"You shall be proud of me then, father," replied Ray with enthusiasm. "I am so glad you took me with you today. It has given me a new idea of life. Now I feel as if I could be of some use in the world."

"You certainly can if you wish to do good, for the competition in that line is not so great as it should be," answered Mr. Goldwin thoughtfully.



"It looks so in Mrs. Flannery's case surely," remarked Herbert; "there were few to help her in her terrible trouble."

"Did she have no friends but you and Mr. Hunter?" asked Ray.

"No, I think not," answered young Randolph, "at least none that I know of."

"What would she have done, poor woman, but for your kindness?"

"I do not like to think about it," replied Herbert with a shudder.

"I think I know of a good woman who would go down and take care of Mrs. Flannery while she is sick," said Mr. Goldwin. "She certainly needs good nursing for the present."

"I wish such a woman could be had," said Herbert, "for both Bob and myself are anxious to get to work."



CHAPTER XXX.

IN A NEW HOME.

Three weeks after the funeral Mrs. Flannery had sufficiently recovered her strength so that she could safely be moved from the rooms she had occupied so long. Ray Goldwin had done much towards bringing about this satisfactory result by her frequent visits and cheerful manner—always saying and doing the right thing with admirable tact. She became much interested in the childless woman whose heart still bled unceasingly for her "poor Tom, poor Tom," as she murmured often to herself.

At the funeral Ray had contrasted her own life with that of Herbert and Bob. As she pondered over what these two humble boys, with so slender means, had done for the dying lad and his grief-stricken mother, she felt how much she suffered by the comparison.

The solemnity of the occasion and the glowing words of praise for the two friends of the dead, spoken with such peculiar force by the minister, led her, as was natural, to overestimate their worth and to undervalue her own. With the same spirit, therefore, with which she admired Herbert and Bob for their acts, she condemned her own inactivity, and there in that little room beside the remains of the humble newsboy she resolved that she would be something more than a society girl as her life had hitherto been tending. She had learned a valuable lesson and given place to a purpose as noble as it was humane.



That she was carrying out this purpose her kind acts and words of comfort to Mrs. Flannery amply attested. She, however, was not alone the source of comfort while on these missions of noble charity, for the sick woman gave her, unconsciously, to be sure, as she talked of Herbert Randolph, a taste of happiness of a finer and sweeter character than she herself, poor woman, could ever hope again to feel. It was born of hero worship—a worship ripening into simple, childlike sentiment. I say hero worship, for such her thoughts of young Randolph and Bob Hunter were when she first realized how kind and generous they had been to him who now lay dead, and to his helpless and heart broken mother.

Such thoughts, however, to a young girl just verging upon the age of woman, and when the hero is a noble, manly boy like Randolph, are but the buds of the more beautiful and fragrant flower which time is sure to bring forth.

And this is the way that Ray came to find such pleasure in the simple talk of Mrs. Flannery—talk that but for this magnetic interest must have been unbearably dull to her young ears.

Herbert and Bob, feeling that it would be better for the bereaved mother to get away from her present rooms where she was constantly reminded of the dead, leased a neat little flat in Harlem, to which she was moved, together with her furniture. Here they designed making a home for themselves, inaugurating Mrs. Flannery as housekeeper. It seemed to them that they could in no other way carry out so fully the wishes of their dead friend. The housework would occupy her mind and keep her busy, and by their living thus together she would have with her the two friends in whose care the deceased had placed her. Moreover each desired a better home than their cheerless attic room had been to them, and they felt that they could now afford to spend more upon themselves.

Thus the flat was taken and with Mrs. Flannery's furniture, a few new things from the store and little fancy articles made and contributed by Ray and her mother, the boys found themselves very happily situated in their new home. Mrs. Flannery, too, while at her new duties, recovered more quickly than would seem possible from the terrible shock she had sustained. In young Randolph and Bob Hunter she found all she could have desired in sons of her own—found, as her poor dying boy had said, that they would look out for her, and could do more for her than he. And she proved a good mother to them, studying their every want with gratitude and affection.

To Bob especially the comforts of his present life gave great happiness, and as the weeks rolled by he became more and more attached to his new home, and spent all the spare time possible in study, being taught by Herbert.



CHAPTER XXXI.

THE BOY BROKER.

While young Randolph was away from his business during the few days of the death and burial of his friend, the proprietor of a house from whom Herbert bought a great many stamps complained to his bookkeeper about the large supply on hand.

"But we cannot get rid of them if no one calls for them," replied the latter.

"Hasn't Littlewood been in for any?"

