It was Mr. Timothy Joyce.



CHAPTER XI.

ROBBED.

Richard was highly delighted to see his fellow passenger once again, and running up he grasped the gentleman by the shoulder.

"Mr. Joyce!"

"Why, hello! Where did you come from?" exclaimed the leather merchant, thrusting the letters into his pocket and taking hold of the boy's extended hand, "I hope you weren't hurt."

"No, sir," replied Richard, "only shaken up. I trust you were as fortunate."

"Not quite. My foot was caught under the seat and was wrenched pretty badly, so much so that I had a man take me half a mile in a wheelbarrow to a doctor's."

"I looked all over for you," continued the boy. "I saved your valise and wanted to return it."

And Richard related the particulars of his adventures.

"Humph! those railroad chaps are too particular in some cases and not half enough so in others," declared Mr. Joyce. "What is in the bag doesn't amount to much, but I'm much obliged to you for taking the trouble to save it. I'll send for it this afternoon."

"And here is your guide-book," went on Richard, handing out the volume. "I'm thankful for the use of it. It's been a real help to me."

"Better keep it then," replied the merchant. "I'll make you a present of it." He laughed, presumably at the smallness of the gift.

"Thank you."

"Have you had any luck yet in your search for work?"

"No, sir. I could have had a job at several places, but the pay was so small I couldn't afford to accept any of them."

"Yes, that's the trouble. Good openings are scarce, and very often one must be known to get a place."

"And some want security," added the boy, relating his interview with the tea-merchant.

"Don't have anything to do with that class of men," exclaimed Mr. Joyce emphatically. "They won't give you a cent more than they are forced to, and advancement in their service is out of the question."

"It didn't strike me very favorably."

"I am sorry that you are not better acquainted with city ways. You may have to pay dearly for your experience, though I hope not."

"I'm going to keep my eyes open as widely as I can, sir."

"You'll have to." Mr. Joyce paused for a moment. "Can you come over to my office this afternoon, about three o'clock?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe I'll be able to place you. I won't promise, but I'll do what I can."

Richard's heart gave a bound. He had taken a strong liking to the leather merchant, and the hearty manner of the latter, somewhat like that of Doc Linyard, was certainly taking.

"Thank you, I'll be on hand," he replied quickly.

"Do; but remember I make no promises," returned Mr. Joyce. "I'm off now. I must answer this mail and a pile of other letters that have accumulated during my absence."

In a moment the merchant was lost to sight in the crowd.

"I'm glad that I met him," thought the boy. "It may be the luckiest thing yet. I'm sure if he finds an opening for me it will be the right thing to take hold of."

Under the turn of affairs Richard decided to get the sailor's letters, if there were any, and return to the Watch Below at once. It was after one o'clock, leaving him about an hour and a half before going to the merchant's place of business.

"I must be prompt," he said to himself. "It will count, I'm sure."

Watching his chance among the score of street cars which pass the post- office corner every minute, the boy dived through the crowd and reached the opposite side of Park Bow.

The newspaper office was but a few steps away, and in a second he was inside.

Quite a number of people were in the counting-room. They were mostly of the poorer class, and were either looking over the want columns of the papers on file or else waiting for answers to advertisements which they had inserted.

Richard joined the line of the latter, and in due turn found himself at the window, slip in hand.

The clerk glanced at the slip and then looked over some letters in a certain box.

"Here you are," he said, and handed back the slip, accompanied by two letters.

"Two answers!" exclaimed Richard as he moved away. "Doc Linyard is certainly in luck. I must hurry back. He will be anxious, I know."

Richard put the slip in his vest-pocket. In doing so he pulled out two one dollar bills which he had taken from his valise in the morning, and folded the paper and money together.

As he shoved the roll into his pocket he did not notice that a hungry pair of eyes, just outside of the swinging glass doors, were watching his every action.

The hungry pair of eyes belonged to a boy of twelve, though he looked older—a street urchin—dirty, ragged, with a pinched face and a starved, ill-clad form. A look of sheer desperation came into these eyes when their owner saw the money, and he trembled with excitement as a certain bold and wicked thought came into his mind—a thought born, not of a bad heart, but of—an empty stomach.

As Richard came out of the door the street boy shoved against him. The doors were heavy, and for an instant Richard found his way blocked. He pushed back the opposite door, and attempted to pass.

"Say, mister, dere's a big bug on your collar!" exclaimed the urchin, pointing to Richard's neck.

Now, as I'm sure every one knows, to merely have such a thing mentioned is to feel the insect in question. Such was the case with Richard, and still holding the door with one hand he put the other up to his neck.

This was the would-be thief's chance. With a dexterity worthy of a better cause the urchin transferred the slip, money and letters to his own pocket. It was done in less than three seconds, and then he darted back into the crowd upon the street.

Of course Richard found no bug, and he was considerably perplexed by the urchin's actions, never dreaming of what had really occurred.

"I suppose that boy was fooling me," he thought. "Maybe it's one of those silly jokes that become all the rage every now and then."

Richard walked to the corner of Ann Street. St. Paul's clock now pointed to ten minutes to two, and he had no time to waste.

"Watch protectors, gents, only ten cents each! May some day save you the loss of a valuable timepiece! Step right up now; only a dime! Regular price fifty cents!"

It was a street vender who made this announcement. He stood upon the curbstone, a small tray of his wares suspended from his shoulders.

"Here's just what you want, sir," he said, addressing Richard.

"Thank you; but I don't carry a watch," was the boy's polite reply.

"You will one of these days. Better have one."

"If I need one I'll call around," replied Richard briefly.

The idea of a safeguard caused him to feel in his pockets to see that his belongings were still in his possession, first in one—another—every one.

Then he realized what had happened. He had been robbed.



CHAPTER XII.

ON THE SEARCH.

Richard was dismayed and disheartened by the discovery which he had just made. He went through his clothing a dozen times to convince himself that he was not mistaken—that the slip, money and letters were really gone. But it was assuredly a fact, and groaning in spirit, he leaned up against a post, utterly overcome.

To tell the truth, however, much as he needed money, he did not think of the bills that had been taken. His mind ran altogether on Doc Linyard's property.

"What will he say when I tell him of it?" was Richard's mental comment. "He won't want to trust me any more. Perhaps those letters were worth hundreds of dollars. What a fool I've been! I ought to be sent back to Mossvale at once. I'm not fit to stay in New York."

Then came the thought that possibly he had dropped the things, and he hastily retraced his steps, scrutinizing every inch of the way as he went.

But, as we know, such an effort was fruitless, and by the time he had reached the newspaper-office Richard was convinced that it was a plain case of robbery and nothing else.

"But when did it happen? I had the letters when I reached the street—hold up; that boy. I'm sure he's the one!" he exclaimed to himself. "I remember now feeling something at my pocket when I put my hand up to my collar. That bug business was only a ruse! Well, I am a fool! And after all Mr. Joyce and Doc Linyard told me, too!"

The thought of how he had been taken in made Richard fairly sick, and the tears of vexation sprang into his eyes as he stood deliberating upon what to do next.

Just then a burly policeman came lounging along. Richard touched him on the arm.

"I have been robbed," he said.

"Robbed? Where? When?" exclaimed the officer, all attention.

Richard told him all he knew of his case.

"I think I know the chap," said the officer. "But I can do nothing now. He is likely a mile away by this time."

"Will you watch out for him?" asked Richard.

"I don't care so much for the money as I do for the letters."

"Better come over to the station and make a complaint."

"Is it far? I've got an engagement at three o'clock that I don't want to miss."

"Won't take ten minutes. Come on."

At the station Richard was required to leave his full name and address, describe what had been stolen, and give a full description of the person he suspected was the thief.

"I can't give you much hopes of recovery," said the officer in charge. "Dollar bills are very much alike, and if the thief finds that he cannot put the letters to account he will probably destroy them. As to his getting other letters on the strength of the stolen slip, you had better go to the office and have the delivery stopped."

"Thank you, I will," replied Richard.

He was soon on his way back to Park Row.

"Do you remember me?" he asked of the clerk who had previously waited on him.

"Yes; what is it? Anything wrong with your letters?"

Richard told his story.

"Will you hold the letters?" he added.

"Certainly. And if there is a call for them, I'll send out for an officer and have the party detained."

When Richard was again on the street he hardly knew what to do. He had no appetite for dinner, and there seemed now no use of returning to the Watch Below.

He had a fancy that the urchin who had robbed him had run across into the post-office. True, it was only a fancy, but Richard had some time to spare yet before he was due at Mr. Joyce's office, and he determined to take a walk in that direction.

Going through the post-office he walked over to Warren Street and thence down to College Place. There was a coffee-stand upon the corner, and here he bought two doughnuts for a cent each, and began munching them, noticing at the same time that they were not of the best, being dry, and that the flavor wasn't to be compared to that of those Grace was in the habit of turning out at home.

Under the Elevated Road it was not as light as could be wished, and Richard could not see very well. But presently he beheld a figure at the end of the block—a figure that looked familiar.

Richard quickened his pace and soon reached the spot, yet only in time to see the figure turn the next corner. But this time his view had been better, and Richard was tolerably certain that it was the thief he was pursuing.

