



Produced by Al Haines








[Transcriber's note: the source book for this etext was missing the
leaf containing pages 3 and 4.  Should you have page scans for these
pages, please contact Project Gutenberg's Errata reporting system at
errata2010_AT_pglaf.org]




[Illustration: Cover art]




[Frontispiece: "Cheese it!  De cop!"  _Page_ 119]





The Newsboy Partners

Or

Who Was Dick Box?



BY

FRANK V. WEBSTER


  AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "BOB THE CASTAWAY," "THE BOY
  FROM THE RANCH," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.



ILLUSTRATED





NEW YORK

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

PUBLISHERS




BOOKS FOR BOYS

_By FRANK V. WEBSTER_

12mo.  Illustrated.  Bound in cloth.


ONLY A FARM BOY, Or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life

TOM THE TELEPHONE BOY, Or The Mystery of a Message

THE BOY FROM THE RANCH, Or Roy Bradner's City Experiences

THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER, Or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska

BOB THE CASTAWAY, Or The Wreck of the Eagle

THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE, Or Herbert Dare's Pluck

THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS, Or Who Was Dick Box?

THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES, Or Nat Morton's Perils

TWO BOY GOLD MINERS, Or Lost in the Mountains

JACK THE RUNAWAY, Or On the Road with a Circus


_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_




Copyright, 1909, by

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS


Printed in U. S. A.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

     I.  JIMMY IS IN LUCK
    II.  JIMMY IS OUT OF LUCK
   III.  A BOX FOR A BED
    IV.  THE NEW BOY
     V.  DICK'S NEW NAME
    VI.  JIMMY ACTS AS NURSE
   VII.  JIMMY CONSIDERS MATTERS
  VIII.  DIM RECOLLECTIONS
    IX.  THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
     X.  AN ENCOUNTER WITH CONROY
    XI.  PLANNING A TRICK
   XII.  DICK BECOMES A TEACHER
  XIII.  BULLDOG QUESTIONS DICK
   XIV.  JIMMY'S FURTHER PROGRESS
    XV.  PATCHING PENNIES
   XVI.  THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT
  XVII.  AN OFFER OF A STAND
 XVIII.  BULLDOG THREATENS DICK
   XIX.  JIMMY TO THE RESCUE
    XX.  DICK IS ILL
   XXI.  JIMMY IN TROUBLE
  XXII.  MR. CROSSCRAB IS ROBBED
 XXIII.  BACK AT BUSINESS
  XXIV.  MR. CROSSCRAB'S VISIT
   XXV.  WHO DICK BOX WAS--CONCLUSION




ILLUSTRATIONS

"Cheese it!  De cop!" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"Where am I?" asked the strange boy

"We'll begin on the letters," said Dick

"Didn't youse run away from home?"




THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS


CHAPTER I

JIMMY IS IN LUCK

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!  Full account of de big f-i-r-e!  Here ye are!
Wuxtry!  _Woild, Joinal, Sun, Telegram_!  Here ye are, mister!  Git de
latest wuxtry!  Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!"

Jimmy Small was only one of a dozen newsboys crying the same thing in
City Hall Park, New York.  The lads, ragged little chaps, were rushing
at all in whom they saw possible customers, thrusting the papers in
their very faces, a fierce rivalry taking place whenever two of the
boys reached the same man at the same time.  But of all who cried none
shouted louder than this same Jimmy Small, and none was more active in
rushing here and there with papers.

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!" yelled Jimmy, for that was how he and the other boys
pronounced the word "Extra."

"What's the extra about?" asked a well-dressed man, stopping Jimmy.

"Wuxtry!  Big fire!  Dozen people burned to death!  Here ye are!
Wuxtry!  Full account of de big f-i-r-e!"

Jimmy could not stop long to talk.  He must sell papers.  He snatched
one from the bundle under his arm, thrust it into the man's hand, took
the nickel the customer gave him, handed the man four pennies in
change, and all the while was yelling at the top of his voice his
war-cry:

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!"

Jimmy had secured his bunch of papers from one of the delivery wagons
on Park Row--Newspaper Row, as it is sometimes called.  He had dashed
across the park toward Broadway, selling as he ran.  He wanted to reach
a certain corner at Broadway and Barclay Street, where he could be sure
of finding many customers who would buy papers on their way to take the
ferry over to New Jersey.  Jimmy usually made that corner his
headquarters.

As he hurried on he was stopped several times by men who, attracted by
his loud shouts, wanted to buy papers to see what the extra was about.
As it happened, there had been a disastrous fire in New York that day
in which a number of per-

[Transcriber's note: page 3 missing from book]


[Transcriber's note: page 4 missing from book]

"Well, I ain't yer son.  Ner I ain't no signpost either.  D'ye want a
pape?"

"I don't know.  Perhaps I might take one," was the answer in drawling
tones.  "Are you selling papers?"

"Naw, I'm here fer me health.  De doctor said I had t' stand here t'
git fresh air," replied Jimmy with contempt in his tones, for he saw
that the young man was from the country, unused to city ways, and, as a
boy who had lived in New York all his life, Jimmy had not much use for
country folks.

"You're something of a joker, aren't you?" asked the young man, good
humor showing in his blue eyes.  He did not seem to be offended at
Jimmy's answer.

"Naw, I'm a newsie.  Want a pape?  _Sun, Woild, Joinal_?  Wuxtry!  All
about de big fire!"

"Which is the best paper?" asked the young man with a smile.

"Aw, g'wan!  T'ink I'm going t' play favorites?  Dey is all alike t'
me.  One's de same as de udder.  I ain't goin' t' knock any of 'em.  I
makes me livin' by sellin' 'em all, dat's what!"

"Then I guess I'll take a _Sun_.  But could you tell me the way to the
Brooklyn Bridge?  I'm a stranger in New York."

"Oh, I kin see dat all right enough," replied Jimmy with a little
kindlier feeling toward the man, now that he had proved to be a
customer.  "Youse from de country all right."

"How can you tell that?"

"'Cause youse talks so slow.  Folks here ain't got time t' waste so
much talk over deir woids.  Ye got t' hustle in N'York."

"I believe you, from what little I have seen.  You are right, I am from
the country, and I'm on my way to visit an aunt in Brooklyn.  I thought
I'd walk over the bridge, for I've read a lot about it."

"Well, go up one block," said Jimmy, pointing toward Park Place, "den
cut t'rough City Hall Park by de side of de post-office here an' foller
de crowd.  Youse can't miss it.  But youse wants t' look out."

"What for?"

"If ye gits in de push youse'll be squeezed t' death.  It's an awful
mob dat goes t' Brooklyn dis time o' day."

"Well, I'll be careful.  Do you live around here?"

"Who, me?  Oh, yes, I lives around here," and Jimmy, with a wave of his
hand, included nearly the whole of New York.

"What's your name?"

"Say, who are youse, anyhow?" inquired the newsboy, suddenly suspicious.

"My name is Joshua Crosscrab, and I'm from Newton, Vermont," replied
the young man, still good-natured.

"Aw, I mean who be ye?  Be youse a detective, er from some society what
takes up kids fer sellin' papes on de street?"

"No, I'm not a detective.  What makes you think so?"

"'Cause youse asks so many questions."

"I am interested.  I never was in New York before, and I see so many
things that are strange that I want to know about them.  Up our way we
believe in getting acquainted, so I thought I'd try it here.  Every one
I talked to, though, seemed to think I was a swindler, I guess."

"Dat's right.  Youse has t' be careful who youse talk to in N'York,"
said Jimmy with a comical air of wisdom.

"But you haven't told me your name yet," persisted Mr. Crosscrab.

"Sure youse ain't none of them children sasiety detectives?" asked the
newsboy.

"Sure.  I'll give you my promise."

"Well, me name is Jimmy Small.  Here ye are, sir!  Paper!  Wuxtry!  All
about de big fire!  Thirteen killed!"

Jimmy had interrupted his information to dispose of a paper to a man.

"Jimmy Small," repeated the man.  "Where do you live?"

"Oh, I've got a swell joint on upper Fifth Avenoo," replied the boy,
with a wink, "but it's rented fer de season, an' I ain't livin' in it."

"No, I am serious," said Mr. Crosscrab.  "I would really like to know."

"Honest?  No kiddin'?" inquired Jimmy.

"No what?"

"No kiddin'.  Is it de real goods?  Youse ain't tryin' t' run up an
alley on me, is yer?"

"I don't exactly understand you, but I am really asking because I am
interested in you.  I have a brother about your age, and I was
wondering how he would make out if he had to sell papers for a living."

"Say, take it from me, mister," spoke Jimmy earnestly.  "Don't let him
do it.  Dere's too many in de business now.  Don't let him come t'
N'York an' sell papers!"

"Oh, he's not very likely to.  But you haven't told me where you live."

"Aw, most anywheres.  Wherever I kin.  If I'm flush wid de coin I takes
a bed at de lodgin'-house.  When I'm busted--on me uppers--cleaned
out--nuthin' doin'--why, I takes a chance at a bench in de park when
it's warm.  If de cop don't see youse it's all right.  Sometimes I hits
up an empty box, an' I've done me turn in a hallway.  Under a dock
ain't so bad, only dere's too many rats t' suit me."

"You lead quite a varied sort of life, don't you?" inquired Mr.
Crosscrab.

"Youse kin search me.  I ain't got it," replied Jimmy with more good
humor than he had previously shown.  The man's talk was a little above
him.

"I suppose you know your way around New York pretty well, don't you?"
the countryman went on.

