When supper was over Sam inquired, "What shall we do?"

"Suppose we take a walk?" suggested his companion.

"I'd rather go to the Old Bowery."

"I should like to go, but I can't afford it."

"You get five dollars a week, don't you?"

"Yes; but I need all of it for board, lodging and washing. So will you, too. I advise you to be careful about spending."

"What's the use of living if a fellow can't have a little fun?" grumbled Sam.

"There won't be much fun in going a day or two without anything to eat, Sam."

"We won't have to."

"Let me see about that. It costs a dollar and a quarter for the room, to begin with. Then our meals will cost us as much as forty or fifty cents a day, say three dollars a week. That will leave seventy-five cents for clothes and washing."

"It isn't much," Sam admitted.

"I should think not."

"I don't see how I am going to get any clothes."

"You certainly can't if you go to the theater."

"I used to go sometimes when I was a newsboy, and I didn't earn so much money then."

"Probably you didn't have a regular room then."

"No, I didn't; and sometimes I only had one meal a day."

"That isn't a very nice way to live. You're so old now you ought to be considering what you'll do when you are a man."

"I mean to earn more than five dollars a week then."

"So do I; but if I were a street boy, picking up my living by blacking boots or selling papers, I shouldn't expect to. Now we have a chance to learn business, and improve."

"Were you ever a street boy?" asked Sam, becoming interested in his companion's history.

"No, that is, not over a month. I was born in the country."

"So was I," said Sam.

"My father and mother both died, leaving nothing, and the people wanted to send me to the poorhouse; but I didn't like that, so I borrowed five dollars and came to New York. When I got here I began to think I should have to go back again. I tried to get a place and couldn't. Finally, I bought some papers and earned a little money selling them. It was better than nothing; but all the while I was hoping to get a place. One day, as I was passing the store where I am now, I saw some boys round the door. I asked them what was going on. They told me that Hamilton & Co. had advertised for an errand boy, and they were going to try for the place. I thought I might as well try, too, so I went in and applied. I don't know how it was, but out of about forty boys they took me."

"Did they give you five dollars a week right off?"

"No; I only got three dollars the first year," answered Henry.

"You couldn't live on that, could you?"

"I had to."

"You didn't have the room you have now, did you?"

"I couldn't afford it. I lived at the 'Newsboys Lodge,' and took my breakfast and suppers there. That cost me eighteen cents a day, or about a dollar and a quarter a week. Out of the rest I bought my dinners and clothes. So I got along till the second year, when my wages were raised to four dollars. At the beginning of the third year I got a dollar more."

"I suppose you'll get six dollars next year?"

"I hope so. Mr. Hamilton has promised to put me in the counting-room then."

"It seems a long time to wait," said Sam.

"Yes, if you look ahead; but, after all, time goes fast. Next year I expect to lay up some money."

"Do you think you can?"

"I know I can, if I am well. I've got some money in the savings-bank now."

"You have!" exclaimed Sam, pricking up his ears.

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Thirty dollars."

"Thirty dollars!" ejaculated Sam. "I'd feel rich if I was worth thirty dollars."

Henry smiled.

"I don't feel rich, but I am glad I've got it."

"You ain't saving up money now, are you?"

"I mean to, now that I pay fifty cents a week less rent on account of your coming in with me. I am going to save all that."

"How can you?"

"I shall get along on two dollars and a half for meals. I always have, and I can do it now. You can do it, too, if you want to."

"I should starve to death," said Sam. "I've got a healthy appetite, and my stomach don't feel right if I don't eat enough."

"I don't like to stint myself any more than you, but if I am ever to be worth anything I must begin to save when I am a boy."

"Do you ever smoke?" asked Sam.

"Never, and I wouldn't if it didn't cost anything."

"Why not? It's jolly."

"It isn't good for a boy that is growing, and I don't believe it does men any good. Do you smoke?"

"When I get a chance," said Sam. "It warms a fellow up in cold weather."

"Well, it isn't cold weather now, and you'll find plenty of other ways to spend your money."

"I can't help it. If I don't go to the theater, I must have a cigar."

Sam stopped at a cigar store, and bought a cheap article for three cents, which he lighted and smoked with apparent enjoyment.

The conversation which has been reported will give a clew to the different characters of the two boys, who, after less than a day's acquaintance, have become roommates. Henry Martin was about Sam's age, but much more thoughtful and sedate. He had begun to think of the future, and to provide for it. This is always an encouraging sign, and an augury of success. Sam had not got so far yet. He had been in the habit of living from day to day without much thought of the morrow. Whether he would be favorably affected by Henry's example remains to be seen.

After a walk of an hour or more the boys went back to their room.

"Are you going to bed, Henry?" asked Sam.

"Not yet."

"What are you going to do?"

"Study a little."

"Study!" exclaimed Sam, in astonishment. "Who's goin' to hear your lessons?"

"Perhaps you will," said Henry, with a smile.

"I! Why, I'm a regular know-nothing! What are you going to study?"

"To begin with, I'm going to do some sums."

Henry drew from under the bed a tattered arithmetic and a slate and pencil. He opened the arithmetic at interest, and proceeded to set down a problem on the slate.

"Have you got away over there?" asked Sam.

"Yes; I've been at work ever since last October. I don't get on very fast, because I have only my evenings."

"What do you do when you come to a tough customer?"

"I try again. There are some sums I have tried a half a dozen times."

"You must have a lot of patience," said Sam.

"I don't know about that. I always feel paid when I get the right answer at last."

"It must be dull work studyin' every night. I couldn't do it. It would make my head ache."

"Your head is tougher than you think for," said Henry.

"Just let me see what sum you are tryin'." His roommate handed him the books, and he read the following example:

"John Smith borrowed $546.75 at 7 per cent., and repaid it at the end of two years, five months and six days. What amount was he required to pay?"

"Can you do that?" asked Sam.

"I think so; it isn't very hard."

"I never could do it; it's too hard."

"Oh, yes, you could, if you had gone over the earlier part of the arithmetic."

"What's the use of it, any way?"

"Don't you see it's business? If you are going to be a business man, you may need to understand interest. I shouldn't expect to be promoted if I didn't know something about arithmetic. I am only an errand boy, now, and don't need it."

"I wish I knew as much as you. What else do you study?"

"I practice writing every evening. Here is my writing-book."

Henry drew out, from under the bed, a writing-book, which was more than half written through. He had evidently taken great pains to imitate the copy, and with fair success.

Sam was quite impressed.

"You can write as well as the teacher I went to up in the country," he said.

"You can write, can't you, Sam?"

"Not much. I haven't tried lately."

"Everybody ought to know how to read, and write a decent hand."

"I s'pose so," said Sam; "but there's a lot of work in it."

He got into bed, and while he was watching Henry doing sums, he fell asleep. His roommate devoted an hour to arithmetic, and wrote a page in his copy-book. Then he, too, undressed, and went to bed.