He broke into a run instantly, and being light of foot, gained rapidly upon the boy.

A glance around the next corner, and Richard just caught a glimpse of the urchin's head as it disappeared down a cellar way. Rushing to the spot, he was compelled to pause. He was far down on a side street that was little better than an alley-way. The building before him was dirty and old, evidently a storehouse, and the open stone steps led down to a steep cellar from which not a ray of light came up.

Should he enter? For an instant Richard paused, and then slowly descended.

"They shall not say that I was a coward," he said to himself. "And I can easily handle that chap if it comes to a hand to hand affair."

The moldy smell of the cellar was nearly unbearable, and in several spots upon the brick floor the scum lay an inch deep. Presently the boy's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and then he saw it was not so gloomy, after all.

At the back there appeared to be several windows, and, though covered with dust and cobwebs, they still admitted some light. The place was packed with wooden cases and barrels, and Richard had not a little difficulty in picking his way among them.

Evidently the street Arab had not calculated upon being followed into such a place, for Richard heard him boldly making his way to the rear.

He hurried after the urchin, making as little noise as possible. But unfortunately his foot at that moment struck against an empty case, and made known his presence.

Instantly the street boy realized the situation, and diving behind a pile of barrels, remained perfectly quiet.

Richard's blood was now up, and he did not intend to be outwitted. He hurried to the spot, in his eagerness nearly stumbling over the boy.

But the latter was alert. Visions of the Tombs probably floated through his mind; and tripping Richard over he sprang away.

Richard was on his feet in a second, but it was too late. In that second, the street Arab had sprung to the top of a pile of cases that stood directly under an opening in the floor above.

The next instant he had disappeared through the hole, and was gone.

But in mounting the stack of cases he had dislodged several and these now tumbled down, making a lively racket. The noise was followed by several exclamations, and the sound of hasty feet upon a stairway.

"Hey, you, vat you do here?" cried a voice; and Richard felt his arm grasped by a tall and savage looking German workman.



CHAPTER XIII.

RICHARD CALLS ON MR. JOYCE.

As the hand of the German workman grasped Richard's arm the boy realized that he was in an awkward fix. Appearances were all against him, and as the man glared at him Richard knew not what to say.

"Come now, vat vas you doing here, hey?" demanded the German.

"I—I was after a boy who stole something from me," stammered Richard.

"After a poy?"

"Yes. He ran down here, and I came after him."

"Ton't believe it. Vere ist der poy now?"

"He jumped up there and got through that hole," replied Richard, pointing to the place.

The German uttered an exclamation.

"Dat's nonsense!"

"It's true. He stole two dollars and some letters, and I chased him in here."

The man eyed Richard suspiciously.

"Maype dot vas only a make-believe sthory; I don't know," he declared. "Come, ve go upstairs und see."

But, as Richard surmised, the boy had, by some means, already made his escape. But the marks of his muddy feet, as he had crawled from the hatchway, were still to be seen, and these Richard pointed out.

"Vell, if your sthory is straight dat lafer ain't here now; so you go about your beesness." And with a wave of his arm the stalwart workman motioned for Richard to clear out.

The boy was not loth to leave the place. Nothing was to be gained by remaining, and the German's company was certainly not desirable.

"I suppose I might as well give up the search now," said Richard to himself when outside. "That fellow will know enough to keep out of my sight for a while; and, besides, it must be time to go to Mr. Joyce's. Gracious, how starved that chap did look! If he wants that money to get something to eat with I'm sure he's welcome to it, only I want the letters."

Richard brushed off his clothes as best he could and started off. By the use of the guide-book he had no difficulty in finding the Swamp, as the leather district in New York is called.

Presently he came to a big warehouse, with an office at one side, over which hung the sign:

TIMOTHY JOYCE, Successor to JOYCE BROTHERS. LEATHER AND HIDES. Established 1837.

"It's certainly an old firm," thought Richard, as he read the words. "I guess Mr. Joyce is a pretty substantial business man."

The boy found the leather merchant at his desk, deep in his letters.

"Ah! on hand I see," said Mr. Joyce. "I'm not quite ready yet; will be in a quarter of an hour."

"I won't mind waiting," returned Richard.

"Suppose you take a look around the place? I guess you've never seen anything like this before."

"No, sir: and I'll look around gladly."

Richard stepped from the office to the lower floor of the warehouse. The quantity of leather and hides on all sides filled him with wonder.

The place was several stories high, and was filled to overflowing with material soon to be worked up into shoes, pocketbooks, belting, gloves, baseball covers, and a thousand other articles for which this staple material of trade is needed. Several heavy trucks were loading and unloading at the doors, and the boy heard the workmen speak of a consignment to Buffalo, and another to Boston, and of a shipload that had just arrived from South America.

"It's a big business and no mistake," was Richard's conclusion. "I guess a person would have to be here half a lifetime to learn all the ins and outs of it."

When Richard returned to the office he found that Mr. Joyce had just cleared his desk, and was leaning back in his chair.

The leather merchant motioned him to a seat.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked abruptly.

"You seem to be doing a big business," returned Richard. "I think you must have enough leather to supply all New York."

"So I have—for a short time. But only a small part stays in the city. It comes and goes all the while. Have you found a place yet?"

"No, sir; I haven't had a chance yet." And Richard related the particulars of his recent misfortune.

"Humph! Well, after all, experience is the only school we all learn in. I don't doubt but what you've seen the last of both money and letters. Keep your eyes open in the future."

"I'll try to. I shall not forget this lesson in a hurry."

"But at the same time don't be too suspicious of everybody with whom you may chance to come in contact."

"I'll remember what you say, sir."

"Now about finding you a situation. I wish I had an opening here for you. I'd make a business chap of you."

"I should like to work for you, Mr. Joyce."

"Unfortunately, there is no room at present—that is, there is nothing I can offer you."

"I'll take anything you'll give me," exclaimed Richard earnestly.

"Yes; but you can't do anything. You can't drive a truck—here in the city—and you don't know a thing about packing hides. Besides, such work would be altogether too heavy for you, and it never pays the wages that lighter but more intelligent labor receives."

"I suppose you are right, sir."

"I am. I don't want to gloss things over for you. It's the worst thing in the world for a young fellow just starting out to have a rosy view of the business world, which is composed of steady work and hard knocks, about equally mixed. You've got too much brains to work altogether with your hands; and one must find out what he is best suited to. How would you like to get into the book and stationery line?"

"Very much indeed."

"Do you think you could make anything out of it? Make it the business of your life, so that you would stand some show of advancement on the strength of the interest you took in it?"

"I think I could," replied Richard slowly, somehow deeply moved by Mr. Joyce's earnestness. "I always liked books—not only to read them, but to handle and to arrange them as well. At home I was the librarian of our Sunday-school, and I got out the catalogue and all that. Of course it was not a great work, but I enjoyed it, and often wished I might have charge of a big library or something like that."

Mr. Joyce eyed the boy thoughtfully.

"Reckon I was right. Thought you'd take to books. Persons with your kind of a forehead always do. Well, come along. I'll see what I can do toward getting you a place with a friend of mine."

Locking up his desk, Mr. Joyce put on his hat and led the way out on the street.

"We'll have to hurry," he said, "or we'll find my friend has gone home."

Richard needed no urging. With a strangely light heart he kept close behind the leather merchant.

They passed along several blocks, and at length turned into Beekman Street.

"Here we are," said Mr. Joyce, finally. "This is my friend's place of business."



CHAPTER XIV.

WORK OBTAINED.

The establishment to which the leather merchant had brought Richard was an imposing one, situated in a massive stone building, and having large and heavy plate glass doors and windows. A formidable array of blank-books and sets of well-known authors' works were piled up in the window which bore the firm's name:

WILLIAMS & MANN.

Directly to the left of the entrance inside, stood a great safe, and further on appeared an almost interminable row of shelves and drawers, all apparently crammed with articles pertaining to the stationery and book trade.

Stepping up to a salesman Mr. Joyce inquired:

"Is Mr. Williams in?"

"Mr. Williams has gone to Chicago," was the polite reply.

"Chicago, eh? When will he be back?"

"We expect him back day after to-morrow; possibly to-morrow afternoon."

"Humph!" Mr. Joyce rubbed his chin. "Is Mr. Mann about?"

"Yes, sir; just gone up to the stock-room."

"Tell him I'd like to see him for a few minutes."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Joyce, I believe."

"That's the name."

"I'll send word at once. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks."

Mr. Joyce sank into an office chair.

Going to a speaking tube behind one of the broad counters, the salesman sent his message up to one of the floors above.

"Mr. Mann will be down directly," he said, after a moment.

In five minutes a stout, bald-headed gentleman of fifty came down by the elevator at one side, and stepped forward.

"How are you, Tim?" he exclaimed, thrusting out a chubby hand.

"First rate, Mel," returned Mr. Joyce. "This is a young friend of mine, Richard Dare," he continued.

Mr. Mann shook hands cordially.

"He has come to the city to try his luck," went on the leather merchant. "He has a taste for your line, so I brought him around to see if you hadn't an opening for him."