"Dat's right.  Ye can't lose me."

"Are you here almost every day?"

"When I ain't in Wall Street investin' me millions I am."

"Still inclined to jokes, I see," murmured the man.  "Well, I'd like to
know more about you.  You seem like a bright lad, and I may want to ask
you some directions about getting around New York.  I may see you
to-morrow.  Does your father allow you to work all day?"

"I ain't got no fader," said Jimmy.  He did not speak sadly.  He took
it as a matter of course, for he had been so long without either
father, mother or other relatives to care for him that parents were
only a dim recollection to him.  "I ain't got nobody," he went on.
"I'm in business fer meself."

"Haven't you a mother or a sister or a brother?" asked Mr. Crosscrab,
feeling a strong sympathy for the boy.

"Nixy.  Not a one."

"How long have you been selling papers?"

"About two years.  But say, mister, I don't want to be short wid youse,
only I've got t' go an' git some more papes.  I'm sold out, an' dis is
me busy time.  Stop around t'-morrer an' I'll tell ye all I know about
N'York."

"That's all right," said Mr. Crosscrab, understanding the situation.
"I didn't mean to keep you from your work.  If I pass this way
to-morrow I shall look for you.  Here is something to pay you for your
trouble."

He held out a coin to Jimmy, who promptly took it.  It was a silver
quarter.

"Crimps!" exclaimed Jimmy as he saw the money.  "Say, youse is all
right, that's what youse is!  Ye kin ast me questions all day at dat
rate."

Mr. Crosscrab, with a smile and a wave of his hand for good-by, passed
on toward the Brooklyn Bridge, while Jimmy, hardly able to believe his
good fortune, hurried after some more papers.

"I certainly am in luck t'-day," he murmured.  "I wonder what ails dat
guy?  Maybe he's crazy an' believes in givin' all his money away.  I
wish he'd come by t'-morrer.  Crimps!  But dis is fine!  I'll go see a
show t'-night sure!"




CHAPTER II

JIMMY IS OUT OF LUCK

Jimmy bought another supply of papers and hurried back to his corner.
But no sooner had he come in sight of it than he saw it was occupied by
a large newsboy.  The newcomer was a lad much bigger and stronger than
our young hero, but in spite of that Jimmy was not going to be deprived
of his place without a protest.

"Hey, Bulldog!" he exclaimed, giving the other newsboy the nickname by
which he was known, "what ye doin' on my corner?"

"Your corner?" inquired the other, with an ugly grin on his big face,
thereby showing two sharp teeth which gave him his name.

"Yep, my corner, Bulldog.  I was here all de afternoon sellin' papes
an' went t' git some more."

"An' I got it now," added Bulldog Smouder with a leer.  "Here ye are,
paper!  Wuxtry!" he added as a man came up and bought a _World_.  It
made Jimmy angry to see profits that he thought should be his going
into the pockets of his enemy, for Bulldog Smouder was an enemy to all
the newsboys excepting those he could not whip.  He was a fighter and a
bully, and he lost no chance to impose on those weaker or younger than
himself.  Still, he had no particular grudge against Jimmy, and he
would just as quickly have taken the place some other boy regarded as
his own as he had preempted that recently occupied by our hero.

"Git on off there!" cried Jimmy.  "Dat's me place, an' youse knows it."

"I don't know nuttin' but what I sees.  I seen this corner an' nobody
holdin' it down an' I took it.  If youse wants t' keep a good place,
what makes youse leave it?"

"I had t' git more papes."

"Den youse ought t' have a partner in business wid ye.  He could go
after papes while youse held de corner.  I'll go in whacks wid ye if ye
likes.  But youse got t' give me half what youse made t'-day."

"I will like pie!"

It had been a good day for Jimmy, and with the quarter Mr. Crosscrab
had given him he had more than he had possessed in a long time before.
He was not going to divide with Bulldog, even if the latter, from a
physical standpoint, was a desirable partner.  For Bulldog was lazy.
Jimmy knew if there was a union formed he would have to do all the
work, while Bulldog would take half the profits and do nothing.

"Ain't ye goin' t' git off me corner?" demanded Jimmy again.

"Naw, I ain't.  Now chase yerself.  I want t' sell me papes an' go
home.  Skiddoo fer yours!"

"I'd like t' punch yer face in," muttered Jimmy.

"Try it," advised Bulldog with a grin.  "I'll tie youse up in a knot if
ye do."

"What's de matter, Bulldog?" asked another newsboy, coming up at that
juncture.  He had no papers.

"Aw, de kid says I swiped his corner."

"An' so ye did!" cried Jimmy.

"Why didn't ye stay here den?" asked Bulldog.

"I told youse.  'Cause I had 't go after papes."

"Well, youse know what I said.  Git a partner."

"Don't youse give him de corner, Bulldog!  Youse got as good a right t'
it as he has."

"Sure I have, Mike, an' I'm goin' t' stay here, too."

All this time Bulldog was busy selling papers, while the new stock
Jimmy had obtained was still undiminished.

"What ye buttin' in fer, Mike Conroy?" asked Jimmy of the newcomer.
"It's none of your funeral."

"Aw, g'wan!  Guess I kin speak t' Bulldog if I want t'.  I'll punch yer
nose fer ye if youse gits too fresh."

"I'd like t' see ye do it!" cried Jimmy, but at the same time he took
good care not to get too near Mike, who was a worse bully than Bulldog.
The latter would not attack smaller boys than himself without some
provocation, but Mike Conroy used to beat and kick them every chance he
got.  He had often hit Jimmy.

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!" cried Bulldog as the crowd of men hurrying to the
ferry came past.  He was kept busy selling papers.  Poor Jimmy was out
of it.  His luck had turned, but it was destined to do so even more
before the night was over.  Still, he had sold a large number of
papers.  The trouble was he had bought another big supply, and unless
he could quickly dispose of them the crowds would soon be gone, and he
would have them left on his hands, to return to the offices, thus
making no profit.

He sold a few on the outskirts of the throng about Bulldog, but as soon
as the latter saw what was going on he made a rush at Jimmy.  The
latter fled, for he knew that in a fight he was no match for the larger
lad.

"Where's your papes?" Bulldog asked Mike during a lull in the business
of selling.

"I'm cleaned out.  Sold 'em down in Wall Street.  Guess I'll take in a
theater t'-night.  I kin afford it."

"Wish I could.  Maybe I'll go wid ye."

"All right.  Goin' t' de lodgin'-house?"

"Sure."

"Keep de kid away from here den till I gits sold out an' I'll go wid
ye," said Bulldog.

Thus he and Mike formed an alliance against Jimmy.  While Bulldog
attended to his customers Mike saw to it that Jimmy did not approach
the corner; thus the small lad lost what little chance he had of making
sales.  As he was thinking over the unfairness of it, and wondering
where he had better go to dispose of his stock, he was hailed by
another lad about his own size.

"Hello, Jim!" cried the newcomer.  "What's the matter?"

"Hello, Frank.  Aw, Bulldog Smouder run me off me corner.  Dat's what
he done."

"That's too bad," exclaimed Frank Merton, who, though a newsboy like
Jimmy, was better educated.  In fact, Frank had not been long in the
business.  Left an orphan at an early age, an aged aunt had tried to
take care of him, but when she was taken ill he found it necessary to
go on the streets selling papers, while his aunt was taken to an
institution.  During the lifetime of his parents he had been sent to
school, and so he used better language than did his fellows.  He was a
bright-faced, pleasant lad, and often did errands, in addition to
selling papers, so he could afford to have a regular room at the
Newsboys' Lodging House.  At night Frank went to evening school.

"Yep, it's tough luck," went on Jimmy.  "I went an' bought a new stock,
an' I ain't sold five yet."

"I'll help you," generously offered Frank.  "I sold out some time ago.
That big fire seemed to make every one want a paper.  Suppose you give
me half your stock, and we'll go over by the bridge entrance and see if
we can't sell them.  There's a big crowd there yet."

"Dat's a good idea.  T'anks.  Bulldog was sayin' I ought t' have a
partner, an' now I've got one."

"Yes," remarked Frank musingly, "I suppose if two boys did go into
partnership they could make more at it than two could working alone.  I
must think about that."

"Maybe you an' I'll go snooks," proposed Jimmy.

"We'll see," went on Frank.  "Anyhow, we'll be partners to-night.  Now
come on before the crowd gets away."

The two boys hurried back across City Hall Park, and, mingling with the
crowd that was hurrying toward Brooklyn, they soon disposed of their
papers.

"Here's your money," said Frank, coming up to Jimmy and handing him the
change.

"Keep ten cents fer yerself," proposed Jimmy generously, for he was a
good-hearted youth in spite of his rather rough ways.

"Oh, no.  I made a good profit to-day.  I offered to help you, and I
didn't expect any pay."

"Ah, g'wan!  Take ten cents."

"If you have so much money to give away, why don't you start an account
in the Dime Savings Bank?" proposed Frank.

"What's de use?" asked Jimmy.  "I'd draw it all out ag'in when I was
broke.  Youse had better take de ten cents."

"No.  I'd rather you'd keep it."

"Den come on an' take in a movin' picture show," proposed Jimmy.
"Dere's a dandy on de Bowery.  It's a prize-fight, an' ye kin see de
knock-out blow as plain as anyt'ing, Sam Schmidt was tellin' me.  Come
on.  I'll pay yer way in.  It's only a nickel."

"No.  I can't go to-night."

"Why not?"

"I have to go to evening school.  The term closes this week."

"Aw, cut it out," advised Jimmy.  "Come wid me.  We'll have a bully
time."