"No, he has not been here for ten days."

"Ten days," repeated the merchant thoughtfully. "What has become of the boy broker? I have not seen him here lately."

"The boy broker," said the bookkeeper, taking Herbert's card from a drawer to find his address. "He is at 111 Nassau Street. Shall I send for him?"

"Yes, do so," said the proprietor as he walked away.

"The boy broker," repeated the bookkeeper to himself, catching at his employer's words. "That has a good ring to it and would sound well on young Randolph's cards."

Having a pen in his hand he dipped it in red ink and printed diagonally across Herbert's card the words THE BOY BROKER. "That looks well," said he to himself, holding it off and eying it critically. "It is catchy. I will suggest to young Randolph that he adds it to his cards and prints it in red ink as I have done. There's nothing like advertising," he went on, talking to himself. "It pays, and this will pay Randolph—I know it will."

The suggestion was accordingly made to Herbert and he adopted it, having his cards printed precisely as the one the bookkeeper had shown him.

And this is the way he became known as THE BOY BROKER. The name proved "catchy," as the bookkeeper had predicted, and after adopting it Herbert found his business growing more rapidly than ever. But just now a most unexpected bit of good luck came to the young Vermonter and at a time too when he felt sorely the need of money. The cause brought by Mr. Goldwin's lawyer against Christopher Gunwagner for false imprisonment of Herbert Randolph had come up for trial. Herbert and Bob were summoned to court to testify against the old fence.

The trial was ably conducted on both sides, but the fact that young Randolph had been restrained from his liberty by one Christopher Gunwagner, a notorious fence, was quickly established. It only remained then for the jury to find the damages.

Herbert had sued for one thousand dollars, and his lawyer made an able argument to recover the full amount.

He dwelt at length upon our hero's sufferings in that damp, musty cellar, infested as it was by rats to such a degree as to threaten his reason; all of which was only too true. Graphically did the lawyer picture this scene, so graphically that the hearts of the jurymen were noticeably touched.

Then the lawyer argued that outside and beyond the actual injury suffered, there should be an exemplary damage awarded. The worst traits of the old fence were shown up, and contrasted with the spotless character of Herbert Randolph.

The judge in his charge sustained the idea of exemplary damage, and then the case went to the jury.

They had remained out about three quarters of an hour, when they came in and announced a verdict in favor of Herbert Randolph of five hundred and seventy five dollars!

Young Randolph was never more surprised in his life, or only once; and that was when he found Bob Hunter at old Gunwagner's on the night of his escape.

"Five hundred and seventy five dollars!" said he to himself, unable to realize that he had been awarded such a sum of money.

Bob Hunter congratulated him, his lawyer congratulated him, and the court even did likewise.

But none were more hearty and genuine in their congratulations than Mr. Goldwin and his pretty daughter Ray.

"I owe it all to you, Mr. Goldwin," said Herbert, gratefully. "I should never have thought to commence action against old Gunwagner but for your advice."

The odd seventy five dollars paid the lawyer and all the court expenses. This left a clear five hundred dollars for young Randolph—what a lot of money, five hundred dollars in new, crisp bank notes!

"And it shall all go into our business, Bob," said he, proudly, "and as you are now an equal partner with me half of the money will be yours."

"Oh, no, Herbert, that would not be right," protested Bob.

"Yes, I am sure it would," replied The Boy Broker. "My being imprisoned was due to no effort of my own, but rather to my simplicity, my lack of keenness. My release, on the other hand, was due to your brave efforts to rescue me. I walked into the trap unconsciously, you walked into it with your eyes open, risking your very life to save me. To you therefore the greater reward is due—you earned your portion, I helplessly endured the misery that has brought me mine."

"But I did not suffer any and you did," returned Bob, feeling keenly his helplessness when in an argument with young Randolph.

"You, however, took the chances of suffering, and those who take great chances in business, in war and in dangerous enterprises, of whatever character, if successful are well rewarded for the part they have borne. No, Bob, I would not think of keeping all this money," continued Herbert, impressively. "We are partners in business together. Let us start with equal interest, then we should feel no jealousy toward each other. This five hundred dollars will enable us to do five times the business we are now doing, and if we save the profits we make we can still further increase it month by month."

"Do you remember, Herbert," said Bob, with grateful expression, "that when Mr. Goldwin failed and you were thrown out of work I urged you to take some money—only eight dollars—and you refused it?"

"Yes, I remember it well, Bob," replied young Randolph.

"And now you ask me to take two hundred and fifty dollars from you. Why should I not refuse your offer as you refused mine?"