Now an application made in this way, and coming from an ordinary source, would have met with a courteous negative. But the firm of Williams & Mann were under obligations to Mr. Joyce, who had on several occasions indorsed their notes for many thousands of dollars. Besides, all three men were old friends; so Mr. Mann gave the request every attention.

"We are rather full of hands," he said slowly; "but still I might find room for him. Have you had any business training?" he continued, turning to Richard.

"Very little, sir," replied the boy promptly, though it came hard to make such a confession.

"He hasn't had a bit," interposed Mr. Joyce. "He's as jolly green as we were when we came here," he added in a whisper. "But he's bright, honest and level-headed, and I've taken a fancy to him and want you to give him a chance."

"Do you like to handle books?" asked Mr. Mann.

"Yes, sir; very much."

"Yes, it's just what he does like," put in the leather merchant. "Place him among the books if you can."

"Perhaps I can do that; but I won't be able to pay you much until you are experienced."

"I must earn my living, sir," said Richard respectfully, but in a firm manner.

"Of course he must," added Mr. Joyce. "He has just lost his father," he continued in a low tone, "and I suppose it's hard times at home."

"Have you known him long?" asked Mr. Mann, as the two walked to one side.

"Only two days."

"Two days!"

"Yes."

"Is he—that is, suppose I put him in a place of trust? It will be a risk that—"

"I'll go security for him."

"And you have only known him two days, Tim! Seems to me you're not as cautious as you used to be."

"Never mind. I know some honest faces when I see them, and his is one. Let me tell you how we became acquainted."

The two men continued their conversation for several minutes.

"I'll take you on at once," said Mr. Mann, presently to Richard. "I suppose you would like that best."

"Yes, sir."

"You can have the hour remaining to-day to get broken in. I will give you six dollars a week at the start, and if you learn as rapidly as Mr. Joyce thinks you will I'll raise you in a few weeks to seven or eight."

"Thank you, sir; I'll try to make myself worth it."

"It's hard work, and you will have to pitch right in," Mr. Mann went on. "We have no use for laggards."

"Well, I'm going," broke in Mr. Joyce. "Now I've placed you I hope you will make something of yourself," he added.

"I'll try to," replied the boy. "Many thanks to you for your kindness."

"If you come down in my neighborhood drop in and see me."

"Thank you, I will with pleasure," was Richard's reply.

"We will go right upstairs to the stock-room," said Mr. Mann, after Mr. Joyce had departed. "We have a large pile of pamphlets and books which the clerk we discharged left all mixed up. I was just assisting the stock-clerk in making out a new division of the department."

Entering the elevator, they were soon taken to a floor three stories above. The stock-room was in the rear, the large windows overlooking an alley.

The place was piled high with books of all descriptions, some in sets and others separate, from cheap reprints to costly volumes filled with etchings and engravings.

"Here, Mr. Massanet, I've brought a young man to help you," said Mr. Mann, addressing the clerk in charge, a pleasant-looking fellow apparently not many years older than Richard.

He came forward and gave the boy a kindly look of welcome.

"We need help here," he said. "There is plenty to do."

"His name is Dare—Richard Dare," continued Mr. Mann. "I do not know him, but a friend recommended him."

"We'll soon see what he can do," replied Frank Massanet, with a smile. "Are you going to work now?" he asked of Richard.

"Yes; break him in at once," said Mr. Mann. "I'll leave him in your charge. Mr. Massanet will tell you anything you want to know," he went on to the boy. "He is the head here."

Left alone with Frank Massanet it did not take long for Richard to become well acquainted with the stock-clerk, who gave him a few brief directions and then set him to work filling up broken sets of books, dusting them, and placing them in a case for shipment.

"We must get this whole batch away by next Tuesday," said Massanet. "Because on Wednesday another large consignment will arrive, and we must have room to handle it."

The work delighted Richard, and he pitched in with a will. It was new and novel, as well as agreeable, and, besides, doing it for pay made it no task at all.

Talking did not interfere with the progress of either of the workers, and attracted by Frank Massanet's cordial manner, Richard gradually revealed to the stock-clerk why he had come to the city, and what his ambitions were.

In return Frank related much concerning himself. His father, who had been a Frenchman, was dead, and his mother, sister Martha and himself kept house up-town on the east side. It was apparent that the young man was the main support of the family, for he said that just previous to his death his father had been unfortunate in business and had lost nearly every dollar he possessed. His mother did the work at home, while his sister earned six dollars a week at typewriting.

"It is pleasant to have a home to go to," said Richard, after a bit. "You don't know how queer I felt to be away from the others."

"Homesick?" asked Frank kindly; and then impelled by a sudden warm feeling he placed his hand on Richard's shoulder. The action, small as it was, brought a little lump to the boy's throat.

"No—not exactly," he replied, "only—"

"I know what you mean. Before I got this place I went to Boston for two months to try my luck, and I was among strangers."

"Some day, when I can afford it, I intend to bring my folks to the city," Richard went on.

"Where are you stopping now?" asked Frank.

"With a sailor friend of mine down on West Street."

"West Street! It is not a very nice locality."

"No; but he is very kind, and so is his wife. They keep a restaurant. He was in a railroad accident with me, and that's the reason he takes to me."

"Yes, accidents often make strange people friends."

"But I must hunt up a regular boarding-house," went on Richard. "I suppose a good one that is cheap is hard to find."

"You are right. How much do you expect to pay, if I may ask?"

"Not over four dollars. I'm to get six here, and I can't afford any more. When my salary is raised I'll be willing to go a little more, but not much, because I want to send home all the money I can."

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment. Richard's way pleased him, and he felt drawn towards the new-comer.

"My mother has been thinking of taking a boarder," he said slowly. "We have a spare hall bedroom. It is not very large, but it has good ventilation, and is neatly furnished. I used it when—when my father was alive."

"Would your mother take me?" asked Richard. "That is, could she afford to at four dollars a week?"

"I can't say."

"When I get an increase in wages I'll pay four and a half," went on the boy. "I would like to live with you," he continued open-heartedly.

Frank smiled.

"I'll speak to my mother to-night," said he, "and I'll let you know to-morrow morning."



CHAPTER XV.

NEW QUARTERS.

At six o'clock Frank Massanet announced the day's work ended, and, bidding his friend goodnight, Richard hurried off to West Street. His heart was light over his own good fortune, but heavy when he thought of the losses he had sustained earlier in the day.

The Watch Below was crowded, and Doc Linyard presided at the pie-stand and the desk. He noticed Richard's grave face, and surmised that all was not right.

"You're late!" he exclaimed. "Come sit down to supper. I'll bet you haven't eaten a mouthful."

"I've had bad luck," replied Richard. "Bad luck for you and good luck for myself."

And, sitting down beside the desk, he made a clean breast of what had transpired earlier in the day.

"I know I have been careless," he added, "and I don't deserve to be trusted any more."

"Never mind," returned the old sailor cheerily. "It's too bad, but, as Betty often says, it's no use crying over spilt milk, so we'll make the best of it."

"I'll have the advertisement put in to-morrow," said the boy, "and I'll add that former letters have been lost."

"That's a good idea. And don't tell Betty; it would only worry her. Who knows but what those letters didn't amount to much after all?"

"At all events, I'm going to get them back if I can."

"And your two dollars, too. The little rascal! But you said you had good news?"

"So I have. Mr. Joyce got me a place."

And Richard told of the meeting in the post-office, and his subsequent engagement by Williams & Mann.

"Well, I'm downright glad to hear that!" cried Doc Linyard heartily. "Reckon you are on the right tack at last."

The walking and working had made Richard hungry, and he was not backward about sitting down and eating a hearty supper. But he insisted upon paying for all he had, and, seeing that the boy really meant it, Doc Linyard took the money, though not without reluctance.

As soon as he had finished eating, Richard went to Park Row and handed in the advertisement. The clerk informed him that no other letters had been received, nor had any applications for them been made.

Returning to the Watch Below, Richard sat down and wrote a second letter home, which he shortly after posted, along with the precious packet of chewing gum for Madge. The old sailor offered him a ticket to the theater, which had been left in the restaurant for the privilege of hanging a lithograph in the window, but this the boy declined with thanks, and retired early, so as to be on hand promptly in the morning.

Seven o'clock was the hour for opening at Williams & Mann's, and five minutes before that time Richard presented himself, and was let in by the sleepy porter. The elevator was not running at this time in the day, so Richard took the narrow iron stairs, and was soon in the stock-room, where he went to work at what he had been doing the previous day until Frank Massanet arrived.

"My mother would like you to take dinner with us," said Frank, when he had given directions concerning how the work should go on. "She would like to know you before she takes you as a regular boarder."

"Can she take me at four dollars?" asked Richard.

"She thinks she can. You can talk it over together when you see her—that is, if you will come."

"Certainly I will."

"It's the best way. Perhaps our board might not suit you."

"I'll risk it," laughed Richard.

They were allowed an hour at noon, and at exactly twelve o'clock the two hurried off. Frank led the way up to the Third Avenue Elevated Station, and a five minutes' ride brought them to their destination.

