“How much did you make in your new business, Gilbert?” inquired his room-mate, Ingalls, with interest, at the close of his first day’s experience.

“Seventy-five cents,” answered Gilbert.

“That is quite fair.”

“I suppose it is all I could reasonably expect, but it won’t pay my expenses. At that rate my weekly income will be but four dollars and a half, while, as you know, my board amounts to six dollars.”

“I will pay the extra dollar and a half.”

“You are a true friend, Mr. Ingalls,” said Gilbert, gratefully, “but that doesn’t dispose of all my difficulties. I shall have no money for washing, or to purchase clothing.”

“But you expect to get your place back in a week.”

“Even if I do, my income will be only five dollars. I never supposed it was so difficult to make a living before.”

“Wait and hope, Gilbert,” said his room-mate, cheerfully. “That is what I had to do when I first came to the city. It was weeks before I got anything to do at all. I got almost discouraged. Finally, through the influence of a friend, I got a foothold, and have been able to live comfortably ever since.”

“I won’t get discouraged just yet, at any rate,” said Gilbert. “I will wait and see how things come out. If I am forced to remain in the paper business, I must find some way of increasing my income. I might combine a little baggage-smashing with it.”

“That’s one thing I like about you, Gilbert,” said the young man. “You have no false shame, but undertake whatever work you find to do.”

“I am not wholly without pride, Mr. Ingalls; but I can’t afford to indulge it. I shall get out of this street business as soon as I can.”

“You are justified in that, certainly. It shows a proper ambition.”

The next day Gilbert sought his chosen place, and again proceeded to sell his stock of daily papers, with about the same measure of success.

At about half-past ten he caught sight of a familiar face. His own face blushed uncomfortably, for Randolph Briggs was about the last person he wished to see, under the circumstances.

Randolph, who was rather near-sighted, did not recognize him till he was close upon him. Gilbert had a momentary impulse to desert his post, and thus escape the notice of his unwelcome acquaintance; but this impulse was succeeded by the more manly resolve to stand his ground.

“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said to himself. “It is Randolph, or rather his mother, who should be ashamed.”

He was in the act of selling a “Herald” when Randolph came up.

“Gilbert Greyson!” exclaimed Randolph, in amazement.

“Good-morning, Randolph,” said Gilbert, quietly.

“What are you doing?”

“Selling papers, as you see.”

“You don’t mean to say you have become a common newsboy?”

“I don’t know whether I am a common or uncommon newsboy, but a newsboy I certainly am, just at present.”

“What induced you to take up such a business?”

“The necessity of making a living.”

“Why didn’t you take the money my mother offered you?”

“Because she offered it as charity. I don’t accept charity.”

“It seems to me you are poor and proud.”

“I certainly am poor, and my pride I hope is a proper one.”

“I should be too proud to sell papers in the streets,” said Randolph, emphatically.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t in my case.”

“I never expect to be in your case.”

“I hope you won’t.”

“You know, of course, you will have to give up your fashionable acquaintances.”

“Does that mean you and your mother?” inquired Gilbert, smiling.

“Yes partly,” answered Randolph, seriously. “Then, there are the Vivians. You wouldn’t presume to call upon them now?”

“Why not?”

“Do you suppose they admit newsboys in the list of their visitors?”

“I don’t know; but I shall soon find out.”

“How?”

“I mean to call there very soon.”

“I wouldn’t. You wouldn’t be welcome.”

“How do you know that?”

“It stands to reason,” argued Randolph. “They stand very high in the social scale, and a newsboy is very low.”

“I don’t think the Vivians and you quite agree in some matters. If I find I am not welcome, you may be sure I won’t repeat the call.”

“You will see I am right.”

“I suppose, from what you say, that I shall not be welcome at your house?” said Gilbert, rather amused.

“Why, you might call when no one is there. Of course, we couldn’t introduce you to our friends.”

“I think the safest way will be not to call at all.”

“That’s so,” said Randolph, and he walked on.

“I suppose that is the way of the world,” thought Gilbert. “Well, I expected it, and so far as Randolph and his mother are concerned I shall not have much to regret.”

At half-past twelve he stood with his last paper in his hand. They had gone off more slowly than the day before, and he doubted whether he could dispose of the last one.

“Good-morning, Gilbert,” said a cordial voice. “Are you reading the paper?”

“No, Mr. Vivian,” answered our hero; “I am trying to sell it.”

“What! Have you turned newsboy?”

“Yes, sir. I could think of nothing else to do, and I must do something.”

“Was this necessary?” asked the merchant, in a tone of sympathy.

“Yes, sir; I have nothing to depend upon, except what I make in this way.”

“You can’t make a living, can you?”

“I am afraid not by this alone,” said Gilbert.

“Have you had lunch?”

“No, sir.”

“Then come with me to the Astor House restaurant. There we will talk over your affairs, and perhaps I can suggest something that will be more to your advantage than your present employment.”

“Thank you, sir; I shall feel very grateful for your advice.”

They went to the Astor House, which was very near, and seated themselves at a table. Mr. Vivian ordered a substantial lunch, considerably better than Gilbert could have afforded on his own account. In fact, he had decided to content himself with an apple, and make that do till the six-o’clock dinner at his boarding-house.