"Bob," said Herbert, taking him by the hand, "that eight dollars was a reserve fund, it was all that stood between you and me and starvation or what is almost as bad—public charity. I appreciated as you little knew your generous offer, and it cut me to see how hurt you felt at my refusal to take the money. But I thought of the possibility of sickness or accident, and realized how much help those few dollars would prove in such a time. Again I felt that the money would do me no good. I know now that it would not have, for I should simply have used it up and would then have been no nearer, if so near, solving the problem that pressed me for an answer—namely, how to earn sufficient means with which to buy bread and procure a shelter for myself."

"I think you were right, Herbert," replied Bob, thoughtfully. "I couldn't think so then, however, but it is plain to me now."

"I know I was right. It was the suffering I went through in those dreary winter months and the miserable drudgery I was forced to perform that at last gave me a knowledge of this business. It was an education to me, Bob, of a most practical character, and now that it is all over I can only feel glad that I was forced out of my comfortable clerkship into the cold wintry street that had so sunny an ending."



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE CONSPIRATORS' FATE.

A few weeks after the trial of Gunwagner for false imprisonment he was again brought before the bar of justice to answer with Felix Mortimer to the charge of conspiring to kidnap Herbert Randolph. Able counsel were employed by the old villain, and a hard fight was made for liberty. But the charges were so well sustained by the evidence of Herbert and Bob, and that of the small boy who aided the latter in gaining admittance to the fence's den, that the jury brought in a verdict of guilty.

Gunwagner was, accordingly, sentenced to serve a long term of imprisonment at Sing Sing as a penalty for his villainous acts. He had accumulated much money by crooked means, and now towards the end of his life his own freedom was the price paid for the gold which now was valueless to him.

Then came Felix Mortimer's turn. But for him Herbert Randolph would never have fallen into the trouble that seemed to await him on his arrival in New York. Young Mortimer, however, overreached himself. He was not a match for Herbert Randolph and Bob Hunter together—neither he nor all of his disreputable cronies.

His plans miscarried wofully, and now, after many long weary days of confinement in the Tombs, he found himself sentenced to the House of Correction for nearly four years, or until he reached the age of his majority.

Felix Mortimer was splendidly endowed by nature for a brilliant man. He had great ability, and was unusually bright and prepossessing. But unfortunately for him, and for the community in which he lived, he commenced life in the wrong way. He failed to recognize the fact that no true success can be attained except by operating on the solid principles of truth and honesty. His envy of Herbert Randolph had at last brought him disgrace and humiliation, while the young Vermonter now had a well paying and fast growing business of his own. How bitterly he must have regretted his own foolish and evil acts, when he realized fully to what they had brought him!



He could look now upon Herbert Randolph and say to himself, truthfully, "I had the ability to succeed as well as you have and to be as much respected as you now are. My advantages, too, were superior to yours, and yet here am I a prisoner in the House of Correction, deprived of my liberty and in disgrace, while you have already entered upon a splendid business career. And all this difference comes from my having made a wrong start."

Alas! how many human wrecks scattered all along the pathway of life could say the same thing, as they compare their present wretched condition with that of the prosperous and honored citizens—the solid men of the community—who were once their schoolfellows, and whose early career was perhaps less promising than their own. And all this difference, or nearly all, has grown naturally out of the right or wrong start they took in life.

Peter Smartweed alone among the conspirators remains to be accounted for, and this is something that the police could not do. They made a careful search throughout the city for him, but his presence could not be discovered. It was believed that, fearing arrest, he had suddenly left his home and the city in which he had spent his life, when he learned of the fate of Felix Mortimer, his companion in crime.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

A GLIMPSE AT THE FUTURE.

It has not seemed to me desirable to dwell upon Mr. Goldwin's business affairs—to show the legal squabbles that followed his failure, or to picture in detail the trickery of Breakwell & Co. My aim has been to introduce only what bore directly upon the career of Herbert Randolph. I will say, however, that the banker's failure did not leave him penniless, as young Randolph feared it might. He was badly crippled at first, but certain securities turned over to him by Breakwell & Co., which at the time of the failure possessed but little market value, began at the end of a few months to advance rapidly. When they had reached a point at which it seemed to him advisable to sell he closed them out at a price that enabled him to pay off all his obligations without drawing upon his personal property for a penny. He was, therefore, still a wealthy man, and was not forced to reduce his style of living in the slightest degree.

With this simple statement I leave the past to record a conversation in which the reader will catch a glimpse of the future, in so far as it relates to some of those who have been most conspicuous in this story.