"I generally bring my lunch with me," explained the stock-clerk on the way, "and I have dinner when I get home in the evening. By that means I save my car fare, and have plenty of time to eat the best meal of the day."

"It's the better way," said Richard. "Do you ride morning and night?"

"Only when the weather is bad. When it is clear I save the ten cents."

"So would I. Besides, it's healthy exercise," returned the boy.

The Massanets occupied the second floor of a modest little flat of six rooms. It was a cheerful home, and Mrs. Massanet, a pleasant, middle-aged Frenchwoman, greeted Richard cordially.

"You are indeed welcome, Mistair Dare," she said, with a beaming face. "Francois have tole me everything of you, and I feel as eef I know you long."

Mrs. Massanet had the peculiar French accent of the province of Lorraine, and Richard frequently experienced difficulty in understanding her, but her motherly way soon put him at ease, and in a few minutes he felt perfectly at home.

"This is my sister," said Frank, as a tall, dark-eyed girl of sixteen entered. "Mattie, this is Richard Dare."

"Frank has been telling us of you," said Mattie Massanet, as she took Richard's hand. "We talked you all over last night," she added, with a merry twinkle of her eye.

"I'm sure it couldn't have been a very bad talk if you had a hand in it," said Richard gallantly.

They were soon at the table, and having by a lucky chance (or was it the girl's natural tact?) struck the right vein, the conversation became quite animated, and soon all were on very good terms.

"I like you verra mouch," said Mrs. Massanet, when Richard had finished, "and I shall be pleased to have you as a boarder—eef you like ze diner."

"Thank you, Mrs. Massanet. I shall be thankful to have you take me. I know it will feel quite like a home."

"Ve make zat so. Ve keep no hotel garni even—only for one."

"Thank you," returned Richard. He did not understand the French, which means a lodging-house. "Can I come to-night?"

"Oh, yees."

So it was arranged that he should become a boarder at the Massanets', and having this settled took quite a load from his mind. Now if he could only do his work well for Williams & Mann, he would be all right, and have every chance of eventually attaining the object of his metropolitan venture.

Of one thing he was sure—Frank Massanet's friendship and help, and in his present place he knew these would count for a good deal.

Little did he dream that the position kind-hearted Timothy Joyce had procured for him would lead him to the hardest trials of his youthful life, and place him in the bitterest situation he had ever yet experienced.



CHAPTER XVI.

PEP.

In a week Richard felt quite at home, both in the stock-room at Williams & Mann's and at the Massanets'.

During that time Mr. Williams had returned from Chicago, and both of the members of the firm seemed to be well satisfied by the way in which their new clerk discharged the duties assigned to him.

A warm friendship sprang up between Frank Massanet and Richard—a friendship that was destined to bear important results. The stock-clerk, though Richard's superior in the business, acted more like a chum, and in the evenings the two, accompanied by Mattie Massanet, walked, talked, played games, or listened to Mrs. Massanet's music on the flutina, and were all but inseparable.

Richard received several letters from home—one from his mother, congratulating him on the position he had secured, and another from Grace and Nancy, full of village gossip, and what people had said about his going away.

Both Frank and Richard loved their work, and by the second week the books in the stock-room were in a neater and handier condition than they had ever been before, and Frank expressed his pleasure at having some one who could really help, and not hinder, as the discharged clerk had done.

On Tuesday morning of the second week, Richard was hurrying to the store a little earlier than usual. The big consignment of books was soon to arrive, and they must have even more room for it than had at first been anticipated.

As he came down the Bowery at a rapid gait, a small figure crossed the street directly before him, and stopped to gaze into the well-filled window of a German bakery. It was the street Arab who had robbed Richard in Park Row!

For an instant Richard could hardly believe his eyes, but, stepping up, he took a closer view, and then grasped the urchin by the arm.

Instinctively the street Arab shrank away. Then he turned his pinched and startled face around, and, seeing who it was that held him, gave a loud cry of alarm.

"Oh, please, mister, please lemme go!" he pleaded. "I won't do it again, please, sir, no I won't! Oh, don't lock me up, mister!"

That piteous appeal went straight to Richard's heart. If he had felt any indignation, it melted away at the sight of that haggard, famished, desperate look.

"What have you done with the stuff you took from my pockets?" he asked, but his tones were not very harsh.

The boy began to whimper.

"I—I ain't got de money no more," he sobbed, "It's all gone, mister; I spent every cent of it but two nickels fer medicine and de doctor. Please don't lock me up, mister."

"Medicine and the doctor?" repeated Richard, rather astonished by this unexpected statement. "Who is sick?"

"Me dad, mister."

"Your dad? Your father?"

"Yes, mister; been sick going on two months now, and ain't no better."

Richard looked at the boy sharply. He had been deceived so many times that he was half inclined to discredit the urchin's story.

"It's the truth, mister," went on the boy, seeing the look of distrust. "I ain't tellin' no lies, so help—"

"What's your name?"

"Pep, sir."

"Pep what?"

The urchin held down his head.

"I ain't got no other name!" he answered hesitatingly.

"Oh, you must have!" exclaimed Richard. "Come, out with it."

But the little ragged figure only began to cry again, harder than ever.

"Come, tell me; I won't have you arrested," urged Richard.

"Oh, thank you, mister! It would kill dad to know I'd been stealin'. I told him I made the money sellin' papers."

"That was a lie," said Richard sternly.

"I know it, mister, but I couldn't help it. It was better than tellin' him I'd been stealin'. I wouldn't have taken yer money only I was afraid he'd die if he didn't have de doctor and de medicine, so help—"

"There, don't swear," interrupted Richard. "If you were so hard up you should have asked me for help. I would have given you something."

"I would have asked, only most of de people laughs at me and tells me to clear out, and they think I'm lyin' when I say dad's sick, and say they guess he must drink de money up, which is a lie itself, 'cause dad don't drink a drop; he's got pneumony, so de doctor says, and he's coughin' all de time."

"Is your mother home?"

"Ain't got no mother; she died when I was a kid."

"Well, Pep, I'm sorry for you," said Richard kindly, "and I won't do anything to you for having taken that money. But those letters—they were valuable. What have you done with them?"

"I've got 'em home, sir. I'll bring 'em to you right away, sir."

"I haven't got time to wait now," returned Richard, highly elated to find that Doc Linyard's property was safe. "Will you meet me here at six o'clock to-night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure? Remember I must have those letters."

"I'll bring 'em. I've got 'em hid in de garret. I didn't open 'em or noddin'. I can't read only a little newspaper print—'nough to find out what's in de paper ter sell it."

"Well, I shall expect you sure," replied Richard. "I'll give you ten cents for bringing them," he added, to make certain that Pep would not change him mind. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"I haven't had no eatin' since yesterday mornin'."

"What would you do if I gave you ten cents?"

Pep's eyes opened in wonder. In his knockabout life he had met all sorts of people, yet here was certainly a new kind.

"Yer jokin'!" he gasped.

"No, I'm not."

"Then if I had ten cents I'd go and buy some morning papers—I could sell 'em yet—and take de money home."

"All of it?"

"Yes, sir. Every cent."

Richard felt in his pocket. He had just sixteen cents in change.

"Here is the ten cents," he said, handing it out. "And here is six cents. I want you to buy something to eat for that."

Slowly Pep took the money. He did not know but he might be dreaming.

"Thank you, mister, you—you're good to me," he said in a low tone.

"I'm in a hurry now," went on Richard, "otherwise I'd talk to you some more. I want to find out how you get along and how your father makes out. You can trust me."

"I know I can—now," replied Pep. "And I'll be on hand at six o'clock with those letters sure. I'm very, very thankful fer what you've done, indeed I am, and I'll try to make it up to you some day, see if I don't."

"Anyway, don't steal any more," said Richard. "It isn't right, and it will land you in jail sooner or later."

"I never took noddin' before," replied Pep, "and I won't ag'in."

"I hope so, Pep."

"Will yer please tell me yer name?"

"Richard Dare."

"I'll remember it, Mr. Dare; ye're the first gentleman ever noticed me, and I'm much obliged, even if you hadn't given me a cent."

"I shall expect to see you at six o'clock or a few minutes later," was Richard's reply, and fearful of being late at the store he hurried off.

The street urchin stood still, gazing after him. There were tears in the light blue eyes, and a choking sensation in the thin little throat.

"He must be one of them missionaries I once heard tell of," was Pep's thought. "They said they went around doing good, and that's what he's doing. Six cents for something to eat, and a dime to buy papers with! That's the best luck I've had in five years. If I don't make a quarter by nine o'clock I'm no good. And I'll never steal again—I won't—as sure as my name is Pep Clover."



CHAPTER XVII.

GETTING ACQUAINTED.

When Richard reached Williams & Mann's he found Frank Massanet already hard at work. He had told the stock-clerk of the robbery in Park Row, and now he related its sequel in the shape of the incident of the morning.

"Well, maybe you did right," said Frank; "although the majority of the street boys are not to be trusted beyond sight. You will find out by this evening if the boy's word is worth anything."

"I think I can trust that boy," replied Richard. "I believe he was truly penitent. My treating him as I did may be the making of him."