"No, I don't believe I will."

"Den I am.  I'm in luck t'-day.  Feller give me a quarter fer showin'
him where de Brooklyn Bridge was.  He was from de country.  Guess he
was bug-house."

"Bug-house?  That's a new one on me."

"Sure, nutty--crazy, ye know, dippy in de lid--off his noodle."

"You certainly have a choice lot of slang," remarked Frank with a smile
as he left Jimmy.

"Well, den, I'll have t' go t' de show alone," thought the lad.  "Let's
see how much I've got."

He counted over his change and found he had more than he expected.

"Dollar an' seventy-seven cents.  Crimps!  But I'll buy a pack of
cigarettes an' have a swell time.  Guess I'll git a bit of grub now,
an' den I'll be ready fer de show."

"Grub" for Jimmy meant supper.  He made a substantial meal on some
beans, coffee and bread and what passed for butter in one of the
cheapest of the Bowery eating-places.  This cost him ten cents.  He
spent five cents for cigarettes, for Jimmy had learned to smoke them at
an early age, and did not consider it wrong, as most of his companions
indulged in the same habit.

Puffing on the cigarette, with his hands in his pockets and a
comfortable feeling under his belt, Jimmy strolled up the Bowery toward
the moving-picture show of the prize-fight.  He found a number of
persons, including some of his newsboy acquaintances, going in.

"Hello, Bricks," greeted a lad, giving Jimmy the nickname that had been
bestowed on him because of his sandy hair.

"Hello yerself, Nosey," replied Jimmy, for the other boy had a very big
nose which had earned him this title.

"Goin' in?"

"Sure."

"Take me; I'm broke."

"Come on," invited Jimmy generously, feeling like a small edition of a
millionaire.  "Have a cigarette?"

"T'anks.  Say, youse must be flush wid de coin."

"Oh, I made a little t'-day."

The boys and many grown persons entered the amusement place.  They were
soon deeply interested in the moving pictures of the prize-fight,
yelling and shouting as the photographs of the pugilists were thrown on
the white screen.

There were many other moving pictures, the performance lasting over an
hour.  During a lull, when there was no picture on the screen, Jimmy
looked around him.  On a seat behind he saw Mike Conroy and Bulldog
Smouder, his two enemies of that afternoon.

"Goin' t' punch me after de show?" asked Mike with a leer.

"Aw, cheese it," advised Jimmy.  "I'll git square wid youse somehow."

There was no time for further talk, as another picture was shown and
the boys were absorbed in that.  Jimmy could hear Bulldog and Mike
whispering back of him, but he paid no attention to them.

When the show was over and Jimmy was out in the street, Nosey having
left him, he began to think of where he should spend the night.  This
was something he usually left until the last moment.

"Guess I'll treat meself t' a good ten-cent bed t'-night," he said,
lighting another cigarette.  "What's de use of havin' money if youse
can't spend it?"

He put his hand in the pocket where he kept his change.  To his
surprise his fingers met with no jingling coins.

"Dat's queer," he remarked.  "Where's me dough?"

He felt in another pocket.  Then in all of them in turn.

"Stung!" he exclaimed.  "Some guy has pinched all me coin an' I'm dead
broke.  I had a dollar an' fifty-two cents left an' now I ain't got a
red.  Me luck certainly has shook me.  What's t' be done?"




CHAPTER III

A BOX FOR A BED

For some time Jimmy stood still in the street.  The brilliantly-lighted
Bowery stretched away in either direction; a throng of persons, mostly
bent on such pleasure as the place afforded, were traveling up and
down.  No one paid any attention to the friendless newsboy.

"Well, dis is certainly tough luck!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "An hour ago I
had enough t' live on fer a week, an' now I ain't got enough t' git a
cup of coffee.  I'm hungry, too, an' I was goin' t' have a feed after
de show.  I wonder what happened t' me money, anyway?"

Once more he went carefully through his pockets.  Some had holes in
them, but the one where he had put the change was untorn.

"It couldn't 'a' fell out," mused Jimmy.  "Dere ain't no hole, an' I
didn't stand on me head.  Say, I'll bet some one picked me
pocket--dat's what dey did!"

Struck with this idea, he paused in his walk downtown, for he had
started toward the lower end of the Bowery.

"Dat's it!" he went on.  "Some one swiped me coin, an' I bet I know who
done it.  Dat Mike Conroy was settin' right back of me.  I'll bet he
reached over in de dark when I was lookin' at dem pictures an' he
swiped it.  I t'ought I felt some one pluckin' at me coat, but I didn't
have no suspicion it was him.  Wait till I see him in de mornin'.  I'll
go fer him!"

Then another thought came to the luckless lad.  He knew he could not
hope to force Mike into giving up the money even if he had stolen it.
Nor would an appeal to a policeman do any good.  In the first place, a
bluecoat would not pay much attention to the complaint of a newsboy, as
the lads were always fighting more or less among themselves.  And,
again, Jimmy had no proof against Mike.

"Hold on a minute!" exclaimed our hero in his process of thinking out
matters.  "I had a cent wid a big hole in it.  Dat was me lucky pocket
piece, and dat's gone, too.  Now if I could find out if Mike's got dat,
I'd know if he picked me pocket.  I wish I was a detective.  I'd find
out.  He's a mean feller, t' take every cent I had.  Now what am I
goin' t' do fer a place t' sleep?  I guess it's de docks or a box fer
mine t'-night," he added with a sigh.  "Dere ain't no tick at de bunk
house, an' dere ain't no use askin' fer it.  I've got t' do de best I
kin."

It was not the first time Jimmy had been in such a fix.  In fact, it
was more frequently this way than any other.  In the summer time, which
is when this story opens, he often slept out in the open air from
choice, and because it saved him the money he would have to spend on a
bed.  But to-night it was quite cool from the effects of a
thundershower that day, and Jimmy thought a place in the lodging-house
would be very acceptable.

He would not have cared so much, but he had set his mind on getting a
ten-cent bed out of the money he had so unexpectedly received that day,
and now it was a keen disappointment to him.

Jimmy frequently made quite a little sum by selling papers,
particularly when there was a big accident, but he never thought of
saving anything against hard luck or the proverbial "rainy day."  He
spent his money almost as fast as he earned it, and on several
occasions, when in the evening he would have enough to get a bed, he
would go to some show, buy cigarettes or play pool until he had nothing
left, and would be forced to sleep wherever he could find a place.

He was in exactly this situation now, but through no fault of his own.
Still the effect was the same.

"It's up t' me t' look fer a bed now, I s'pose," he went on.  "If I saw
some of de fellers dey might lend me enough t' git a bed--but what's de
use?  I ain't goin' t' ask 'em an' git de frozen face.  Besides, I'll
need somethin' t' stake me t' papes in de mornin', an' I can't afford
t' borrow any fer a bed.  Me credit ain't any too good."

This was a new thought.  Jimmy knew he must have some capital to start
him in business the next day or he would fare badly indeed.  However,
this did not worry him, as the newsboys were frequently in the habit of
borrowing from each other enough to "stake" them, or enable them to buy
a supply of papers from the publication office.  But though nearly any
newsboy would lend a companion money for this cause, lending it for a
bed was another matter.

"I'll find a bunk some place," thought Jimmy as he plodded on.  "It
ain't so cold, an' it'll be warmer by mornin'.  I know what I'll do,
I'll go down t' dat alley where all de big empty boxes is.  One of
dem'll make a fine bed, an' it'll be warm.  Crimps!  I'm glad dat
entered my head.  It's almost as good as de bunk house.  Well, anyway,
I had a swell time, an' I kin go widout eatin' till I make somethin' in
de mornin'.  But it's tough luck; it sure is tough luck."

Having thus made the best of his ill-fortune, Jimmy started off toward
the alley of which he had spoken.  It was in the factory district, on
what is known as the "East Side," among the tenements of New York,
where the poor lived.  Jimmy knew his way about the big city, and he
was soon at the place.

It was an alley at the side of a big clothing factory, and piled up in
it along the driveway were tiers of big packing boxes from which the
contents had been taken and stored in the factory.

Jimmy first took a careful survey of the street before entering the
alley, for he had two enemies for whom he must look out--the policeman
on the beat and the night watchman of the factory.  Both of these
individuals objected to boys staying in the packing boxes, and Jimmy
more than once had been detected and driven out just as he was ready to
go to sleep.

But to-night neither the policeman nor the watchman was in sight.
Still Jimmy proceeded cautiously.  With a cat-like tread he entered the
alley, peering about for a possible sight of the watchman.

"Guess he's inside," thought the boy.  "Now if I kin find de box wid de
old sacks in it I'll be all to de merry."

The box he referred to was one he had slept in on several other
occasions when his funds were gone.  He had discovered some old bags,
and had piled them up in the packing case, making a rude bed.  This box
was near an angle of the alley, and the open side of it was up against
the building, so that by moving it out a short distance, just wide
enough to allow himself to crawl in, Jimmy would have quite a sheltered
place.

He stole along, pausing every now and then in the dark alley to
discover if the watchman was anywhere about.  But all was still save
for the whistles of the boats on the East River, for the factory ran
down to the edge of the docks on the water front.

"All serene, I t'ink," mused the boy.  "Now fer a good snooze."

He found the box he was looking for, and to his delight the pile of
bags was not disturbed.  Jimmy crawled in, shook up the "bed-clothes,"
stretched out on them and was soon sound asleep, all his troubles for
the time being forgotten.




