Rupert had engaged a room on Bleecker Street. It is not a fashionable locality, but the time was when A. T. Stewart and other men of social standing lived upon it.

Rupert's room, a small hall bedroom, cost him two dollars per week. It was rather large for a hall room, and was clean and well furnished, beyond the average of such rooms in that locality. The house was kept by a widow, a Mrs. Stetson, a good, hard-working woman, who deserved a better fate than the position of a lodging-house keeper.

Usually Rupert reached his room about eight o'clock in the evening. He left the hotel at seven, and stopped for supper on the way. Arrived at his room he generally spent an hour in reading or studying (he had undertaken to review his arithmetic, thinking that some time he might obtain a situation where a good knowledge of that science might be needed).

He had nearly reached the house where he lodged on the evening after the departure of Mr. Onthank from the Somerset Hotel, when his attention was drawn to a boy of ten with a bundle of the "Evening News" under his arm. He was shedding tears quietly. Rupert had a warm heart and was always kind to younger boys.

He was touched by the little fellow's evident distress and spoke to him.

"What is the matter, Johnny?" he asked.

"I can't sell my papers," answered the boy.

"How many have you got left?"

"Twelve copies."

"How many did you have in the first place?"

"Twenty."

"Then you have only sold eight?"

"Yes, sir."

"So that you are behindhand unless you sell more. Have you a father and mother living?"

The boy answered in the affirmative.

"I shouldn't think they would let you go out selling papers so late."

"They are very poor," answered the boy, in a sorrowful tone.

"Doesn't your father work?"

"Yes, he works for Mr. Lorimer, on Third Avenue."

Rupert's attention was aroused. This Lorimer, as the reader has already been told, was his father's former partner, and, as Rupert believed, the cause of his failure.

"If your father has a position I should think he would be able to support his family."

"Mr. Lorimer only pays him five dollars a week," explained the boy.

"Only five dollars a week!" repeated Rupert, in amazement. "Doesn't he pay more to his other salesmen?"

"Yes, but he knew father was poor, so he told him he must work for that or leave the store."

Rupert was not altogether surprised to hear this, as he knew that Lorimer was a mean man who had no consideration for the poor.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"In that big house," answered the boy, pointing to a tall tenement, one of the shabbiest on the street. "We live on the fifth floor, but I guess well have to move out to-morrow."

"Why?"

"Father hasn't been able to save enough to pay the rent."

"What rent do you pay?"

"Six dollars. Father has only got three dollars toward it."

"What is your name?"

"Harry Benton."

"Well, Harry, I am not very rich, but I can help you a little. I will take all your papers, to begin with."

The little boy's face brightened.

"You are very kind," he said.

"And now you may take me to your home. Perhaps I can think of some way to relieve your father."

"Come this way, then," said Harry.

Rupert followed him to the entrance of the tenement house.

"I don't know but you'll be tired going up so many stairs," he said. "We live on the top floor."

"I'm not a very old man yet," laughed Rupert. "I guess I can stand it if you can."

The halls were dark and dingy, and there was an unwholesome tenement-house odor. Through one open door Rupert caught sight of a drunken man lying prone on the floor. Evidently the occupants of the house were for the most part of a low class. But when Rupert followed his little guide into the home of his parents on the upper floor, he found respectable, and not squalid, poverty. There was an air of neatness pervading the room, while Harry's parents looked thoroughly honest. Mr. Benton gazed inquiringly at Rupert.

"I hope you'll excuse my intrusion," said Rupert, politely, "but your little boy seemed in trouble and I ventured to come upstairs with him."

"I couldn't sell my papers," explained Harry. "He took all I had left," indicating Rupert.

"You were very kind to my little boy," said Mrs. Benton, gratefully. "Won't you sit down? This is my husband."

Mr. Benton was a man of medium size. His features were worn and sad.

"Pray take a seat," he said. "We haven't many callers and fewer friends. We can appreciate kindness, as we meet with it so seldom."

"Harry tells me you are in the employ of Mr. Lorimer on Third Avenue."

"Yes."

"He says you are poorly paid."

"Five dollars a week can hardly be considered liberal," returned Mr. Benton, with a faint smile.

"Mr. Lorimer is a very mean man."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes. He was my father's partner in Buffalo."

"Your father is not in business with him now?"

"My poor father died. I have every reason to think that Mr. Lorimer swindled him out of a large sum of money, and brought on his financial ruin."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Benton, gravely.

"Does he pay other salesmen as poorly as he pays you?"

"There may be two or three others as poorly paid, but I think that he knew of my poverty and took advantage of it. At any rate he called me to the office one day, and told me that I must accept a reduction from eight dollars to five or leave his service. You can imagine how I decided. With my wife and child to be supported I had no choice. That was a month since, and my life has been a hard struggle from that time. I have been obliged to let Harry sell papers in the streets, though the poor boy cannot earn more than from ten to fifteen cents a day in that way."

"Harry told me that you would have difficulty in paying your rent."

"Yes," answered Mr. Benton, despondently. "We lack three dollars of the sum required, and our landlord is a hard man. I am afraid we shall be turned into the street."

"If you will allow me I will lend you the amount you need."

"But I am afraid I shall not be able to repay you."

"I will take my risk of that."

"Then I will not refuse. It will lift a burden from my mind. But how can you afford to be so kind? You don't look rich."

"I am a bell-boy in a hotel, but I am pretty well paid, and I received to-day a handsome present from a guest. It is because I am poor myself that I can sympathize with the poor. Besides, you have suffered from the meanness of the man who ruined my poor father. That alone gives you a claim upon me."

"I should like to know the name of my new friend."

"My name is Rupert Rollins."

"I shall remember it. I hope you will come to see us sometimes."

"I shall be glad to do so."

"Are none of your family living?"

"Yes, I have a mother and sister in Rutherford, a few miles from the city. They are pleasantly situated, and mother is earning her living as a housekeeper. But I won't intrude on you longer to-night. I will call again soon."

It seemed strange to Rupert that he should again be reminded of his father's old partner. Mr. Lorimer apparently had not changed for the better since he had removed from Buffalo to New York. He was the same mean, selfish man he had always been. Yet he seemed to be prosperous, while his victims were suffering the ills of poverty.

Rupert could not understand it. It was a difficult problem for him to solve. This is not surprising, for it has puzzled a great many older and wiser persons than Rupert.

"Well," he reflected, "I have parted with three dollars out of ten that Mr. Onthank gave me. But no matter. The three dollars will do more good to the Bentons than to me. I can spare it, and I would not care to have it back."

An idea came to Rupert. The hall bedroom which he occupied was lonely and not homelike. If he could only make his home with a refined family like the Bentons he would find it much more agreeable. If they, with the help of the eight dollars a month, which his rent cost him, could take a small flat, it would be a good arrangement all round.

At present there were difficulties in the way, as they were unable to raise even the small rent which they were paying now. Still circumstances might change. He resolved to keep up the acquaintance, and watch for some way of helping Mr. Benton to a better position. Even ten dollars a week would be a poor salary for a good dry-goods salesman, yet upon this he would be able to live comfortably.

Rupert had the curiosity to enter a drug store and look up the name of Mr. Lorimer in the directory. He ascertained that the dry-goods merchant lived on Lexington Avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Thirty-fifth Streets. This was a desirable location, and the house, as he afterwards learned, was a handsome, high-stoop residence, probably worth twenty-five thousand dollars.

But Rupert did not envy his father's old partner. "I would rather be poor and honest," he reflected, "than live in a fine house, surrounded by luxury, gained by grinding the faces of the poor."