Williams & Mann employed in their various departments between fifteen and twenty clerks. They were mostly young fellows, and outside of a tendency to play practical jokes, because he was a new-comer, they treated Richard very well, and the boy was, with one exception, on good terms all round.

This one exception was a young man of twenty.

His name was Earle Norris, and he was head of the shipping department. Richard's duties brought him into daily contact with the shipping-clerk, but though the latter treated him fairly well, there was something in the other's manner that he did not like, and consequently he did not associate as freely with Norris as that young man seemed to desire.

Norris was something of a dandy in his way, and rarely appeared at the store otherwise than faultlessly dressed. Of course when at work he changed his coat, cravat, collar, and so forth, so as not to soil them, but he never left without looking as much "fixed up" as when he had arrived.

"You're a new fellow here," he said to Richard when the latter came down to see if a certain box of books had as yet been sent away.

"Yes; new here and new in New York," Richard replied, smiling,

"I thought you weren't a New Yorker," Norris went on. "How do you like things in the city?"

"First-rate. I haven't seen much of the place yet, though."

"Where do you live?"

"I board with the Massanets."

"Oh, a relative?"

"Oh, no. I never knew them until I got acquainted with Frank here."

"Rather slow at their house, I imagine."

"Oh, I like it very well."

"My folks live in Yonkers," said Norris, "but I couldn't stand it there, though I had a good position. I like New York life. You ought to be over at our boarding-house. There are six of us young fellows, and we're out every night and have lots of sport."

"Thank you; I am very well content where I am," said Richard coldly. He did not like the manner in which the shipping-clerk had spoken of Frank and his family.

"I did not think the Massanets kept boarders," continued Norris. "I thought they were too retired for that."

"I am the only one, and am treated like one of the family."

"Frank has got a sister, hasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Maybe that's the attraction," suggested Norris. "My landlady has a pretty daughter, too."

"It is not the attraction," said Richard flushing, "though she, like her mother, treats me nicely," he added stoutly, and with a certain amount of loyalty.

"Oh, well, it's all right," put in the shipping-clerk hastily. "I don't want you to change if you're satisfied. Only if you get tired of being quiet let me know. I tell you, there's lots of fun to be had if you only know how to get it."

"I guess I won't change, at least for the present," replied the boy.

When he returned to the stock-room he related to Frank what Norris had said about keeping too quiet.

"I don't agree with him," said the stock-clerk. "I don't know what he means by having lots of sport and all that, but I never believed in being out late nights. It isn't right, and besides it doesn't pay. Haven't you noticed the deep circles around Norris's eyes? They come from a want of sleep, and how long do you suppose he can stand that sort of thing and his work here without breaking down? Why, I remember when he came here, a year ago, he looked twice as healthy as he does now."

"Then he is foolish," said Richard. "I wouldn't want to run the risk of ruining my health, especially needlessly."

"Of course if our way of living is too quiet for you—I suppose it would be for most young fellows—you are at liberty to leave at any time."

"Thank you, Frank; I know I can, but I reckon I'll stay just as long as you care to keep me, or at least until I can afford to bring the family here."

"Norris has approached me several times on the subject of joining him in some of his frolics," went on Frank, "but I have never gone out with him."

"Does he get a very large salary?"

"No more than I—ten dollars a week."

"I should think it would take every cent he had after his board was paid to dress him. His clothing is more fashionable than Mr. Mann's."

"He certainly isn't saving any money," replied Frank.

Frank Massanet had his own idea about Earle Norris and his peculiar ways. He was almost certain that there would some day be a startling development at Williams & Mann's, but, having as yet no proofs, he kept quiet concerning his suspicions.

During the afternoon Richard had occasion again to visit the packing-room, and once more Norris, who was the only one present, approached him.

"How would you like to go to Niblo's Garden with me to-night?" he asked. "I have two tickets, and I would be pleased to have your company."

"I am much obliged, I'm sure, but I have an errand to-night," replied Richard. "I must deliver two letters."

"Well, that ought not to take you all the evening. Come along; I don't want to have the extra ticket and not use it. A friend of mine from Brooklyn was going with me, but he has just dropped me a postal card saying he is sick."

"Can't you sell the extra ticket?"

"Oh, I suppose I might; but I don't care to go alone," explained Norris. "Come, you'll enjoy it, I know."

Richard was sorely tempted. The play at the theater was a standard one, and the leading actor one of renown. Surely there wouldn't be much harm in going.

If any other person than Norris had asked him, he would probably have accepted.

Yet his reasoning on the point was remarkably clear. He was sure that there had been nothing in his own manner to draw him to Norris, and this being so, why did the latter take such an interest in one who was but a step removed from a stranger to him?

"No, I guess not," he replied, after a pause. "I don't care to go."

"Oh, well, don't then," replied Norris coldly. "I only asked you out of kindness, being as you were a stranger."

And he turned his back on the boy and walked away.

Richard told Frank where he was to meet Pep, and added that if the stolen letters were forthcoming he would take them to Doc Linyard's before returning to the Massanets'.

At six o'clock the two quitted the store together and walked over to the Bowery. Pep was already waiting for Richard. He had a big bundle of evening papers under his arm, and seemed to have improved both his capital and his time.

"Here's de letters, mister," he said, holding out the two envelopes and the slip. "I'm sorry I got 'em dirty."

For his unwashed hands had left many marks upon the white paper.

Richard took the letters eagerly, and put them in an inside pocket.

"How have you done to-day?" he asked.

"First-rate. Had luck ever since yer started me. I'm worth sixty cents now. Say," he went on in a whisper, "I'm going to pay yer back that two dollars soon as I kin."

"And how is your father?"

"He is a bit better to-day—he was awful yesterday. Can I see yer here in a few days?"

"Why?"

"About that money. I want yer to have it back. It's the first time I took anything."

"Yes, you can see me," replied Richard, somehow pleased at the idea of becoming better acquainted with the urchin, in whom he found himself taking a strong interest. "You can generally meet me at the same time you've met me to-day."

"All right. I'll have der chink in a few days, see if I don't. Have an Evening Telegram or Mail and Express?" "I haven't any change," replied Richard.

"Ho! what yer take me for?"

And, thrusting a copy of each paper in Richard's hand, Pep darted across to the Elevated Station, crying his wares as he went.

"Not such a bad chap, I guess," said Frank. "I have seen worse fellows than him reform. I must see if we can't get him in our mission."

"I'll go right down to West Street with these letters," returned Richard. "They may be very important."

"I'm sorry I can't go with you," said Frank, "but I'm going out with mother. Will you be long?"

"I guess not. Of course I can't tell. Doc Linyard may want me to do something for him—write a letter or so, and that all takes time. I'll be back by nine, I guess."

And with these words the two separated, Frank hurrying up town, and Richard to carry his news to the old sailor.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A STRANGE SITUATION.

The road to West Street was no longer a strange one to Richard, and it took him but a short quarter of an hour to reach the Watch Below.

As usual the restaurant was crowded, and the merry jests of the sailors mingled with the rattle of dishes and clatter of knives.

Doc Linyard was glad to see the boy, and immediately asked how he was progressing and how he liked his position.

"I have good news for you," said Richard.

And he handed over the two letters.

"Are they the ones as were lost?" asked the old sailor.

"Yes; I caught the boy and made him return them."

"Did you get your money, too?" went on Linyard, as he cut the envelopes open.

"Not yet, but I'm pretty sure of getting it in the near future."

"Hope you do; two dollars ain't much, but it's something, and nowadays everything counts. Will you read these letters for me? My eyesight ain't none of the best any more, and besides, writing is kinder stiff reading for me at the best."

"Certainly I will, Mr.—"

"Avast there on that figurehead!" interrupted the old tar.

"Doc Linyard, I'll do it with pleasure."

But it was no pleasure after all for Richard to read the two communications, for each was a disappointment.

The first was from a firm of lawyers who wished to take the case in hand at "astonishingly low terms," which must, however, be paid in advance. The other had been sent by a private detective, who was willing to institute a search for the missing party for the modest sum of three dollars per day, also payable in advance.

"Just what I thought they might be," observed Doc Linyard, when the reading was finished. "You can tear them up. We don't want such outside help."

Richard did as directed.

"It's a pity that such letters should cause you so much trouble," went on the old sailor; "but that's the way of the world."

"Have you had any other letters?" asked Richard, for he had not seen Doc Linyard for several days, and thought it possible that something might have turned up in the meantime.

"Nary a word. I've put the advertisement in the papers—three of 'em—twice now, and not a single answer."

"It's too bad. Have you heard anything from the property in England?"

"Yes; I got a letter to-day asking me to hurry, as they wanted to settle affairs up there."

"Did you answer?"

"Not yet. You know it's hard lines for me to write."

"If you wish I'll write for you."

"Thank you; I'll wait a day or two yet, and see if something doesn't turn up."

It was not yet eight o'clock when Richard, after having a bit of lunch, left the restaurant to return to the Massanets'. Feeling that it was early yet, and having a desire to do some "window gazing," he did not go up the Bowery, but strolled up Broadway instead.