CHAPTER IV

THE NEW BOY

Several hours later, just when it was getting daylight, Jimmy was
awakened by hearing a strange noise close to his ear.  At first he
thought he was dreaming, but when the noise continued--a noise of some
one groaning as if in pain--the newsboy sat suddenly up on the pile of
bags and looked about him.

A little light came in between the packing box and the side of the
factory, and by it Jimmy was startled to perceive that his lodging
place had another occupant than himself.

"Hello!  Who are youse?" asked Jimmy.

There was no answer save a cry of pain.

"What's de matter?" asked Jimmy again, putting out his hand, for he
could not exactly tell whether the dark object was a human being or a
big black dog.

"Oh!  Oh!" murmured a voice.  "My head!  My head!"

"Why, it's a kid!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "A kid!  He must be down on his
luck, too, an' crawled in here to bunk.  Hey, kid," he went on, "what's
de matter wid yer head?"

The new boy gave no answer.  Jimmy turned back one of the bags which
the stranger had partly pulled up over his shoulders.  As he did so a
glint of the rising sun struck in between the wall and the edge of the
box, lighting up the interior more plainly.

"Why, it's a swell guy!" said Jimmy, as he saw that the boy was very
well dressed.  "He's got nobby clothes on.  I wonder what he's doin'
here?  Maybe he's run away after readin' dem five-cent weeklies.
Crimps!  But dis is a go!"

He could now see the stranger distinctly.  He was a boy about Jimmy's
age, but his clothes were much different from the ragged garments of
the newsboy.

"Hey, what's de matter wid youse?" inquired Jimmy, as he saw that the
other made no attempt to get up.

"My head!  Oh, how it hurts!" murmured the boy.  His eyes were closed,
and his face was very pale.

Jimmy looked more closely at him.  Then, to his surprise, he saw there
was quite a cut on the boy's forehead.  The blood had dried on it,
leaving a red streak on the white skin.

"Crimps!  Some bloke swiped him one on de noddle!" cried Jimmy.  "A
nasty one, fer a fact.  He's half dead from it.  Wonder how in de woild
he ever come here?  Maybe dey robbed him an' chucked him in here so de
cops wouldn't git on to it.  I've got t' do somethin'.  Hey, kid," he
went on, "can't youse git up?"

The boy murmured something Jimmy could not understand.

"Mebby I'd better tell some one," thought the newsboy.  "He might die
in here.  Den if I do dey may say I done it an' I'll git inter trouble.
Crimps!  But dis is a queer go!"

Kneeling there in the big packing box beside the injured boy Jimmy
rapidly thought over the situation.  He was considering, in his own
way, what was the best thing to do.  Finally he decided.

"I'll doctor him a bit meself first," he murmured.  "Dat cut needs
washin'.  Den mebby he'll rouse up a bit.  It's early, an' I guess I
can sneak out in de yard an' git some water from de faucet.  Dat
watchman will be tendin' to de fires now."

Peering cautiously out of the box, Jimmy saw no one in the factory
yard.  He knew where there was a faucet, near a trough where the horses
were watered, and usually there was a pail beside it.  He had often
made his morning toilet there.

Running to it, he drew some water in the pail, and returning to the
box, he shoved the receptacle from the wall and used his hand to wash
the blood off the other boy's head as he knelt beside him.  At the
first touch of the cold water the stranger sat up.  His eyes opened in
a wondering stare, and he exclaimed:

"Where am I?"

[Illustration: "Where am I?" asked the strange boy.  _Page_ 30]

"Now take it easy, kid," advised Jimmy.  "Ye're all right, an' ye're in
a safe place--anyway, fer a while yet.  Here, take a drink of dis;
it'll do youse good."

Hardly realizing what he did, the boy drank from the big pail which
Jimmy held up for him.  This made the stranger feel much better.

"Where am I?" he repeated.  "How did I come here?" and he looked about
him in surprise as his eyes took in the narrow quarters of the box.

"Youse kin search me, kid," replied Jimmy frankly.  "I come in here t'
bunk 'cause some bloke swiped all me chink.  When I wakes up I sees
youse.  First I t'ought youse was a dog, den I heard youse moanin' an'
I sees de cut on yer head."

"Oh, my head!  It hurts very much'"

"Put some more cold water on it," advised the amateur doctor, and the
boy did so.

"How's dat?" asked Jimmy.

"Better.  I feel much better.  But I can't understand how I came here."

"I can't needer.  What's yer name?"

"Name?" repeated the other with a wondering stare.

"Sure.  What do de odder kids call youse?"

"Oh!  My name is Dick."

"Dick?  Dick what?  Youse must have two names, same's I have."

"Why, yes, of course I have.  My name is Dick--Dick--er--I--I--why!"
the new boy exclaimed, trying to get up on his knees, but finding he
was too weak.  "I--I can't remember what my other name is--it's gone
from me--something seems to have happened.  I remember my first name is
Dick, but I can't think what my last name is.  Can't you help me?" and
he turned a piteous look on Jimmy.

"Dat's queer!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "He's forgot his name!  What am I up
against?"

"Don't you remember my other name?" begged the boy.

"Me?  No.  How kin I remember it when I never seen youse before?  Don't
youse know yer own name?"

"I did, but it's gone from me.  All I can remember is that they called
me Dick."

"Yes, Dick; but Dick what?"

"I don't know."  The sufferer tried hard to think what his other name
was, but it was impossible to recollect.

"Can't ye remember anythin' else?" asked Jimmy.  "Where'd youse come
from?"

"I can't remember that, either.  All I know is that I got hit on the
head.  Then it was all dark, and the next thing I recollect I saw you
putting water on my head."

"Dis sure is a queer go," murmured Jimmy.  "Here I am wid a kid dat
can't even remember his own name, an' me dead broke.  Oh, yes, dis is a
nice state of affairs!"




CHAPTER V

DICK'S NEW NAME

For a minute or more Jimmy thought over the situation.  He had been in
many strange plights, even in his short life, but never had he known
such a situation as this was.  He hardly knew what to do.

"Where are we?" asked Dick, while he continued to bathe his head with
the water.

"We're in a big box, in a factory alley, down by de East River,"
replied the newsboy.  "Dis is me headquarters when I ain't got no coin."

"I think--I'm not sure--but maybe I have a little money," said Dick.
"I remember having some.  This place is so cramped I can't get my hand
in my pocket."

"Lay down an' stretch out on yer back; den ye kin," advised Jimmy.
"Dat's what I have t' do.  Dis place ain't hardly big enough fer two."

The other lad did so, and when he put his hand in his pocket the
musical jingle of change rewarded him.

"Dat's chink, sure enough!" decided the newsboy.  "Now how much is it?"

Dick pulled out a handful of coins.  With practiced fingers Jimmy
counted the money.

"Two dollars an' fourteen cents," he announced.  "Dat ain't so bad.
Where'd ye git it?  What d'ye work at?"

"I don't know.  I can't seem to remember.  I can't remember anything
but that they called me Dick."

"Dat's queer.  But we kin fix dat part of it."

"What part?"

"About de name."

"How do you mean?  Do you know my other name?"

"No, but youse got t' have one.  Everybody has t' have two names.  I'll
tell youse what I'll do.  I'll give youse another name, an' youse kin
keep it till youse gits yer own back."

The other boy looked a little doubtful of this proceeding.

"What will you name me?" he asked.

"I'll call youse Dick Box."

"Dick Box?  That's a queer name."

"Well, dis is a queer go all around.  Youse says yer first name is
Dick.  Well, I finds youse in a box, so I'll call youse Dick Box.  See?"

"I suppose that will do as well as any other name for the present,"
agreed Dick, "Perhaps I can remember my other name when my head stops
hurting."

"Does it hurt yet?"

"Quite a bit."

"Den let's git outer here," proposed Jimmy.  "De watchman'll be along
in a little while, and he'll kick us out anyhow.  I kin take youse t' a
hospital, if youse want's t' go.  It don't cost nuttin'.  I was dere
once, when a cab-horse stepped on me foot.  Dey treated me out of
sight."

"Oh, I don't think my head is bad enough to go to a hospital for," said
Dick.  "Perhaps, when I get out in the air, it will feel better.  It
aches now, and I believe I'm hungry."

"Don't say a word.  I am too," replied Jimmy.  "But I ain't got de
price.  Here, better take yer chink, before it gits lost," and he
handed Dick back the coins.

"Perhaps you'll--I mean--wouldn't you like to go with me and have some
breakfast?" proposed Dick.  "I'm a stranger here.  By the way, what
city am I in?"

"Say, does youse mean dat?"

"Mean what?"

"Don't youse know ye're in N'York?"

"New York?  Is this New York?  No, I had no idea where I was."

"Well, if dis ain't de limit!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "It's gittin' wuss
instead of better, Dick Box."

"What is?"

"Dis mystery about youse.  Say, honest, youse ain't kiddin' me, is ye?"

"Kidding you?  You mean fooling you?  Of course not!  All I know is
that I started away from some place--I can't just remember where--and
the next thing I knew I was in the box."

"Well, I guess it's straight goods," admitted Jimmy, with a sigh, "but
it sure is a queer go.  Youse must have come from some swell joint,
den."

"What makes you think so?"

"Why, yer clothes is all to de good.  Ye're right in de latest style.
Didn't nobody kidnap youse, did dey?"

"Not that I know of."

Dick passed his hand over his head with a bewildered air.  It was close
in the box, and, now that the sun was up, was getting quite warm.

"Come on; let's git outer here, an' den we kin talk better," proposed
the newsboy.  He peered out, and, seeing that the coast was clear, he
crawled out of the box, followed by Dick.

