by eight feet long. There was a pine bedstead, one chair, and a washstand, which would have been improved by a fresh coat of paint. Over the bed hung a cheap print of Gen. Washington, in an equally cheap frame. A row of pegs on the side opposite the bed furnished conveniences for hanging up clothes.
"How do you like it?" asked Henry Martin.
"Tiptop," answered Sam, with satisfaction.
"Well, I'm glad you like it," said his companion. "There's six pegs; you can use half of them."
"What for?" asked Sam.
"To hang up your extra clothes, of course."
"I haven't got any except what I've got on," said Sam.
"You haven't?"
"No."
"I suppose you've got some extra shirts and stockings?"
"No, I haven't. I've been unfortunate, and had to sell my wardrobe to pay my debts."
Henry Martin looked perplexed.
"You don't expect to wear one shirt all the time, do you?" he asked.
"I'll buy some more when I've got money enough."
"You'd better. Now let's go out, and get some supper."
Sam needed no second invitation.
CHAPTER IV.
FIRST LESSONS
When supper was over Sam inquired, "What shall we do?"
"Suppose we take a walk?" suggested his companion.
"I'd rather go to the Old Bowery."
"I should like to go, but I can't afford it."
"You get five dollars a week, don't you?"
"Yes; but I need all of it for board, lodging and washing. So will you, too. I advise you to be careful about spending."
"What's the use of living if a fellow can't have a little fun?" grumbled Sam.
"There won't be much fun in going a day or two without anything to eat, Sam."
"We won't have to."
"Let me see about that. It costs a dollar and a quarter for the room, to begin with. Then our meals will cost us as much as forty or fifty cents a day, say three dollars a week. That will leave seventy-five cents for clothes and washing."
"It isn't much," Sam admitted.
"I should think not."
"I don't see how I am going to get any clothes."
"You certainly can't if you go to the theater."
"I used to go sometimes when I was a newsboy, and I didn't earn so much money then."
"Probably you didn't have a regular room then."
"No, I didn't; and sometimes I only had one meal a day."
"That isn't a very nice way to live. You're so old now you ought to be considering what you'll do when you are a man."
"I mean to earn more than five dollars a week then."
"So do I; but if I were a street boy, picking up my living by blacking boots or selling papers, I shouldn't expect to. Now we have a chance to learn business, and improve."
"Were you ever a street boy?" asked Sam, becoming interested in his companion's history.
"No, that is, not over a month. I was born in the country."
"So was I," said Sam.
"My father and mother both died, leaving nothing, and the people wanted to send me to the poorhouse; but I didn't like that, so I borrowed five dollars and came to New York. When I got here I began to think I should have to go back again. I tried to get a place and couldn't. Finally, I bought some papers and earned a little money selling them. It was better than nothing; but all the while I was hoping to get a place. One day, as I was passing the store where I am now, I saw some boys round the door. I asked them what was going on. They told me that Hamilton & Co. had advertised for an errand boy, and they were going to try for the place. I thought I might as well try, too, so I went in and applied. I don't know how it was, but out of about forty boys they took me."
"Did they give you five dollars a week right off?"
"No; I only got three dollars the first year," answered Henry.
"You couldn't live on that, could you?"
"I had to."
"You didn't have the room you have now, did you?"
"I couldn't afford it. I lived at the 'Newsboys Lodge,' and took my breakfast and suppers there. That cost me eighteen cents a day, or about a dollar and a quarter a week. Out of the rest I bought my dinners and clothes. So I got along till the second year, when my wages were raised to four dollars. At the beginning of the third year I got a dollar more."
"I suppose you'll get six dollars next year?"
"I hope so. Mr. Hamilton has promised to put me in the counting-room then."
"It seems a long time to wait," said Sam.
"Yes, if you look ahead; but, after all, time goes fast. Next year I expect to lay up some money."
"Do you think you can?"
"I know I can, if I am well. I've got some money in the savings-bank now."
"You have!" exclaimed Sam, pricking up his ears.
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Thirty dollars."
"Thirty dollars!" ejaculated Sam. "I'd feel rich if I was worth thirty dollars."
Henry smiled.
"I don't feel rich, but I am glad I've got it."
"You ain't saving up money now, are you?"
"I mean to, now that I pay fifty cents a week less rent on account of your coming in with me. I am going to save all that."
"How can you?"
"I shall get along on two dollars and a half for meals. I always have, and I can do it now. You can do it, too, if you want to."
"I should starve to death," said Sam. "I've got a healthy appetite, and my stomach don't feel right if I don't eat enough."
"I don't like to stint myself any more than you, but if I am ever to be worth anything I must begin to save when I am a boy."
"Do you ever smoke?" asked Sam.
"Never, and I wouldn't if it didn't cost anything."
"Why not? It's jolly."
"It isn't good for a
