am leaving this house. I have hired a room elsewhere.”
Wheeler’s countenance fell, and he looked dismayed.
“Why, I have just taken a room here for a week,” he said.
“You will find it a good place.”
“But—I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t thought I should have company.”
“I ought to feel complimented.”
Rodney was convinced that Wheeler had come in the hopes of stealing the casket of jewels a second time, and he felt amused at the fellow’s discomfiture.
“You haven’t got your jewel box with you?”
“No, I can take that another time.”
“Then it’s still in the house,” thought Wheeler with satisfaction. “It won’t be my fault if I don’t get it in my hands. Well, good morning,” he said. “Come around and call on me.”
“Thank you!”
CHAPTER VII
AT THE NEWSBOY’S LODGING HOUSE
Within a week Rodney had spent all his money, with the exception of about fifty cents. He had made every effort to obtain a place, but without success.
Boys born and bred in New York have within my observation tried for months to secure a position in vain, so it is not surprising that Rodney who was a stranger proved equally unsuccessful.
Though naturally hopeful Rodney became despondent.
“There seems to be no place for me,” he said to himself. “When I was at boarding school I had no idea how difficult it is for a boy to earn a living.”
He had one resource. He could withdraw the box of jewels from Tiffany’s, and sell some article that it contained. But this he had a great objection to doing. One thing was evident however, he must do something.
His friend, the lot agent, was out of town, and he hardly knew whom to advise with. At last Mike Flynn, the friendly bootblack, whose acquaintance he had made in front of the Astor House, occurred to him.
Mike, humble as he was, was better off than himself. Moreover he was a New York boy, and knew more about “hustling” than Rodney did. So he sought out Mike in his “office.”
“Good morning, Mike,” said Rodney, as the bootblack was brushing off a customer.
“Oh, its you, Rodney,” said Mike smiling with evident pleasure. “How you’re gettin’ on?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s bad. Can I help you? Just say the word, and I’ll draw a check for you on the Park Bank.”
“Is that where you keep your money?”
“It’s one of my banks. You don’t think I’d put all my spondulics in one bank, do you?”
“I won’t trouble you to draw a check this morning. I only want to ask some advice.”
“I’ve got plenty of that.”
“I haven’t been able to get anything to do, and I have only fifty cents left. I can’t go on like that.”
“That’s so.”
“I’ve got to give up my room on Fourteenth Street. I can’t pay for it any longer. Do you think I could get in at the Lodge?”
“Yes. I’ll introduce you to Mr. O’Connor.”
“When shall I meet you?”
“At five o’clock. We’ll be in time for supper.”
“All right.”
At five o’clock Mike accompanied Rodney to the large Newsboys’ Lodging House on New Chambers Street. Mr. O’Connor, the popular and efficient superintendent, now dead, looked in surprise at Mike’s companion. He was a stout man with a kindly face, and Rodney felt that he would prove to be a friend.
“Mr. O’Connor, let me introduce me friend, Mr. Rodney Ropes,” said Mike.
“Could you give me a lodging?” asked Rodney in an embarrassed tone.
“Yes; but I am surprised to see a boy of your appearance here.”
“I am surprised to be here myself,” admitted Rodney.
The superintendent fixed upon him a shrewd, but kindly glance.
“Have you run away from home?” he asked.
“No, sir. It is my home that has run away from me.”
“Have you parents?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you come from the country?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where have you been living?”
“At a boarding school a few hours from New York.”
“Why did you leave it?”
“Because my guardian sent me word that he had lost my fortune, and could no longer pay my bills.”
“You have been unfortunate truly. What do you propose to do now?”
“Earn my living if I can. I have been in the city for about two weeks, and have applied at a good many places but in vain.”
“Then you were right in coming here. Supper is ready, and although it is not what you are used to, it will satisfy hunger. Mike, you can take Rodney with you.”
Within five minutes Rodney was standing at a long table with a bowl of coffee and a segment of bread before him. It wouldn’t have been attractive to one brought up to good living, as was the case with him, but he was hungry.
He had eaten nothing since morning except an apple which he had bought at a street stand for a penny, and his stomach urgently craved a fresh supply of food.
Mike stood next to him. The young bootblack, who was used to nothing better, ate his portion with zest, and glanced askance at Rodney to see how he relished his supper. He was surprised to see that his more aristocratic companion seemed to enjoy it quite as much as himself.
“I didn’t think you’d like it,” he said.
“Anything tastes good when you’re hungry, Mike.”
“That’s so.”
“And I haven’t eaten anything except an apple, since morning.”
“Is dat so? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stood treat at de Boss Tweed eatin’ house.”
“I had money, but I didn’t dare to spend it. I was afraid of having nothing left.”
When