"I guess we kin take a little scrub in me bathroom, an' den we'll git
somethin' t' eat," proposed the street lad, as he led the way to the
faucet over the horse-trough.  Fortunately the watchman was inside the
factory turning on the fires ready for the men who would soon arrive.

Jimmy gave himself a vigorous wash, and then said to Dick:

"Now it's your turn."

Dick appeared to hesitate.

"What's de matter?" asked Jimmy.  "It ain't very cold.  De cook fergot
t' make de fire in de range last night, an' dere ain't no hot water.
I'll bounce her if she does it ag'in."

"Why, there isn't any--any towel," said Dick.

"Towel?  Well, I guess nixy.  Pocket hankcheff's good 'nuff fer me.  If
ye ain't got none ye kin take mine.  It's pretty clean."

"No, thank you, I have a handkerchief."

In spite of the fact that Dick had evidently been used to certain
luxuries, he made the best of the improvised bathroom.  He washed his
face and hands, drying them on a handkerchief of fine quality, at the
sight of which Jimmy's eyes opened wider than ever.

"He sure is some rich guy," he said to himself.  "Dere's somethin'
queer about dis.  But I'll git t' de bottom of it, er me name ain't
Jimmy Small."

"Where's yer hat?" asked Jimmy of Dick when the washing operations were
over.

"That's so.  I must have had one."

"Maybe it's back in de box.  I'll go look."

He came back in a few seconds with a soft hat and placed it on Dick's
head.  As he did so he uttered a cry of astonishment.

"What's the matter?" asked Dick.

"Say, no wonder yer mind went back on youse.  Dere's a lump as big as a
baseball on de back of yer cocoanut.  Dat's what made youse fergit yer
name, I guess."

Dick felt of the back of his head.  Sure enough there was a large
swelling there, and it was very painful.

"Who done it?" asked Jimmy.

"I can't remember."

"Dat's funny.  If some bloke fetched me a swipe like dat you bet I'd
remember it.  But come on, we'd better be makin' tracks outer her,
'fore de watchman spots us.  I don't want him t' disturb me bed.  I
might need it ag'in."

"Suppose we go and get some breakfast?" proposed Dick.

"I'm broke, I told youse."

"But I have money enough for both of us."

"Goin' t' stand treat?"

"Why not?  It would be a small return for what you did for me."

"Aw, dat's nuttin'.  Well, den, come on.  I knows a good joint where
it's cheap.  Have a cigarette?"

It was all the newsboy had to offer, and he meant it well, as he held
out the box to Dick.

"No, thank you," replied the other lad.  "I don't smoke."

"I'll learn ye," proposed Jimmy generously, "It's easy, an' it's lots
of sport."

"I don't think I care for it."

"I didn't needer, first.  Made me sick.  But I got used to it.  Well,
I'll light up."

"Before breakfast?"

"Sure.  Den I won't be so hungry."

"Oh, don't be afraid of your appetite.  I guess I have enough for
breakfast for the both of us."

"Dat's all right," Jimmy assured him, "but if dat's all ye got, ye
can't live long on it.  What youse goin' t' do when dat's gone?"

"That's so; I hadn't thought of it.  I wonder what I am going to do?
It's queer, but I can't seem to remember anything."

"I guess it is queer.  But say, don't worry.  I'll look after youse
until yer memory comes back."

"Suppose it never comes back?"

Dick looked worried.  He was trying to recall something about himself,
but it was hard work.  Try as he did to think, he could recollect
nothing but that his name was Dick.

"Well, no use lookin' fer trouble," remarked Jimmy.  "Let's go eat, an'
den we'll see what's best t' be done."

The two boys, so strangely contrasted, one evidently from a rich home,
to judge by his clothes and manner, the other a gamin of the streets,
passed out of the factory yard.  As they went the watchman saw them.

"Here!" he called.  "Where you fellows going?"

"We're goin' out," replied Jimmy.  "Why, did youse want us?"

"You young rascals!  You'd better go!" cried the man, shaking his first
at them.  "If I catch you trying to sneak in here again after wood,
I'll set the police after you."

"He don't know we've been in dere all night," said Jimmy with a chuckle
to his companion.  "Oh, I fooled him all right."

Jimmy led the way to a cheap restaurant he knew of, and though Dick
shrank back a little, at the sight of the not very clean place, he went
in, for he was very hungry.  The two boys made a substantial meal, and
Dick paid for it.

"How do you feel now?" asked Jimmy.

"A little better, but I'm rather weak; as if I'd been sick for quite a
while."

"Youse don't look very well.  What youse needs is a place where ye kin
lay down.  I know what t' do.  Come along."

"Where?"

"To de lodgin'-house.  I knows a feller what's got a room dere, an'
maybe he'll let ye stay in it t'-day when he's out sellin' papes."

"What do you do for a living, Jimmy?"

"Me?  Oh, I sell papes, too, when I got de chink t' buy 'em.  I've got
t' git a stake dis mornin' an' start in.  But I'll take youse t' dat
room first.  Come on."

Dick, walking with rather trembling footsteps, followed Jimmy, who led
the way to the Newsboys' Lodging House.  He hoped he would be in time
to find Frank Merton, for he had decided to appeal to him to take Dick
Box in for a few days.




CHAPTER VI

JIMMY ACTS AS NURSE

Frank Merton was just coming down the steps of the Newsboys' Lodging
House as Jimmy and Dick reached it.

"Hello, Jimmy," greeted Frank.

"Hello," was the answer.  "Where youse goin'?"

"To work.  I've got a job doing some gardening for a man over in
Brooklyn."

"Dat's a good ways off."

"Yes, but it will pay me better than selling papers.  He is one of my
regular customers, and when he asked me if I knew any one who would do
some work around the garden I offered myself.  But why aren't you out
with your papers, Jimmy?"

"No chink."

"I'll lend you some money."

"Never mind, Frank.  I kin get staked easy enough.  I'm goin' t' ask
annudder favor of youse."

"What is it?"

"Here's a friend of mine, Dick Box, an' he ain't got no place t' stay.
He's sick."

"Dick Box?  That's a queer name."

"I give him de last name.  Found him in me box," and Jimmy told the
circumstances of discovering Dick.  During this conversation Dick, who
was growing quite pale, sat down on the steps of the building.

"What do you want me to do, Jimmy?" asked Frank.

"I t'ought mebby ye'd let him stay in yer room wid youse fer a day or
so, till he's strong.  Dat blow he got on his cocoanut sort of knocked
him out."

"Of course I will.  You came at just a lucky time."

"How's dat?"

"Why, I'm going to stay over in Brooklyn for several days.  The
gentleman I am to work for is going to allow me to sleep in a spare
room while I am weeding and fixing up his garden.  I will not need my
room, and you and Dick can use it just as well as not."

"Say, dat's de stuff!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "Dat's all to de merry.  Kin
he go right up?"

"Yes, here is my key, and I'll explain to Mr. Snowden, the manager.
You had better stay with Dick, Jimmy.  He doesn't look well."

"I guess he ain't.  I'll look out fer him.  Say, Frank, ye're a good
feller.  I'll pay youse back some day."

"I'm not doing this for pay, Jimmy.  Perhaps I will be in trouble
myself, some time, and I will want help."

"Well, if youse does, jest call on yours truly," said Jimmy earnestly.

Matters were soon explained to the manager, who agreed to let Jimmy and
Dick stay in Frank's room during the time he was away.  At first Dick
insisted on using what little money he had to hire a place, but Jimmy
pointed out that, as a strange lad in a big city and sick as he was, he
would need all the change he had.

"All right," agreed Dick wearily, for his head was aching greatly.

Frank and Jimmy put him in bed, after he had undressed, and then Frank
had to go.

"Perhaps I'd better leave you some money," proposed Frank to Jimmy.
"You might have to call a doctor."

"Say, youse must be rich," spoke Jimmy.

"No, but I have a few dollars saved up.  You are welcome to some if you
need it for Dick."

"Oh, I kin earn plenty, if I once git staked t' some coin fer papes,"
announced the young newsboy.

"Then let me stake you."

"I have some money left," murmured Dick.  "Take that, Jimmy, and buy
your papers.  I'll not need it."

"Youse can't tell about dat.  But I kin double it in a little while, if
business is good."

"You had better let me loan you some," proposed Frank.

"No.  I'll take his," decided Jimmy.  "If he hasn't any room rent t'
pay he'll not need any chink right away, an' I'll have some by
t'-night.  Much obliged, Frank."

"You had better stay here with him to-night," suggested Frank.  "The
room is big enough for two, and you are welcome to use it."

"T'anks.  Mebby I will.  But ye'd better skip over t' Brooklyn now, or
youse might lose yer job."

"That's so.  Do you think he'll be all right?"

"I guess so.  He looks pretty sick, though."

"Oh, I'll be all right in a little while," murmured Dick, but the sight
of his pale face, with the long red cut on the forehead, did not seem
to bear out his words.

However, as Frank could do no particular good, and as he knew he was
needed in Brooklyn, he left, bidding the two boys good-by.

"You needn't stay, Jimmy," said Dick.  "Take my money, go out, and buy
some papers."

"All right.  I'm only jest borrowin' it, ye know.  I'll pay youse back
t'-night."

"That's all right."

Dick spoke in a very faint voice.  His face became paler than ever, and
his breathing was so strange that Jimmy became alarmed.

"Maybe he's dyin'," he thought.  "Guess I'll tell de manager."

The head of the lodging-house came in response to the summons of the
newsboy and looked at Dick.