The magnificent windows and their rare and costly exhibits were to him an enjoyment of the keenest sort, and as he approached the neighborhood of Astor Place, where the book stores seem to have congregated, he walked slower and slower, taking in all there was to be seen of each establishment, how the windows were dressed and the stock arranged, and wondering away down in his heart if he would ever own, or have an interest in, any similar establishment.

While deeply engaged in reading the titles of a number of volumes in a certain window, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and turning, found himself face to face with Earle Norris.

The shipping-clerk was dressed in the height of style, including low cut shoes and carried a heavy gold-headed cane.

"Hello, Dare!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "What brings you up here?"

For an instant Richard was taken aback, not only at meeting Norris, but at being greeted so familiarly after what had occurred during the day.

"I have just finished my errand, and thought I'd take a walk to see the sights," he returned. "How is it you are not at the theater?"

"As I said, I didn't care to go alone, so took your advice and sold the extra ticket, and also my own. I'll take a walk along with you if you don't mind."

Richard was not overpleased at the proposition; yet he could not very well object except by seeming rude, and from this he shrank; so he gave a mild assent.

"You see I like to get on good terms with all the boys," explained Norris, as they walked leisurely along. "I'm on the best of terms with every one in the establishment but Massanet, and I'd like to be with him, only he's so awfully slow."

"Frank Massanet is a very nice fellow," said Richard stoutly.

"Oh, yes—too nice for me, though. But let that pass. Everybody has his peculiarities. Have a smoke?"

And Norris pulled two strong-looking cigars from his vest pocket.

"I'm much obliged," replied the boy. "I don't smoke."

"Try one. They are fine," went on the shipping-clerk, stopping to get a light. "No time like the present for making a beginning. I'm quite sure it won't make you sick."

"I don't think I care to try," was all Richard could say; and he heartily wished Earle Norris would go his own way.

"Oh, well, it's all right if you don't care to. I find it just the thing to settle my nerves after a big day's work."

They walked on in silence for nearly a block, and the boy was wondering how best to leave Norris without offending him when the latter spoke up.

"Here are the rooms of the Laurel Club," he said, pointing up to the narrow but brilliantly lighted stairways of a handsome building just around the corner of a side street.

"The Laurel Club?" repeated Richard.

"Yes; it is a club of about twenty young fellows. I am a member. We have a reading-room, and another for all kinds of games."

Norris did not take the trouble to add that "all kinds of games" had narrowed down to simply card playing, and that for money, too.

"Just come up for a moment," he went on. "I wish to get a book I left there a few nights ago."

"I'll wait for you here," replied Richard.

"No, no; I want to show you the rooms. We have some fine pictures and all that up there."

Somewhat against his will Richard consented. Norris led the way up three flights of stairs and then down a side hall.

Stopping at a certain door he gave two distinct knocks, followed by a single one.

There was a hurried movement within, and then the door, which had been securely locked, was cautiously opened.

"Hello, Springer!" exclaimed Norris to the tall young man who had admitted them. "You're locked up as if this was a sub-treasury. This is a friend of mine. Mr. Dare, Mr. Springer, our worthy secretary."

"Glad to know you, Mr. Dare!" said the other, and he gave Richard's hand a tight grip, but at the same time cast a sidelong, inquiring glance at Norris.

"He's a green one," murmured Norris, as he brushed past. "Don't you think we have it cozy up here?" he continued, turning to Richard.

Richard was not prepared to answer in the affirmative. His introduction into the place, even though his curiosity has been small, was a disappointment. The room had been nicely furnished once, but the carpet and the furniture showed signs of much wear, and the pictures of which Norris had spoken proved to be several of a remarkably "loud" sort, but of no real artistic value or excellence.

"Many of the boys here to-night, Springer?" asked Norris.

"Foley, Nichols and two or three others. Will you take a hand in?"

"Maybe; I'll see in a little while."

"My night at the door," growled Springer. "I hate it."

"Never mind; as long as we can't pay a porter some one has got to do it among us. I'll get my book," added the shipping-clerk, glancing at Richard.

He entered the next room, closing the door carefully behind him. Richard thought he heard the clinking of glasses within, but he was not sure.

In a few moments Norris reappeared.

"Come in!" he said. "The boys would like to know you."

Not dreaming of what was to come, Richard accepted the invitation.

He found himself in a small room, well lighted. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke, and the fumes of liquor were not wanting. But what astonished him most was a group of five fellows seated at the center table, playing cards, with several piles of money in front of them.

"They are gambling!" he thought, with something like horror. "I wish I was out of it."

"Gentlemen, my friend, Mr. Dare," said Earle Norris. "Come, sit down and make yourself at home," he added, slapping Richard on the shoulder.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE LAUREL CLUB.

Richard felt decidedly uncomfortable over the situation in which he now found himself. It was so unexpected—it had been so forced upon him that he did not know what to do.

"Come, take a hand in," repeated Earle Norris, offering him a chair at the table and at the same time removing his hat.

"Thank you, but I do not play cards," replied Richard coldly.

"Oh, you'll soon learn!" returned the shipping-clerk. "Come, sit down, and I'll give you a few points."

"I don't care to learn," was Richard's firm reply. "I never gambled in my life, and I don't intend to begin now."

"Say, Norris, what do you want to bring such a fellow up here for?" asked one of the players, with a scowl. "We were just having a jolly good game, and don't care to have it spoilt."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm aware of that; but Mr. Dare is a new-comer to New York, and I'm only showing him around a bit."

"We don't want any one here who is going to give us away," put in another player. "Harrison, your cut."

"I'm quite sure Mr. Dare won't be so mean," said Norris. "Come, make yourself at home."

But during the last few minutes Richard had been doing some heavy thinking, and the conclusion of it all was that he had better get out as soon as possible. He had nothing in common with such a crowd, and to remain might place him in an awkward if not dangerous position.

"I thought you only wanted to get a book?" he said to Norris.

"So I did; but now we are up here we might as well stay awhile and have some fun. It's early yet."

"It's not early for me," responded Richard. "I promised to be back by nine o'clock, and it must be near that now. Just give me my hat."

For Norris had taken his guest's hat and placed it on a hook beside his own.

For reply, the shipping-clerk pulled Richard down into a seat.

"Don't be a fool," he whispered. "We won't hurt you. All the fellows here are gentlemen. No use of offending them."

Richard sprang to his feet.

"I don't want to stay, and that's all there is to it," he exclaimed. "If your friends are offended by my going away, why I can't help it. I didn't come up here of my own choosing in the first place, and I claim the right to leave whenever I please."

"Oh, you do, do you?" sneered Norris. "Well, we'll see about that."

And he placed himself between Richard and the door.

Richard grew pale.

"Perhaps I'll have to fight my way out," he thought. "I suppose this is nothing but a gambling den. Well, I'll fight if it comes to that," he finished; and his eyes flashed with determination.

"Come, Norris, none of that," said a tall young man, who sat at the head of the table. "No one shall be forced to stay here against his will. You should have found out if your friend cared for this sort of thing before you brought him."

It was seldom that Don Wimler said so much, either at the club-rooms or outside, and every one knew he meant every word.

Earle Norris's face fell.

"Of course, if Dare won't stay, he needn't," he said slowly. "I only thought I was doing him a favor by bringing him."

"I hope, Mr. Dare, that you will not speak of what you have seen here to-night," went on Don Wimler. "It might place us in an unpleasant predicament."

Richard hesitated. "If I do, it will only be so far as it concerns Mr. Norris and myself," he replied. "I have no desire to hurt you or the others."

And going to the door Richard passed swiftly through it to the outer room. Norris was after him on the instant.

"What do you mean by saying you may tell on me?" he demanded, with an evil look in his eyes.

"I meant just what I said," retorted Richard. "I may be green, but I'm not so green as you take me to be. Let me go."

Norris had taken a tight hold of his shoulder.

"You shan't go till you promise to keep the thing quiet," he replied grimly.

For reply, Richard gathered himself together and gave the shipping-clerk a shove that sent that individual sprawling to the floor.

Before Norris could regain his feet, Richard had unlocked the outer door, and was speeding down the stairs.

"I made a failure of it that time," muttered the shipping-clerk, as he slowly arose to his feet. "But we'll get even yet, and more than even, too!"

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged once more upon the street.

"I'm glad I found Norris out, any way," he said to himself as he hurried along. "I think I can safely put him down as a bad egg."

Retracing his way down Broadway the boy at length crossed over to Grand Street, and directed his steps towards the east side.

When he reached the Massanets' it was quarter past nine. Mattie let him in, stating that her mother and her brother had not yet returned.

Frank had told her of the street urchin and the letters, and she was anxious to hear about the result of Richard's visit to Doc Linyard's, trusting it had been good.

Richard related the particulars. He did not mention Norris; and finally the talk drifted around to Pep, the street urchin.

"I feel sorry for him," said Mattie Massanet. "We must find out where he lives, and see if we can't do something for him and his sick father."

"I've been thinking of it," returned Richard. "He is very shy, and wouldn't even tell me his last name. But perhaps when he sees that I mean him no harm he'll grow more communicative."

"We might go down and see his father on a Sunday," went on Mattie. "I suppose the neighborhood in which he lives isn't a very nice one to visit at night."

"I'll ask him if we can come."