Young Randolph had now become a frequent visitor at Mr. Goldwin's home, where, notwithstanding the many attractions of a great city, he spent the happiest hours of his life. Bob Hunter, moreover, was not an entire stranger at this handsome residence. His visits, though, were few in comparison to those of his partner, and this was due to two causes—first, a decided reluctance to leave his books, for he had become a most industrious student, and second, the lack of so delightful an attraction as that which turned the steps of the young Vermonter so often towards the Goldwin home.

It was now midwinter. Herbert and Bob had been in business together nearly nine months, in which time they had by hard work and splendid ability lifted themselves from poverty and drudgery to a position of prosperity. In an up town savings bank a snug sum of money was deposited to their credit, and this was in excess of the amount used in their business, which had become so large that a good working capital was necessary.

One day they received a letter from Mr. Goldwin inviting them to dine with him and his family on the following evening. The letter stated, moreover, that he wished to talk with them about a matter in which he thought they would feel an interest.

"What can he wish to talk over with us?" said Bob.

"I have been speculating on that same point," replied Herbert.

"And you came to no conclusion?"

"No, I really cannot imagine his purpose."

"It may be about business," suggested the junior partner.

"You may be right, Bob, but it hardly seems probable that he would want to talk with us about business."

"But you say he has often talked with you about it when you have been at his house."

"So he has, in a general way," replied Herbert, "but I supposed that was just to fill in conversation."

"A mere matter of curiosity to know how we were doing?"

"Yes."

"It's possible, though, that he had other objects in view."

"Possible, well, yes; but not probable."

Thus the boys speculated upon Mr. Goldwin's purpose, as they went about their work—speculated and wondered till they found themselves at his table, where all thought of this character was driven from their minds by the pleasant conversation that followed.

It was only fifteen months before this that two boys met as if by chance in City Hall Park one brisk October morning—one a country lad fresh from the rocky hills of old Vermont, the other a keen eyed, bright faced newsboy of New York. Look at the group around this table, and tell me if you can see these chance acquaintances—the boy whose every act proclaimed him a farmer's son, or the other—the shabbily dressed product of a metropolitan street. And if perchance by voice or feature you recognize the boy of education and ambition, look again, I urge you, that you may find his friend. "There is but one boy present beside him of the farm," I hear you say, "and surely it cannot be he, so well dressed and grown so tall, whose language bespeaks a well bred lad." But look yet once more, I pray you, and behold the sparkle of his eyes, the old time humor playing over his features, and—ah! now he laughs and shows his dimples once again—the same on either cheek reflecting the merriment he feels. You yield at last, puzzled though I know you are, and the question you would put to me—"How came it so, this marvelous change in these two boys?" I will answer—THEY WORKED AND STUDIED.



When dinner was over Mr. Goldwin and the two boys repaired to the library. After a little preliminary talk the former said,

"I am contemplating going into business again."

"Your old business?" asked Herbert.

"Yes," replied Mr. Goldwin, rather deliberately, resting comfortably in his easy chair and toying with his eye glasses. "I am better fitted for that than any other. But my object is not wholly to make money, though of course there is always pleasure in doing so. My purpose is rather to provide myself with some light employment that would interest me, but which would not be too severe a tax upon my strength. I have also a secondary object in this connection," he continued, addressing Herbert, "and that is a desire to put you and Bob in the way of entering a first class brokerage business much sooner than you could hope to if left to your own efforts. I have watched both of you carefully and with the keenest interest. The ability you have each shown in conducting your stamp brokerage convinces me that you are capable of moving up higher, and therefore it gives me pleasure to offer you an interest in the business that I am about to start."

"But the money!" exclaimed both boys, speaking at once and almost doubting their own senses, yet expressing in their looks thanks more eloquent than words could have conveyed.

"The money question can be arranged all right," replied Mr. Goldwin. "I can supply the necessary sum in excess of your capital."

"I can hardly realize such an opportunity as open to us," said Herbert, adding words of warmest thanks.

"Neither can I," remarked Bob, no less expressive in his gratitude to Mr. Goldwin.

"Doubtless it is a surprise to you," replied the latter; "but the idea has been growing with me for several months, and now I am ready to make you this proposition. You of course know that you are not old enough to become legal partners. It will therefore be necessary to conduct the business under my own name, and as this was my old business name it will be better than a new one."

"We certainly shall not object to that," said Herbert; "but how can we become members of the firm if not legal partners?"