"He ought to have a doctor," Mr. Snowden said.  "I'll call in the
district doctor."

This was a physician, paid by the city, to look after the poor, and he
soon came in and examined Dick.

"The boy is suffering from shock," he said.  "He needs rest and quiet,
and some simple medicine.  He'll be all right in a day or so."

"Will his memory come back?" asked Jimmy.

"I think so--yes.  It is only gone temporarily."

He left some medicine for Dick, after giving him the first dose.

"Now I am up against it," remarked Jimmy to the manager, as the
physician went away.

"What's the matter?"

"Why, I've got t' stay an' take care of him, an' I don't see how I'm
goin' t' sell me papes."

"Oh, that's it, eh?  Well, don't let that worry you.  I think he'll be
all right for a while, and I'll look in every hour or so.  You go ahead
and sell your papers."

The manager was a kind-hearted man and did all he could to help the
boys.

"Dat'll be de stuff!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "I'll hustle out, an' git t'
work.  I'll be nurse t' him t'-night.  He's a queer kid, an' I'd like
t' find out who he is an' where he come from."

"Probably you will, when he gets better," said the manager.  "But you'd
better hurry out now, if you expect to sell any extras to-day."

Taking a dollar of Dick's money to buy papers with, Jimmy started off.
It was a good day for news, there being a number of sensational
happenings and every one seemed to want to read about them.  Jimmy sold
more papers than he had disposed of before in a long time.

"Guess Dick Box must have brought me luck back t' me," he thought.
"All de same, I'd like t' git hold of Mike Conroy an' see if he robbed
me."

But the bully kept out of Jimmy's way, or else the latter did not see
the youth whom he suspected of picking his pocket.

At noon time, having made a dollar and seven cents profit, Jimmy got
some dinner and then hurried to the lodging-house to inquire about
Dick, as, already, he felt a strong liking for the boy whom he had
befriended.

"He's sleeping quietly," said the manager.  "I think he is better.
Don't worry about him.  I'll look after him the rest of the day and you
can take charge at night."

The afternoon was always a good time for Jimmy, as the extras were out
then and were in great demand.  He took his place at his old corner,
determined not to leave it, to give Bulldog or any other of the boys a
chance to take it away from him.  He made arrangements with a bootblack
to go after another supply of papers for him, when he sold out, and
thus was able to maintain his place.

Toward the close of the day Bulldog appeared with a big bundle of
papers under his arm.  He intended to establish himself at Broadway and
Barclay Street, but, fortunately, a policeman happened to be standing
there when he came up and he dared not drive Jimmy away with the
officer looking on.

"Dis is de time I fooled youse!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he shook his fist
at Bulldog, behind the policeman's back.  "Youse dasn't bodder me now."

"Wait till I catch ye!" threatened Bulldog, as then he moved on up
Broadway, calling:

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!"

Jimmy was soon sold out, and, having made nearly two dollars that day,
something very unusual for him, but due to the extraordinary demand for
papers, he returned to the lodging-house.

"Well, how is he?" he asked the manager.

"A little better, I think.  I was up a while ago and he was asking for
you."

"Here's where I play bein' nurse," announced Jimmy with a smile.

He found Dick awake and feeling much better.  His head no longer ached.

"Kin youse remember who ye be now?" asked Jimmy.

"Not in the least," replied Dick with a sad smile.  "It is as much a
mystery as ever."




CHAPTER VII

JIMMY CONSIDERS MATTERS

Jimmy was quite disappointed.  He had expected that, when Dick felt
better, his memory would return, so that the boy could tell something
about himself.  Now, evidently, this was not to be.

"How did you make out to-day?" asked the lad in bed.

"Fine!  Crimps!  But everybody on de street seemed t' want a paper.
Have a cigarette?  I bought a new pack.  Blowed meself on account of me
good luck."

"No, I don't smoke.  I shouldn't think you would."

"Why not?  All de fellers does.  It's sporty.  Say, here's yer dollar
back."

"Don't you need it?"

"Naw.  I got plenty now.  I'll make more t'-morrow."

"Then keep it to pay for what you have done for me."

"Not much!  What d' youse t'ink I am?  I'm a friend of yourn, an' I'm
takin' care of ye; see?

"Yes, but it costs money."

"Well, when I ain't got none I'll borrow some from youse.  Now it's
time fer yer medicine."

Dick took it, and soon afterward fell into a heavy doze.  Jimmy went
out, got some supper, and, returning, stretched out on the floor and
was soon asleep.

Dick did not awaken until morning, and, when he saw the lad on the
floor, he gave such an exclamation of surprise that Jimmy awoke.

"What's de matter?" he asked.  "Feel worse?"

"No.  But the idea of you sleeping on the floor, and me taking up the
whole bed!  It isn't right.  Why didn't you wake me up and make me
shove over?"

"Aw, I like sleepin' on de floor.  It's like bein' in a hotel, after a
night in me box.  I'm all right.  Feel hungry?"

"A little.  I am much better than I was."

"T'ink of yer name yet?"

"No," and Dick shook his head, smiling a little sadly.  "I can't seem
to remember anything," he went on.  "Perhaps, when this lump on my head
goes down more, I can do better."

"Well, never mind," answered Jimmy cheerfully.  "Youse kin have all de
time youse wants."

"I wish I could get up, and help you," proposed Dick.  "I think I am
well enough."

"No, ye don't!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "If youse gits up now youse'll have a
perhaps, an' den where'll ye be?"

"A 'perhaps'?" repeated Dick, with a puzzled air.

"Yep.  What sick folks gits when dey gits up too quick."

"Oh, you mean a relapse."

"Yep.  Dat's it.  It's de same t'ing.  Now de t'ing fer youse t' do is
t' lay quiet.  I kin make enough money fer both of us, fer a while yet."

"But I want to help."

"Well, maybe when youse gits well I'll take ye in partnership,"
proposed Jimmy, with an air as if he was a millionaire.

"Will you, really?"

"Mebby.  Now don't git all excited.  I'll go out an' bring in some
breakfust.  What'll ye have?"

"I don't feel very hungry.  If I could have an orange, and a cup of
coffee, I think it would be enough."

"Crimps!  Dat's a light meal," said Jimmy.  "I'd starve on dat.  Beans
is de stuff.  Dey're terrible fillin'.  Most generally I eats beans.
Dey's cheap, too."

"I don't think I care for any this morning."

"All right; I'll tell me cook t' prepare youse somethin' light," and
Jimmy, with a bright smile at his joke, left the room, having made a
hasty toilet, washing at the basin in the room.

He soon returned with an orange cut up, some toast, and a cup of
coffee, which he had bought in a near-by restaurant, where he had his
own meal.  Dick said the things tasted good, and he certainly looked
better after the meal.

"Will youse be all right if I goes out t' business?" asked Jimmy, when
Dick had finished.  "Me private secretary is sick t'-day," he added,
"an' I've got t' work meself."

"Don't worry about me," answered Dick.  "I can get along well enough.
I am feeling better all the while."

"All right," announced Jimmy.  "I'll see ye dis noon."

Once more the plucky little newsboy started out.  Business was not so
good that day, and he only made a dollar and fifteen cents, but that
was enough, considering that he had no room rent to pay for the
present, and meals, such as he ate, were cheap.

"I wish I'd meet dat feller--let's see--what was his name?" he mused.
"Crabtree?--no, dat wasn't it--Cross-patch?--no, dat ain't it
needer--Crabapple?--no--Crosscrab?--dat's it.  I wish I'd see him.
Maybe he'd want some more information, an' he'd pay fer it."

But, though he kept a lookout for the young countryman, Jimmy did not
see him as he stood on his favorite corner selling his papers.

He stopped work about six o'clock and went to the lodging-house.  He
found Dick able to be up and around the room, but a trifle weak on his
legs.  "I think I'll be able to go out to-morrow," replied the boy, in
response to a question from Jimmy as to how he felt.

"Dat's good.  De fresh air'll make youse feel better."

Jimmy was puzzled about what to do.  He knew Dick must have come from
some well-to-do home, and he suspected that he had either been
kidnapped or, perhaps, had wandered away and been hurt, thus forgetting
where he lived.

"I s'pose I ought t' tell a cop," thought Jimmy to himself that night
after Dick was asleep.  "Maybe dere's an alarm been sent out fer him
an' his folks is lookin' fer him.  Dat's what I'll do.  I'll tell a
cop."

Dick was not quite so strong the next morning as he thought he would
be, but, aside from a little uncertain feeling on his legs, he was all
right.  That is, not considering his memory, which was as much a blank
as when he had awakened to find himself in the box.

"Wait till this afternoon, an' I'll go out wid youse," proposed Jimmy.
"I'm too busy t' look after ye dis mornin'."

The truth was he did not want Dick to go out and perhaps get lost again
before there was a chance to notify the police, which Jimmy had decided
to do.  If he could keep Dick in that morning, he would find a certain
policeman, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and tell him the
facts.

With this in mind Jimmy set out from the lodging-house, having made
Dick promise not to go away or try to walk in the streets until after
dinner.

Jimmy bought his stock of papers and was selling them on his usual
corner, at the same time keeping watch for the policeman whom he knew
and to whom he intended to speak.  While thus engaged he was approached
by Sam Schmidt, a German newsboy, who was on his way to get a new stock
of journals, having sold out.

"Hello, Schmidty!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "Seen Hennessy dis mornin'?"

Hennessy was the policeman on that beat.

"Nope.  I ain't seed nottings of him.  Vot's der matter?  You vos going
to have someboddies arrested yet?  Hey?"

