Sam was more angry than discouraged when he reflected upon the imposition which had been practiced upon him. His indignation was excited when he considered how his confidence had been betrayed. Presently it occurred to him that Abner had served him no worse than he intended to serve his roommate in New York. The thought made him ashamed.

"I didn't think I was acting so mean," he said to himself. "I am glad Henry didn't lose anything by me."

Another thought followed, and one which inspires confidence in Sam's reformation: "I'd rather have the money stolen from me than steal it from somebody else."

It was quite true that Sam's conscience had become more sensitive than formerly. His meeting with Julia Stockton on board the Fall River boat had kindled in him a new and honorable ambition to attain a respectable position in society. In a strange city, separated from his street acquaintances, it really seemed as if he stood some chance of realizing his hope, when he was met at the outset with this discouraging loss.

But Sam was not discouraged. He had been dependent upon his own resources for too many years to give up easily. Moreover, he was hopeful and sanguine by temperament, and determined to make the best of his position. There was this to encourage him. He had paid a week's board in advance, and therefore was sure of regular meals, and a comfortable lodging for six days to come. In that time he might get a situation.

"As you are alone, Mr. Barker," said Mrs. Campbell, "I am afraid I must put you into the single room. I may have opportunities to let this to two persons."

"All right," said Sam, "but I have only paid seven dollars. You said you should expect eight for the small room."

"No matter about that for this week," said the landlady. "You have been unfortunate, and I will take that into consideration."

"Thank you. When I'm a rich merchant I'll make it up to you."

"I hope you will become one, for your own sake," said Mrs. Campbell, smiling.

When breakfast was over, Sam strolled out into the streets. He felt that the sooner he got something to do the better. Certainly in his situation there was no time to lose. He had found out that the leading retail stores were on Washington Street, and it seemed to him a good plan to begin there.

The first he selected was a dry-goods store. He entered, and looked about him, inquiringly. A salesman asked him, briskly: "What can I show you to-day?"

"If you'll show me a situation where I can make a living, you'll oblige me," answered Sam.

"We don't keep such goods for sale," said the salesman, smiling.

"Then perhaps you give them away. Can I speak to the boss?"

"There he is," said the young man—"at the end of the store."

"What is his name?"

"Hunter."

Sam was not bashful. He went up to Mr. Hunter and called him by name.

"Can I speak to you on business?" he asked.

"What kind of business?"

"I want a place," said Sam, bluntly.

"We are not engaging any new clerks at present. Where do you live?"

"I have just come from New York."

"Did you have any experience there in the dry-goods line?"

"No, sir."

"Then you know nothing about it."

"Oh, yes, sir; I can tell calico from silk."

"That's more than I can always do," said Mr. Hunter, jocosely. "I took you for silk, and I find you to be calico."

"You've got me there," said Sam. "Then you can't give me anything to do?"

"I don't think it would be for my advantage to engage you. Do you think so?"

"I think it would be for mine," said Sam. "I guess I will look further."

"I am afraid I don't know much about business," thought Sam. "I wish I knew what I am fit for, and I'd go for it."

He kept on his way down Washington Street, and entered the next large store, where he repeated his request for a place. Here he was not so well treated.

"Clear out, you young loafer!" was the rude response.

"Thank you," said Sam, coolly. "You're extremely polite."

"I don't waste my politeness on such fellows as you," said the clerk, disagreeably.

"I wouldn't," retorted Sam. "You don't seem to have any to spare."

"I guess I don't stand much chance there," he considered. "I wouldn't want to be in the same store with that hog, anyway."

The next store was devoted to millinery. Just outside was a small piece of paper on which Sam read "Little Girl Wanted."

He went in. Those in charge of the store he found to be females.

"You've got a notice in the window for help," said Sam.

"Yes," was the reply. "Do you want it for your sister?"

"I think not," replied Sam. "I haven't any sister, to begin with."

"Then what is your business?"

"I want a place for myself."

"Did you read the notice? It says 'Little Girl Wanted.' Are you a little girl?"

"Not that I am aware of," said Sam; "but I can do a little girl's work."

"Perhaps you would not be willing to take a little girl's pay."

"How much is the pay?"

"Two dollars a week."

"Declined with thanks," said Sam, promptly. "I don't like to disappoint you, but that wouldn't pay for my wardrobe."

The lady smiled. "I'm sorry I can't do anything for you," she said, amused.

"So am I," said Sam.

Presently he discovered a sign, "Boy Wanted," and this inspired in him some hope. He entered, and made known his wishes.

"You are altogether too large," said a brisk-looking man, eying him rapidly. "We want a boy of twelve."

"Can't I do as much as a boy of twelve?" asked Sam.

"Probably you can. Do you reside with your parents?"

"No, sir."

"Where do you live?"

"I board on Harrison Avenue."

"How much do you pay for board?"

"Seven dollars a week."

"Have you any means of your own?"

"No."

"Then you don't want a situation with us. We give only three dollars a week."

By this time Sam began to feel a little despondent.

There were situations for small girls and small boys, but none for him.

"Why didn't I stay a small boy?" he reflected.

But, after all, it is a question whether three dollars would defray the expenses of even a small boy.

"Boston don't seem to be much of a business place, after all," thought Sam; but, perhaps, it was hardly fair to draw such a conclusion from his own failure to procure a situation. Sam made one or two more ineffectual applications, which did not tend to improve his spirits. As he came out of the last one, he saw, to his great joy, Julia Stockton passing by. She recognized him at the same moment.

"Good-morning, Mr. Barker," she said, frankly, holding out her hand. "Are you out shopping this morning?"

"It'll be some time before I go shopping," said Sam.

"Why so?"

"I had all my money stolen last night."

"You did! What a shame! Tell me all about it," said Julia, sympathizingly.

Sam told his story, the young lady showing her warm sympathy in her expressive face.

"How will you get along without money?" she asked.

"I must get a place right off," said Sam.

"If—if you wouldn't mind," said Julia, in an embarrassed tone, "I have five dollars that I have no use for. Won't you let me lend it to you?"

Sam, to his credit be it spoken, declined the tempting proposal.

"I am just as much obliged to you, Miss Julia," he said, "but I can get along somehow. I have got my board paid for a week in advance, and something will turn up in that time, I am sure."

"Won't you take it, then? I really don't need it," said Julia, earnestly.

"If I get very hard up, I'll remember your kind offer," said Sam.

"You'll be sure to do it, Sam?"

"Yes, I'll be sure."

"I must bid you good-morning now," said Julia. "I'm going into Loring's Library to get a new book. Here it is, close by. I am glad I met you."

"Thank you," said Sam.

"Don't forget to call at the house. Mamma will be glad to see you."

"I would feel more like calling, if I had a place," thought Sam, soberly. "She's a bully girl and no mistake, but I wouldn't like to take money from her. It's the first time I ever refused five dollars that I can remember."