"You can become practically members, though not real members," returned Mr. Goldwin. "That is to say you can draw a certain percentage of the profits in return for your capital and services. My proposition then is this: I will open an office and take both of you boys in with me, allowing you one half of the profits until you become of age; then we will organize a partnership, and each own a third of the business. By that time your profits, if you do not spend too much money, will enable you to own your interests clear of all incumbrance. Your present brokerage business can be done from our office, and that I shall want Bob to attend to at first, while you, Herbert, I shall expect to bear the brunt of the burden in our regular business. Your experience with me before my failure taught you what is to be done. We will commence in a small way at first, and I shall not do very much work myself. I will of course keep an eye on everything, and may bring many of my old customers back to us. Now you have heard my proposition," continued Mr. Goldwin, "how do you like it?"

"I could not possibly like anything better," replied Herbert, "but it seems too good to be true—more like an air castle than a fact."

"So it seems to me," added Bob.

"But it is a fact," laughed Mr. Goldwin, enjoying the surprise of the two young partners, "and I am ready to start the ball rolling at once."

"We will certainly accept the proposition, then," said Herbert, speaking for himself and Bob; "which is, as I understand, that you are to draw one half of the profits, and that Bob and I will each get one quarter?"

"Yes, that is correct, up to the time you both become of age," replied Mr. Goldwin.

"After that we are to become equal partners?" said Bob.

"Yes, and of course each draw one third of the profits," returned Mr. Goldwin. "Whenever our new business," he continued, "becomes large enough to demand Bob's full time, I should advise selling the stamp department. Until then, however, we will hold it, as it pays a handsome little income which will swell our first year's profits considerably."

"Are you not ready for our game of chess, Mr. Randolph?" said Ray Goldwin, appearing in the library door.

"That depends upon your father's wishes," answered Herbert, all too anxious to join her.

"What say you, papa?" appealed Ray.

"Your wishes are law with me, my dear," said the father, with a happy smile. "Go, Herbert, and win if you can."

"But the business," suggested young Randolph, as he quickly joined Ray in the doorway.

"Ah, never mind that now; the game will suit you better, and besides Bob and I can arrange the few details yet to be talked over."

THE END.



Those who have enjoyed reading THE BOY BROKER would probably find MR. MUNSEY'S "AFLOAT IN A GREAT CITY" equally interesting. It covers 388 pages—large, clear type, and is handsomely printed and bound. It can be had from your book store or from the publishers, by mail. Price $1.25.

FRANK A. MUNSEY & CO., PUBLISHERS, 81 Warren Street, New York.

* * *

From the New York Daily Sun. "Afloat in a Great City" recounts the strange adventures on land and sea of a kidnaped boy. The moral of the story is sound.

From the Boston Daily Advertiser. "Afloat in a Great City" is an excellent book for boys. * * * It is well and simply told, and cannot fail to interest those for whom it was written.

From the Brooklyn Standard-Union. "Afloat in a Great City" is a stirring story of the life of a boy cast upon his own resources in New York. His adventures are told with much spirit, and are worth the telling.

From the Boston Beacon. "Afloat in a Great City" seems healthy and pleasant reading for a boy who does not care particularly about being a pirate or a cowboy, but likes to have his blood gently stirred.

From the Chicago Times. The material is cleverly worked up, and, although the general drift of the tale is obvious to the experienced novel reader before he has gone very far, the author still has in store for him some interesting surprises of detail.

From the New York Daily Graphic. "Afloat in a Great City" recites the history and thrilling adventures of a brave lad whose earliest recollections of life find him an orphaned waif in the streets of New York. He has the right sort of blood and grit in him. * * * * It is a strong, wholesome and dramatic bit of fiction. There are no wearisome homilies in it, yet everywhere it incites to truthfulness and manliness. It is well and copiously illustrated.

From the Evening Telegram, New York. It is not specifically stated upon the title page that this is a book for boys, but it is evident from subject and treatment that it is intended to be so. There has been a great variety in the stories published for a clientele of this nature, and the space left for evolution between "Sandford and Merton" and "Tom Brown's School Days" is very wide indeed. It has been well traversed and greatly improved upon. Mr. Munsey, author of "Afloat in a Great City," understands that boys like to read of adventure, whether it takes place upon the high seas or in the heart of Africa, or whether it is limited by the boundaries of the American metropolis. He has chosen to condense a good many strange and unusual incidents as happening to a good and stout hearted though poor boy within the circumference of New York City. Mr. Munsey is a healthy expert at this sort of business. He does not work upon morbid sympathies, or seek to become interesting by appealing to emotions which had better be left in the background so far as the class for whom he writes is concerned.

THE END