"No, not dis time, Dutchy.  I want t' ask him some questions."

"Vot about?  Vos you in droubles alretty yet?"

"Me?  Naw.  But anodder kid is."

"So?  Vot it is?"

Jimmy thought it might be a good plan to get the advice of some one on
Dick's case.  He had told neither the lodging-house manager nor the
physician all the facts in the matter, and all they knew was that Dick
was a friend of his who had been hurt and could not remember how it
happened.  So he explained the situation to Sam Schmidt.

"Now what would youse do, in my place?" asked Jimmy.

"Vell," replied the German slowly, "I dinks I vould do nottings."

"Do nuttin'?  Say, what good is dat?"

"Vell, it dis vay," went on Sam.  "Dot feller has goot clothes, you
say?"

"Sure he has."

"Den his folks is rich.  Ain't it?"

"I s'pose so."

"Vell, den, maybe dey'll offer a rewards for him.  Eh?  If you turns
him over to der bolice, der bolice vill git der rewards.  Ain't it?"

"Dat's so.  I never t'ought of dat."

"Sure," went on Sam.  "Now yust you lay low und you sees vot happens
alretty yet."

"Dat's a good idea, Sam," agreed Jimmy.  "I'll say nuttin' fer a few
days.  I ain't much stuck on de cops, anyhow.  Dey might ask me too
many questions.  I'll keep mum fer a few days and see what happens.
But how will I know if dere's a reward offered?"

"Vhy, it'll be in der babers.  Vun't it?"

"Dat's so.  But I can't read, Dutchy."

"So?  Dot's bad.  Den I tell you vot ve do.  I'll keep my vedder eyes
vide opens und ven I sees der rewards notice I'll tell you.  Eh?  How's
dot?"

"Fine!  I'll give you some of the money, Dutchy, if I git any."

"Dot's nice.  Vell, I got t' go me after some more babers.  I hopes you
gits der big rewards.  Likely as not he vos a rich feller und his
fader'll pay big money t' git him back.  Yust you lays low und said
nottings."

"I will, Dutchy.  Here ye're, sir!  Wuxtry!  Full account of de big
murder!  Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!" cried the newsboy, as he saw some possible
customers approaching.

Thus Jimmy thought matters over and decided to keep silent regarding
Dick.  He could not foresee the effect of it, nor what a strange result
was to come from his finding of the boy in the box.




CHAPTER VIII

DIM RECOLLECTIONS

When Jimmy went to the lodging-house that noon, he found Dick ready to
go out.

"Feelin' all right?" asked the newsboy.

"Very fine indeed, thank you.  My head doesn't hurt at all and I think
a walk would do me good.  Can't I go around with you when you sell
papers?  I'd like to learn part of the business now, for I'll have to
do something for a living, and I don't believe I could do much of
anything else."

"Does youse really mean dat?" asked Jimmy suddenly, as a new scheme
came into his head.

"Surely.  Why not?"

"I didn't s'pose a swell-dressed chap like youse would want t' sell
papes."

"I'm afraid I'll not be well dressed very long.  Sleeping in that box
did not improve my clothes, and, as I haven't any more, I'll have to do
something to earn money to buy others.  No, indeed, I'd be only too
glad if I could sell papers as well as you can."

"Oh, dere's lots of fellers what beats me at it, but den dey has
regular stands.  Dat's de way t' do it.  Have a regular stand
somewheres an' customers comes t' youse.  Dat's de way t' make money."

"Then why don't you do that way?" asked Dick Box.

"I ain't got de cash t' start in.  It takes de coin, an' I has t' spend
all I makes t' live on.  At dat I ain't livin' very swell--sleepin' in
a box.  Course it's better since Frank let us have dis room, but he'll
be back t'-morror.  We'll have t' light out den."

"But you have earned some money in the last few days, haven't you?  And
with what little I have we can hire a room.  The rent is not very high,
is it?"

"Nope.  Dollar an' a quarter a week fer dis Frank pays.  But I didn't
s'pose youse 'ud want t' do it."

"Do what?"

"Bunk in wid a chap like me."

"I don't see why not," replied Dick sturdily.  "After what you did for
me I'm not going to lose sight of you so soon as that.  I'll be only
too glad to bunk in with you.  In fact, you are the only person I know."

"Can't youse t'ink anyt'ing about yerself--what yer name is an' where
ye come from?" asked Jimmy eagerly, for he had in mind the possible
reward and he wanted to get a clue as to who Dick's folks might be.

"Not a thing," replied the other, shaking his head a little sadly.  "I
think I had a good home once, for I have a dim recollection of a big
house with lots of ground around it.  And I remember a man and a woman
who were kind to me.  But that's all I can remember, try as hard as I
can.  It seems as if it was many years ago."

Jimmy shook his head in doubt.

"Dem kind of tips ain't goin' t' be any good t' me," he mused.  "I'll
have t' depend on Dutchy.  If he sees anyt'ing in de papes about a
reward he'll tell me.  Den, maybe I kin take Dick dere an' git money
enough t' buy a newspaper stand.  Dat sure would be all to de merry."

"But aren't you going out?" asked Dick, after a pause, during which he
had racked his brain to try and remember more about himself.

"Sure, if youse wants t'," replied Jimmy.  "Come on an' we'll have
grub.  Den it'll be time fer de afternoon extras.  I hope business is
better dan it was yist'day."

The two boys ate in a restaurant near the lodging-house.  Dick's
appetite was good, and though the food was coarse and not served in
very nice style, he ate heartily.

"Don't you like pie?" he asked Jimmy, toward the close of the meal.

"Betcherlife I do."

"Why don't you have some, then?"

"Say, if we is goin' t' hire a room, regular, an' pay rent we can't
have pie," replied the newsboy, "dat is except when ye makes a lot
extra.  Pie is too high livin' fer de likes of newsies."

"Well, suppose we have some to-day," proposed Dick.  "I will stand
treat this time."

"Dat's good," answered Jimmy gratefully.  "I kin eat it all right, but
I was goin' slow on de coin."

"I guess you will have to teach me how to use money," went on Dick, as
the waiter brought two pieces of pie.  "I never earned any in my life,
that I can remember, though I used to spend considerable.  I'll have to
learn business ways now."

"Oh, youse'll learn fast enough," said Jimmy.  "It ain't hard not t'
spend cash when ye ain't got it, an' dat, mostly, is de complaint I
suffer from.  I seen me doctor about it, but he said I'd have t' have a
change of climate.  I kin see meself gittin' dat.  But come on.  De
extras is out now."

Dick followed Jimmy to Newspaper Row, where the latter secured a big
bundle of papers from one of the many delivery wagons that were backed
up to the curb.  Then the newsboy started for his regular stand,
getting there just a little ahead of Bulldog.

"Dis is de time I fooled yer," said Jimmy in triumph.  "Wuxtry!
Wuxtry!" he shouted.  "Git de latest wuxtry!"

Bulldog moved off with a sullen look, glancing at Dick as he did so.

"Wonder where Bricks picked up dat kid?" he thought.

Meanwhile Dick was watching with interest the manner in which Jimmy
disposed of his papers.  Business seemed to be good, as there was quite
a crowd in the street, and many persons bought the extras.

"Can't I help you?" he asked Jimmy, during a lull in the stream of
pedestrians.

"How d'ye mean?"

"Why, sell papers.  Can't I take some and go up and down the street?  I
think I could sell some."

"Sure ye might," replied Jimmy, glad of the offer.  "Here, take a
bunch.  But ye got t' holler loud, or de men won't notice ye.  Shout
out dat dere's a big fire or some terrible accident."

"Is there?  I didn't see anything in the papers about it."

"Course dere ain't, but de men won't know till after dey has paid fer
de paper."

"But that's saying what isn't so."

"Aw, what's de odds?  We all does it, an' de men knows we does it, so
dey ain't fooled."

"I don't like to do that," objected Dick.  "I think a better way would
be to look over the papers, see what the principal articles are about,
and call them out."

"Aw, dat way wouldn't be no good.  What de public wants is t' read
about a big fire or a murder or a suicide.  Dat's what I allers yells
out.  Anyhow, I can't tell what's in de papes."

"You can't?  Why not?"

"'Cause I can't read."

Dick did not pursue his inquiries any further, as he did not want to
hurt Jimmy's feelings.

"Well," he said, "give me some papers and I'll do my best to sell them.
But," he added, with a smile, "I'm not going to say there's a murder if
there isn't."

"Den youse'll not sell any papes."

Dick took an armful of the journals and started down Broadway.  He knew
a little of the run of the streets in that section, as Jimmy had told
him about them, and he knew he would soon be in the financial district,
where the brokers and bankers had their offices.

In spite of his recent accident, and his trouble over forgetting who he
was, Dick had a good head for business, even though it was the first
time he had tried to sell newspapers.  He decided to look over the
front pages and learn just what were the principal items of news.  He
had not forgotten how to read and write, though many other things had
slipped from his recollection.

He saw there was a long article concerning a big bank failure, and
another about an important notice sent out by the United States
Treasurer.

"Those ought to interest the bankers and business men more than murders
and fires," thought Dick.  "I guess I'll call out about those."

He was, naturally, a little bashful about shouting as did the other
newsboys, but he made up his mind that, as he was thrown on his own
resources by a queer trick of fate, he must do his best to earn a
living.

"Here goes," he said, as he approached a group of well-dressed men
standing at Broadway and Cortlandt Street.