There was something about Mattie Massanet that Richard liked very much. She was gentle as well as lively, and sympathetic as well as full of fun. She reminded him strongly of his sister Nancy in one way, and his sister Grace in another. Indeed it was Mattie who made the Massanet flat a real home for him.

Presently there were footsteps on the stairs, and in a moment Mrs. Massanet and her son entered. They had been shopping over in the French district, and carried several bundles.

It was now drawing towards ten o'clock, and only a few words were spoken before the good-nights were said.

In the upper hall Richard asked Frank to come to his room, and giving his friend a chair and seating himself upon the edge of the bed he told of his adventure with Norris.

"I have suspected Norris of something like that for several months," said Frank. "I was tolerable sure that he was spending more money than he was making now. He must be an expert player or else an unfair one. I suppose he thought as long as he got you there the rest would follow easy enough. I'm glad you didn't give in. If you had, he or his companions would have won every cent you had, and perhaps have placed you in debt to them."

"What would you do? Tell on him?"

"Williams & Mann ought to know what kind of a fellow their shipping-clerk is," replied Frank. "Yet one word about it may cost Norris his position. Suppose you wait a day or two? Watch how he acts and think it over."

Richard thought this was good advice, and told Frank he guessed it was just what he would do; and on this conclusion the two separated.

Far better would it have been for both, however, if they had taken their information to the firm at once. Later happenings will explain why.



CHAPTER XX.

TROUBLE BREWING.

In the morning Richard went to work as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was not until after dinner that business called him down to the packing-room, and then there were several others besides Norris present.

Yet the shipping-clerk evinced a strong desire to talk to Richard privately, and finally accosted him just as he was going up the stairs.

"Say, I hope you'll let what happened last night pass," he said in an undertone. "I only wanted to show you a little of life here, and didn't dream you'd resent it as you did."

"Well, next time you will understand that I mean what I say," returned Richard sharply.

"I know I was to blame," went on Norris humbly. "But to tell the truth I'd had a glass of champagne at supper time, and my head wasn't as clear as it should have been. If you say anything of it here, though, I may be discharged."

"Well, I won't say anything unless something more happens," Richard replied. "I don't want to get any one into trouble. But I'll tell you, Mr. Norris," he went on, "I think you're on the wrong track. Take my advice, even if I am younger than you, and steer clear of the Laurel Club."

"I'll think of it," replied the shipping-clerk, turning away.

"I guess I've shut the young fool up," he muttered to himself. "He might have placed me in a decided fix if he had told all he knew."

Of course Richard reported the interview to Frank. Indeed the two were now deep in each other's confidence, and no such thought as keeping the matter to himself would have crossed Richard's mind.

"Perhaps it will teach him a lesson," said Frank. "But I doubt it. Better keep an eye on him."

Later in the day Mr. Mann came up to the stock-room, looking very black. He asked a number of questions about some books that had been sent to Troy four days before. "The party that received them says there were five or six sets of Irving's works badly damaged. Do you know anything about it?"

"No, sir," replied Frank promptly. "Those we packed up were all in first-class order."

"Well, there was some damaged stock here."

"Yes, sir, quite a good deal that was soaked by that water-pipe bursting three weeks ago. But Mr. Williams ordered us to sort it out, and it was all sent to the second-hand dealer's last week."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, sir. Dare, here, helped me ship it off."

Mr. Mann turned to Richard.

"That's so, Mr. Mann," put in the latter. "And I remember well that before the last box went down we hunted high and low to see that nothing that was damaged in the least should be left behind."

"Well, it's mighty queer how those people in Troy should get twenty odd volumes of damaged stock. We'll have to make a reduction in their bill, I suppose. Be careful of the goods shipped in the future."

And with this retort Mr. Mann took the elevator and went below.

"I can't see how those people could have got a single damaged volume," said Richard when the head of the firm had departed. "I remember that box well, and every volume in it was perfect."

On returning to the Massanets' that evening Frank heard bad news. An aunt had died over in Port Richmond, on Staten Island. His mother had gone to the place at once, and wished her son to come to the funeral, on the following afternoon.

"Of course I'll have to go," said Frank to Richard. "I'll stop at the store on my way down and let the firm know, and also help you enough to get along while I am gone."

This Frank did. He readily obtained permission from Mr. Williams to be absent, and at ten o'clock Richard found himself in sole charge of the stockroom.

There were a number of important orders to fill, and the boy worked like a beaver to get them done in time.

"I'm so glad for the chance to do something for Frank; he has been so kind," said Richard to himself. "Besides, some day I may wish him to do me a like favor."

Richard was careful that there should be no mistakes, and it is perhaps needless to state that he had both eyes wide open for damaged books.

While hard at work, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, Mr. Williams appeared. He was quite an old man, and in many respects much pleasanter than his partner.

"I came up to see how you were making out," he said. "You will have your hands full, trying to do two men's work."

"Oh, I guess I can manage it," replied Richard pleasantly. "I wouldn't want to do it very long, though," he added.

"I'll give you a hand," said Mr. Williams. "This used to be my work years ago, and I still like it."

"Here is an order from Pittsburgh I can't read very well," said Richard. "I'd be much obliged if you will help me on that."

"All right. Give it to me."

In a few minutes employer and employee were hard at work together. Mr. Williams had not intended to stay very long, but he became interested, both in the work and in Richard, and it was only when, two hours later, a message came for him, that he went below.

"He is a nice man," thought Richard, when Mr. Williams had gone. "I am sure he would not have treated Mr. Mann with more consideration than he did me. No wonder Mr. Joyce called for him first the day he brought me here."

A little later Earle Norris came up.

"Hello! alone?" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"How's that?" Thought Massanet was as steady as clockwork.

Richard told him why Frank was absent.

"Oh, that's all right," said Norris.

"What brought you up?" asked Richard.

"I came up to see if Martin's order from Pittsburgh was filled yet. It's got to go first thing in the morning."

"There it is; been done half an hour ago," replied Richard.

He did not think it necessary to add that Mr. Williams had filled it.

"All right; send it down at once," replied Norris. "Rather tough, making you do all the work," he added. "I'd strike for higher pay."

"I am very well satisfied with the way I am treated," returned Richard.

Norris disappeared, and a moment later Richard sent the crate containing the goods down on the elevator to be packed up below. After that he worked steadily until six o'clock, at which time he had the satisfaction of knowing that every order sent up had been promptly and correctly filled.

Richard found Frank and his mother already at home when he reached there in the evening. The funeral of Mrs. Massanet's sister had been a quiet, but sad affair, and Richard saw that no one was in humor for much talking, and all retired early.

Frank was not a little astonished in the morning to find that Richard had done all the work so well, and also that Mr. Williams had helped.

"I declare, between you, you'll soon be cutting me out of a job," he laughed.

"Oh, I hope not," returned Richard. "If I'd thought that, I surely would not have worked so hard."

"Oh, it's all right," replied Frank.

"If I ever go into business for myself," he thought, "Richard Dare is just the clerk I want to help me. He is bright, and not afraid of work, and those are the fellows who get along."

Frank Massanet's one idea was to some day own a bookstore of his own. He understood the trade thoroughly, and with the proper location and a fair amount of cash he was tolerably certain that he could make such a place pay. His savings amounted to several hundred dollars now; he was only waiting for the time to come when they would be at least a thousand. Then he intended to strike out for himself.

The two worked on steadily through most of the day. Late in the afternoon a boy came up from below.

"Mr. Mann would like to see you in his private office," he said to Richard.

The latter was surprised at the announcement. Since he had gone to work he had not been called for once before.

"What does he want of me?"

"I don't know," replied the boy. "He is awful mad about something, and has sent for several of the others."

"I can't understand it," said Richard to Frank, as he put on his coat. "I don't know of anything that has gone wrong."

And considerably worried, Richard descended to the ground floor, and knocked on the door of the private office.



CHAPTER XXI.

RICHARD IN TROUBLE.

Richard found Mr. Mann alone. The gentleman was seated at his desk and greeted the boy coldly.

"You sent for me, I believe," began Richard.

"Yes," replied Mr. Mann, "I want to have a little talk with you." He gazed at Richard sharply. "How long have you lived in New York?" he asked.

"Two weeks, sir. I was only here two days before I came to work for you."

"But you are pretty well acquainted with the place?"

"Not very well, sir. I was never here before. But I think I can find my way anywhere quick enough, if you wish to send me on an errand," he added, thinking Mr. Mann might possibly have some commission for him to execute.

"No doubt you could," replied the gentleman dryly. "But I don't wish to send you anywhere. You are an orphan, I believe. Where do you live?"

"I board with the Massanets."

"Does Norris board with them, too?"

"No, sir."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Mann gazed at Richard severely.

"I thought you two were good friends," he said.

"I hardly know Norris," replied Richard. "He is certainly no friend of mine."

Richard felt that the present would have been a good time to tell what he knew about the shipping-clerk, but remembering his half promise to the latter he remained silent.

"You may go," said Mr. Mann, briefly; "but stop. Have you any keys belonging to this place in your possession?"

"Keys? No, sir."

"Oh, all right."

"But—what made you ask that?" began Richard, considerably perplexed.

