belong to Sam Pepper. Were the two one and the same person?

"They must be the same," thought Nelson. "Sam was once a commercial traveler after he gave up the sea, and I've heard him speak of Cleveland and other Western towns. But to think he once worked for Mark Horton!" He scratched his head reflectively. "Let me see, what did Sam say about the man he wanted me to rob? That he had helped the man who had shot my father. Is there really something in this? And if there is, what can Mark Horton know about the past?"