"I've been a fool," said Frank to himself, in genuine mortification, as he realized how easily he had permitted himself to be duped. "I ought to have stayed in the country."

Even a small sum of money imparts to its possessor a feeling of independence, but one who is quite penniless feels helpless and apprehensive. Frank was unable even to purchase an apple from the snuffy old apple-woman who presided over the stand near by.

"What am I going to do?" he asked himself, soberly.

"What has become of your uncle?" asked a boot-black.

Looking up, Frank recognized one of those who had saluted Percy and himself on their way to the restaurant.

"He isn't my uncle," he replied, rather resentfully.

"You never saw him before, did you?" continued the boy.

"No, I didn't."

"That's what I thought."

There was something significant in the young Arab's tone, which led Frank to inquire, "Do you know him?"

"Yes, he's a dead-beat."

"A what?"

"A dead-beat. Don't you understand English?"

"He told me that he did business on Wall street."

The boot-black shrieked with laughter.

"He do business on Wall street!" he repeated. "You're jolly green, you are!"

Frank was inclined to be angry, but he had the good sense to see that his new friend was right. So he said good-humoredly, "I suppose I am. You see I am not used to the city."

"It's just such fellows as you he gets hold of," continued the boot-black. "Didn't he make you treat?"

"I may as well confess it," thought Frank. "This boy may help me with advice."

"Yes," he said aloud. "I hadn't but twenty-five cents, and he made me spend it all. I haven't a cent left."

"Whew!" ejaculated the other boy. "You're beginnin' business on a small capital."

"That's so," said Frank. "Do you know any way I can earn money?"

Dick Rafferty was a good-natured boy, although rough, and now that Frank had appealed to him for advice he felt willing to help him, if he could.

"What can you do?" he asked, in a business-like tone. "Have you ever worked?"

"Yes," answered Frank.

"What can you do?"

"I can milk cows, hoe corn and potatoes, ride horse to plough, and—"

"Hold up!" said Dick. "All them things aint goin' to do you no good in New York. People don't keep cows as a reg'lar thing here."

"Of course I know that."

"And there aint much room for plantin' corn and potatoes. Maybe you could get a job over in Jersey."

"I'd rather stay in New York. I can do something here."

"Can you black boots, or sell papers?"

"I can learn."

"You need money to set up in either of them lines," said Dick Rafferty.

"Would twenty-five cents have been enough?" asked Frank.

"You could have bought some evening papers with that."

"I wish somebody would lend me some money," said Frank; "I'd pay it back as soon as I'd sold my papers. I was a fool to let that fellow swindle me."

"That's so," assented Dick; "but it's no good thinkin' of that now. I'd lend you the money myself, if I had it; but I've run out my account at the Park Bank, and can't spare the money just at present."

"How long have you been in business?" asked Frank.

"Ever since I was eight years old; and I'm goin' on fifteen now."

"You went to work early."

"Yes, I had to. Father and mother both died, and I was left to take care of myself."

"You took care of yourself when you were only eight years old?" asked Frank, in surprise.

"Yes."

"Then I ought to make a living, for I am fifteen,—a year older than you are now."

"Oh, you'll get along when you get started," said Dick, encouragingly. "There's lots of things to do."

"Is there anything to do that doesn't require any capital?" inquired Frank, anxiously.

"Yes, you can smash baggage."

"Will people pay for that?" asked Frank, with a smile.

"Of course they will. You jest hang round the ferries and steamboat landin's, and when a chap comes by with a valise or carpet-bag, you jest offer to carry it, that's all."

"Is that what you call smashing baggage?"

"Of course. What did you think it was?"

Frank evaded answering, not caring to display his country ignorance.

"Do you think I can get a chance to do that?" he asked.

"You can try it and see."

"I came in by the Hartford boat myself, to-day," said Frank. "If I'd thought of it, I would have begun at once."

"Only you wouldn't have knowed the way anywhere, and if a gentleman asked you to carry his valise to any hotel you'd have had to ask where it was."

"So I should," Frank admitted.

"I'll show you round a little, if you want me to," said Dick. "I shan't have anything to do for an hour or two."

"I wish you would."

So the two boys walked about in the lower part of the city, Dick pointing out hotels, public buildings, and prominent streets. Frank had a retentive memory, and stored away the information carefully. Penniless as he was, he was excited and exhilarated by the scene of activity in which he was moving, and was glad he was going to live in it, or to attempt doing so.

"When I am used to it I shall like it much better than the country," he said to Dick. "Don't you?"

"I don't know about that," was the reply. "Sometimes I think I'll go West;—a lot of boys that I know have gone there."

"Won't it take a good deal of money to go?" asked Frank.

"Oh, there's a society that pays boys' expenses, and finds 'em nice homes with the farmers. Tom Harrison, one of my friends, went out six weeks ago, and he writes me that it's bully. He's gone to some town in Kansas."

"That's a good way off."

"I wouldn't mind that. I'd like ridin' in the cars."

"It would be something new to you; but I've lived in the country all my life, I'd rather stay here awhile."

"It's just the way a feller feels," said Dick philosophically. "I've bummed around so much I'd like a good, stiddy home, with three square meals a day and a good bed to sleep on."

"Can't you get that here?" asked Frank.

"Not stiddy. Sometimes I don't get but one square meal a day."

Frank became thoughtful. Life in the city seemed more precarious and less desirable than he anticipated.

"Well, I must go to work again," said Dick, after a while.

"Where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked Frank.

"I don't know whether I'd better sleep at the Astor House or Fifth avenue," said Dick.

Frank looked perplexed.

"You don't mean that, do you?" he asked.

"Of course I don't. You're too fresh. Don't get mad," he continued good-naturedly, seeing the flush on Frank's cheek. "You'll know as much about the city as I do before long. I shall go to the Newsboys' Lodgin' House, where I can sleep for six cents."

"I wish I had six cents," said Frank. "If I could only get work I'd soon earn it. You can't think of anything for me to do, can you?"

Dick's face lighted up.

"Yes," he said, "I can get you a job, though it aint a very good one. I wonder I didn't think of it before."

"What is it?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"It's to go round with a blind man, solicitin' contributions."

"You mean begging?"

"Yes; you lead him into stores and countin' rooms, and he asks for money."

"I don't like it much," said Frank, slowly, "but I must do something. After all, it'll be he that's begging, not I."

"I'll take you right round where he lives," said Dick. "Maybe he'll go out this evenin'. His other boy give him the slip, and he hasn' got a new one yet."