"I wanted to know, that was all."

"We have no keys of anything up in the stock-room," continued the boy.

"I know that. You can go to work," Mr. Mann snapped.

And Richard passed out.

"Either that boy is perfectly honest or else he is the most accomplished actor I ever saw," thought the merchant when left alone.

"Well, what's the trouble?" asked Frank, when Richard reached the stock-room. "I hope you haven't been discharged."

"No, it's not as bad as that, but I—I don't know what to make of it, and that's a fact."

The stock-clerk listened carefully to the story Richard had to tell.

"Depend upon it there is something in the wind. You had better watch Norris; he may be getting you into trouble."

"I half wish I had told the firm of Norris's actions," said Richard.

"Perhaps it would have been best," replied Frank.

On the way home that night the two met Pep. The urchin had evidently been waiting for Richard, for he ran up at once.

"I've got something for you, Mr. Dare," he exclaimed, and shifting his bundle of papers he drew out a silver dollar from his ragged clothes. "Here is one of de dollars I owes yer. I'll have de odder one in a few days, I guess."

"Did you earn it?" asked Richard, without taking the proffered coin.

"Yes, sir, honestly too, sellin' papers."

"And how is your father? Any better?"

"Not much, sir. That pneumony hangs on so."

"Perhaps you had better keep this money. You may need it for medicine."

"No, sir, I'm earning enough to buy that now. I want you to take this. I'd feel better if yer did. If it wasn't fer dad I a-given it to yer long ago."

"All right then." Richard slipped the coin in his pocket. "I'd like to see your father once, and see how you live. Maybe I and my friend here, Mr. Massanet, can help you a bit. Can I come?"

Pep hung his head.

"We live in a garret, and you'd find it mighty dirty. Nobody with good clothes has got any right there."

"We won't mind the dirt," put in Frank eagerly. "Only let us come. I'm sure we can help you some."

"Where can we meet you, Pep?" asked Richard, seeing that the little Arab wavered. "I suppose we can't find your home alone very well."

"Guess you can't. We're in a heap down our way. I dunno," the last in reference to the meeting. "Just wherever you two gentlemen says. You was so kind I guess dad won't mind my bringin' you."

"Suppose you come up to our house," suggested Frank. "Will you do that?"

"Yes, sir, if yer want me."

"I do. Come to dinner at one o'clock, and we'll take something along for your father." Frank described the location and the house in which he lived. "Do you think you can find it?" he concluded.

"Walk right in de front door wid me eyes shet," laughed Pep. "You're mighty kind," he added soberly.

"Will you come?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?" put in Richard.

"I will, 'ceptin' dad's so sick I can't" replied Pep.

In the evening Richard and Frank took a walk, first up town and then down Broadway. On the way the boy pointed out to his friend the building in which the meetings of the Laurel Club were held.

"I wonder if Norris is up there to-night," observed Frank. "Suppose we stand here in the shadow for a while and watch who goes in and comes out."

Richard agreed to this, and crossing the street they took a stand directly opposite the entrance to the place.

Here they waited for perhaps fifteen minutes.

At the end of that time along came Norris, arm in arm with another member of the club.

"There he goes!" exclaimed Richard, as the two went up the stairs.

"There is a man watching them?" added Frank, as another individual, who had come close behind the others stopped at the corner. "Wonder who it is?"

"He's coming over here," said Richard. "We'll get in this hallway and see him as he passes. I suppose he's a stranger to us."

Near by was a dark hallway, partly open. Both of the boys stepped into it, and an instant later the stranger went by.

When he was gone Frank uttered an exclamation.

"I saw that fellow talking to Mr. Mann in the post-office only a few days ago! I think he is a private detective."

Richard gave a start.

"Then I see it all," he groaned. "That man knows of Norris's doings, and as he has seen me in his company he thinks I'm in with that crowd, and has probably told Mr. Mann so."

"Very likely that's the case," admitted Frank, after a moment's thought.

"It's an awful fix to be in," continued Richard. "I don't know how I can ever clear my name. Even if I tell what I know about Norris I have no proofs to show that I didn't go to that place willingly."

"That's true. You're in a bad light at the best. It's a shame! I'll tell you what you do."

"What?"

"There is no reason why you should suffer on Norris's account. He is no friend of yours, and has been trying to lead you astray. Who knows but what, if he is left alone, he may not try some day to get you in even deeper? I'd go to Mr. Williams and tell him the whole truth."

At first Richard demurred. He did not wish to "tattle" on anybody, and, besides, not having a forward nature, he shrank from the exposure.

But Frank soon talked him out of this, and by the time they reached the Massanets' home Richard decided to "have it out" the first thing in the morning.

But upon reaching the store the following day a disappointment awaited him. Mr. Williams had gone to Boston, and would not be back for several days.

"I hate to tell Mr. Mann," said Richard. "I guess I'll wait till Mr. Williams returns."

"I wouldn't," replied Frank. "I'd have it off my mind at once." But the thought of facing Mr. Mann was not a pleasant one, and the boy hesitated. While deliberating upon what to do the office boy appeared.

"Mr. Mann wants you down in his office right away," he said to Richard.

"What, again?"

"Yes, sir. Told me to tell you to come right down."

"Oh, Frank, I'm sure something is wrong!" cried Richard, when the boy was gone.

"It looks so," replied the stock-clerk. "Never mind. Remember you are in the right, and keep a stiff upper lip."

Much troubled in mind, Richard slowly descended the steps, and entered Mr. Mann's office. As before the gentleman was alone.

"You wish to see me, sir?" began Richard, and somehow his voice trembled in spite of himself.

"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Mann coldly. "I wish to tell you that your services are no longer required. Here is your salary for this week. You can leave at once."

Had Richard been struck in the face he would not have been more taken aback than he was by this short and cold speech.

"But—Mr. Mann—I—" he began.

"I want no words with you," interrupted the merchant. "You understand why you are discharged as well as I do."

"Yes, but I'm sure—"

"No words, sir. Don't you understand me? I wish you to leave instantly," cried Mr. Mann irascibly.

Richard colored.

"I'll go," he said. "But let me say that I consider you are treating me very unfairly."

And with tears of indignation in his eyes, Richard left the office.



CHAPTER XXII.

RICHARD VISITS MR. JOYCE AGAIN.

"I'm discharged, Frank."

Frank Massanet dropped the books he held in his hands. "Discharged!" he cried. "Surely, Dick, you don't mean it!"

"I do," replied Richard. "Mr. Mann has given me my wages for this week, and says he wants me to leave at once."

"But how—what did he have to say? What did he accuse you of?"

"He had very little to say. He said I knew quite as well as he did why I was discharged."

"But didn't he give you a chance to explain?"

"No; he wouldn't let me say a word. I tried to, but he shut me right up."

"It's a shame," exclaimed the stock-clerk, indignantly. "I never thought Mr. Mann could be so unfair." He hesitated a moment. "I'll do it; yes, I will," he went on, half to himself.

"Do what?" asked Richard.

"Go down and have a talk with him. He's in the wrong, and ought to be told so."

"No, no, don't go down!" cried Richard in alarm. "I could plainly see that he was in a bad temper, and you'll only get yourself into trouble."

"I don't care, it's—" began the stock-clerk with flashing eyes, that showed up well the force of character within.

"No, no!" repeated Richard. He would not have his friend get into trouble on his account for the world. "I am much obliged to you for wanting to help me, indeed I am, but I'd rather leave the thing as it is."

"What will you do?"

"I hardly know yet. I'm completely upset and want time to think."

"You're not going to sit down and calmly submit to it, I hope?"

"Indeed I'm not. Mr. Mann has cast a slur on my character, and I'm going to remove that, no matter what happens afterwards."

Richard washed his hands and put on his coat in silence. Frank Massanet sat on the edge of a packing case and watched the boy thoughtfully.

"I wonder if Earle Norris has been discharged?" he remarked. "If any one was to go he should have been the person."

"I don't know," replied Richard. "I'll try to find out as I go down."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know that either. I must think it over."

"Never mind; remember what I said before; you're in the right, so keep a stiff upper lip," returned Frank.

When Richard went down he passed through the shipping-room. Earle Norris was hard at work, sending off orders. He looked surprised, or pretended to, as the boy entered.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, "Off early?"

"Yes, I am," returned Richard briefly.

"How's that? Got a vacation?"

"Yes."

The boy did not care to be further questioned, and so quickly left the building.

"Reckon he's discharged," muttered Norris under his breath. "So far Harrison's scheme works well. Now I must use my wits to clear myself."

"Norris does not act as if he had received bad news," thought Richard, with a shake of his head. "I can't make it out. There is something behind it all, but what it is, still remains to be seen."

Richard walked down Beekman Street and then turned the corners of several other streets. He had no definite plan in mind, and time seemed at that particular moment of no great value.

Finally he found himself in the neighborhood of the leather district, and determined to call upon Mr. Joyce.

He was not long in reaching the latter's warehouse, and a moment later found himself in the merchant's office. As usual Mr. Joyce was hard at work at his desk. He looked surprised at Richard's entrance, but finished the letter he was writing before he turned around and spoke.