"Is the boss in?"

The speaker was Sam Barker, and the young man addressed was a clerk in the office of Henry Dalton & Co. He gazed with wonder and amusement at the grotesque figure before him.

"Have you business with Mr. Dalton?" he inquired.

"I should think I had," said Sam. "Is he in?"

"Not yet. He'll be here presently."

"All right. I'll wait."

Carefully parting the tails of his coat, Sam coolly deposited himself in an office chair, and looked about him.

"Are you in business for yourself?" asked the clerk.

"I have been," said Sam, "but I'm goin' to work for Mr. Dalton now."

"Did Mr. Dalton hire you?"

"Of course he did. He's goin' to pay me five dollars a week. How much does he pay you?"

"That's a secret," said the young man, good-naturedly.

"Is it? Well, I'll excuse you."

"You're very kind. That's a stylish coat you've got on."

"Isn't it?" said Sam, proudly, and rising from the chair he turned around in order to display fully the admired garment.

"Who is your tailor?"

"I forget his name, but he hangs out on Chatham Street. I only bought this coat yesterday."

"Don't you think it's a little too long?"

"Maybe it is," said Sam, "but I don't mind it. I can cut it down if I want to. Maybe they've got another like it, if you want one."

"I'm supplied just at present," said the young man. "What do you expect to do here?"

"I'm to be the errand boy. Does the boss work you very hard?"

"Oh, no, he's reasonable. How did you happen to get in with him?"

"I brought home his little boy. The little chap was cryin' round the streets, when I met him and took him home."

"Oh! you're the boy I heard him speak of. Well, you're in luck, for Mr. Dalton is an excellent employer."

"Have you been with him long?"

"About four years."

"Do you think he'll raise me soon?"

"That will depend a good deal upon yourself. If you work faithfully, no doubt he will."

Sam made a resolution to work faithfully, but then he found it easier to make resolutions than keep them.

"There's Mr. Dalton now," said the clerk.

Sam rose and faced his employer. The latter looked at him in some surprise, not immediately recognizing under the strange dress the boy whom he had engaged.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm the new boy," said Sam. "Don't you remember you told me you'd hire me at five dollars a week?"

"Oh, you are the boy, are you? Why, you look like an old man! Where did you raise that coat?"

"I bought it."

"It makes you look like your own grandfather."

"Does it?" said Sam, rather taken aback. "I thought it was stylish."

"You better exchange it. I don't want a boy in my employment to be dressed in that way. You'll be taken for an old gentleman from the country."

Sam smiled, but looked rather disturbed.

"I don't know as the man will take it back," he said.

"Go and see. I'll give you a couple of dollars. He will change it if you pay him something extra."

"I'll fix it," said Sam, accepting the money with alacrity. "Shall I go now?"

"Yes, and come back when you have made the exchange. Get something suitable for a boy of your age, and not too large."

Sam left the counting-room, and made his way to the second-hand shop where he had made the purchase. He succeeded in effecting an exchange for a coat which was less noticeable, and that without paying any bonus.

"If the boss don't say anything about the two dollars," he thought, "I'll be so much in."

Much to his joy no questions were asked as to the terms on which he made the exchange, and he felt that he could afford to go to the Old Bowery that evening.

When he came back he was called into the counting-room.

"Now, my boy, what is your name?" asked the merchant.

"Sam Barker."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Are your parents living?"

"No, sir."

"Where do you live?"

Sam hesitated.

"I ain't got no regular place," he answered, at length.

"Where have you generally slept?"

"At the 'Newsboys' Lodge.'"

"I suppose you were a newsboy?"

"Some of the time."

"Well, it makes no difference what you have been. You are now my errand boy. I have engaged you without knowing very much about you, because you have been of service to my little boy. I hope you will serve me faithfully."

"Oh, yes, I will," said Sam, looking particularly virtuous.

"If you do your duty, I shall take an interest in you, and promote you as you deserve."

"And give me more pay?" suggested Sam.

"Yes, if I find you deserve it. I would rather pay high wages to a boy who suits me than small wages to an inefficient boy."

"Them's my sentiments," said Sam, promptly; but whether his sentiments referred to the service or the pay he did not make quite clear.

Mr. Dalton smiled.

"I am glad you agree with me," he said. "There is one other point I wish to speak of. As you are in my employment, I want you to have a regular boarding-place. I think it much better for a boy or young man. You ought to be able to get board and a decent room for four dollars a week."

"I guess I can," said Sam.

"I will let you go at three o'clock this afternoon—two hours before our usual hour of closing. That will give you time to secure a place. Now go out, and Mr. Budd will set you to work."

The clerk whom Sam had first encountered was named William Budd, and to him he went for orders.

"You may go to the post office for letters first," said Budd. "Our box is 936."

"All right," said Sam.

He rather liked this part of his duty. It seemed more like play than work to walk through the streets, and it was comfortable to think he was going to be paid for it, too.

As he turned into Nassau Street he met an old acquaintance, Pat Riley by name, with a blacking box over his shoulders.

"Hello, Sam!" said Pat.

"Hello, yourself! How's business?"

"Times is dull with me. What are you doin'?"

"I'm in an office," said Sam, with conscious pride.

"Are you? What do you get?"

"Five dollars a week."

"How did you get it?" asked Pat, enviously.

"They came to me and asked me if I would go to work," said Sam.

"Where are you goin' now?"

"To the post office, to get the letters."

"You're in luck, Sam, and no mistake. Got some new clo'es, ain't you?"

"Yes," said Sam. "How do you like 'em?"

"Bully."

"I had a tiptop coat—blue with brass buttons—but the boss made me change it. He ain't got no taste in dress."

"That's so."

"When I get money enough I'll buy it for best, to wear Sundays, he can't say nothing to that."

"In course not. Well, Sam, when you get rich you can let me black your boots."

"All right, Pat," said Sam, complacently.

"Who knows but I'll be a rich merchant some time?"

Here Pat spied a customer, and the two had to part company.

Sam continued on his way till he reached the old brick church which used to serve as the New York post office. He entered, and met with his first perplexity. He could not remember the number of the boX. — "Here's a go!" thought Sam. "What's that number, I wonder? There was a thirty-six to it, I know. I guess it was 836. Anyhow I'll ask for it."

"Is there any letters in 836?" he asked.

Four letters were handed him.

Sam looked at the address. They were all directed to Ferguson & Co.

"That ain't the name," thought Sam. "I guess I'm in a scrape, but anyhow I'll carry 'em to Mr. Dalton, so he'll know I went to the office."