"Excuse me," he began, in a clear but not very loud voice, as he stood
near the men, "but would any of you gentlemen like to buy the latest
extra?  It has an account of the failure of the Morrisville Trust
Company and a decision of the United States Treasurer on gold
shipments.  Besides, there is all the latest news."

Probably no regular newsboy in all the big city of New York would have
thought to try that means of selling papers.  All they did was to
shout: "Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!" or "Fire!  Murder!  Suicide!"

"Hello!  What's this?" exclaimed one of the gentlemen, turning around
and beholding Dick.  "What sort of a newsboy is this, who doesn't shout
his head off at you?"

"What did you say about the Morrisville Trust Company?" asked another
gentleman nervously.

"It has failed.  Here is a full account of it," and Dick showed the
paper with the story on the front page, under a big, black heading.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed the man who had asked the question.  "That's
bad for me.  Here!  Give me a paper."

He fairly snatched one from Dick, and tendered him a nickel.

"Give me one, too," requested another of the group.  "I want to read
about that gold statement."

"I'll have one also," added a third man, and soon every one had
purchased a paper.

"Here is your change," said Dick to the one who had given him the
five-cent piece.

"Keep it!" exclaimed the man, not lifting his eyes from the sheet.

Jimmy had told Dick that customers were often thus generous, so the new
newsboy felt it was all right to keep the four cents.  As he walked
away he heard one man say to another:

"That's an intelligent way of selling papers.  I wonder why most of the
boys think they have to yell themselves hoarse about a fire or a
murder?  This is the most important news of the day, but it's the first
time I heard one of the boys mention it."

"You're right," said another.  "That lad looks as if he was fitted for
something better than selling papers."

Then the men began to read the news, and Dick, glad to hear that his
method was thus approved, moved on toward Wall Street.  He found many
newsboys in that district, but he kept to the plan he had made, and in
much less time than he expected he had sold all his papers and started
back to Jimmy for more.

"Youse don't mean t' tell me youse is sold out?" exclaimed his friend
as Dick approached.

"Yes, and I didn't have to yell 'Fire' or 'Murder' once."

"Well, dat gits me!" murmured Jimmy in great astonishment.




CHAPTER IX

THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS

With Dick's intelligent aid Jimmy sold more papers that afternoon than
he had ever before disposed of in a similar time.  The two boys, when
the hour came to stop, since the crowds were about done hurrying toward
the ferries, found that they had quite a goodly sum between them.

"Well, we might as well go git supper an' den we kin take in a
movin'-picture show," said Jimmy.  "I know where dere's a swell one.
Have a cigarette?  Dat's so, I forgot youse didn't smoke.  Well, I'll
light up."

"Are you going back to Frank's room?" asked Dick.

"Sure.  Why not?  Frank won't be here till t'-morror."

"I was thinking we had enough money now to hire a room of our own.  If
we pay a week's rent in advance we'll be sure of a place to stay, and I
must admit I don't like sleeping in boxes."

"It'll take a lot of money t' pay a week's rent," objected Jimmy.  "We
kin hire one by de night, jest as well, an' we'll have more money for
sport."

"Yes, but if it should rain to-morrow and we couldn't sell many papers,
we wouldn't make much money, but if we invest some now, in a room,
we'll be sure of having a dry place to stay."

"Well, mebby youse is right.  I never hire a room by de week, 'cause I
don't often have coin enough, an' when I does, I ginerally goes t' a
show."

"Don't you think it better to get the room?"

"I s'pose so," replied Jimmy a little doubtfully.  Dick was beginning
to take matters into his own hands and he made some propositions that
Jimmy could hardly understand.  For Jimmy took but little thought
ahead.  If he had money enough to live on for one day that satisfied
him, and he let to-morrow take care of itself.  But he was willing, at
least, to try Dick's way.

Accordingly the boys first had supper and then, going to the
lodging-house, inquired of the manager about a room.

"You don't mean to say you're going to get a room by the week, do you,
Jimmy?" asked Mr. Snowden, for he knew the habits of the newsboy, who
often got a bed in the place for a night, but who had never remained
for much longer at a time.

"Sure, me an' me partner wants a good room," was Jimmy's answer.  "We's
got de coin, too, see!" and he rattled the money in his pocket.

"I'm glad you have.  I wish you both would stay here with us regularly.
I had a letter from Frank to-day.  He inquired about you and Dick and
said he would not be back until the end of the week, so you may keep
his room until then, if you like."

"I think it will be better if we have our own room at once," said Dick.

"I am glad to hear you say that," went on the manager.  "There is
nothing like being independent in this world, and though you would be
welcome in Frank's room, I think you will feel more business-like if
you have one of your own.  Eh, Jimmy!"

"Oh, I s'pose so.  Whatever me partner says, dat goes."

"Have you gone into partnership?" asked Mr. Snowden, with a smile.

"We have been thinking of it," replied Dick.  "I sold some papers for
Jimmy to-day, and he said I did well."

"Dat's what he done," declared Jimmy admiringly.  "An' he wouldn't yell
dat dere was a fire ner a murder.  I don't see how he done it."

"I told about the financial news," admitted Dick.

"I should think you two would make a good firm," commented Mr. Snowden.
"Now, if you like, I will show you some rooms."

There was not much choice, as the apartments had to be very small and
plain, since they rented for very small sums to the poor boys.  The
beds were hardly large enough for two persons.

"We have one larger room with two cots in it," said the manager, "but
that rents for a dollar and a half a week; twenty-five cents more than
the others.  I don't suppose you would care for that."

"I think we would," said Dick quickly.  Somehow he liked the idea of a
bed by himself, though Jimmy was unusually clean for a newsboy without
a home, as he frequently went to the public baths.

"Will that suit you, Jimmy?" asked Mr. Snowden, for he wanted to be
certain both boys would be pleased.

"Sure.  Whatever me partner says goes," was the answer, given with a
wave of his hand, as though he and Dick were millionaires.

Mr. Snowden took them to the room.  It was a fairly good one, and had,
besides the two beds, or cots, a wash-stand with a bowl and pitcher,
two chairs, and a rocker.

"Say, dis is dead swell!" exclaimed Jimmy, taking a seat in the rocker
and moving backward and forward.  "De Astor House and de
Waldorf-Astoria ain't got nuttin' t' beat dis.  Dis is all to de merry."

"I'm glad you like it," said Dick.  "I think we'll take it, Mr.
Snowden.  Here is the rent."  It was all Dick had left out of the money
he had in his pocket when he awoke to find himself in the box.

"Hold on!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "We'll go whacks on dis.  I'll pay me
share."

"If you are going to be partners why don't you put all your money
together and let one of you be the treasurer?  Then you can keep track
of your expenses," suggested the manager.

"Dat's a good idea," declared Jimmy.  "Here, Dick, take what I got an'
settle de bills.  Youse kin be treasurer an' I'll be de general
manager.  I can't sign any checks, so dat's de best way."

"I'm afraid it will be a good while before I can sign any checks,
either," replied Dick.  "But, if you wish, I will take charge of the
money.  That is if you trust me."

"Surest t'ing ye know!" exclaimed Jimmy.  "Now, dat's settled, I'll
send fer me trunks.  Most of me wardrobe is at de tailor's gittin'
pressed, but I'll tell him t' send it around here."

"All right," said Mr. Snowden with a laugh, as he took the money for
the first week's rent from Dick.  "I hope you boys will like it here
and will be successful.  If there is anything I can do to help you be
sure to let me know."

"We will," promised Dick.

The two boys looked at each other for several moments when Mr. Snowden
had left.  It was a new experience for both of them.  Dick, of course,
could not tell much about himself, but he felt sure he had never lived
in such a place as this, though he was far from despising the simple
room.  As for Jimmy, never had he expected to live in such comparative
luxury.  He actually had a place he could call "home."

"Were you in earnest when you said we would go in partnership?" asked
Dick, after a pause.

"Sure.  Why not?  Any kid that kin sell papes de way youse kin, not
yellin' about a fire or a murder, kin be a partner wid me as long as he
likes.  I'm willin' if youse is.  We've got money now t' take us troo
de week an' stack up wid papes every day.  Sure, we'll be partners, if
youse likes de idea."

"I certainly do, but I can't be sure of selling as many papers every
day as I sold to-day.  I did better than I thought I would."

"Don't let dat worry youse.  Everybody is down on deir luck once in a
while.  What d'ye say?  Is it a go?"

"As far as I'm concerned, yes.  I'm much obliged to you for taking me
into the firm."

"Oh, dat's all right.  Don't mention it.  If youse hear of any of dem
millionaires in Wall Street wantin' an interest, tell 'em de place is
filled."

Thus Jimmy Small and Dick Box (as we must continue to call the strange
lad for a time) formed a newsboy partnership that was destined to have
a greater influence on their lives than either of them suspected.




CHAPTER X

AN ENCOUNTER WITH CONROY

"Well, now we's settled in our mansion," said Jimmy, "s'pose we takes a
night off an' goes t' see a show."

"What kind?"

"Well, we kin git under de roof fer a quarter at a regular theater, or
we kin git a seat in de top gallery of a continuous performance fer
fifteen coppers.  Den dere's de movin'-picture shows dat cost a nickel.
I generally takes dem in, 'cause I ain't allers so flush wid de coin as
I am now.  What d'ye say t' a movin'-picture show?"

"I've no objections.  I never saw one.  What are they like?"

"Never saw one!  Crimps!  If I didn't see a show once in a while I'd
feel like a dead one!"

"That is, I suppose I never saw one," went on Dick, with a puzzled
look.  "Of course I can't remember what happened before--before I got
to the box," he added with a smile.

"Well, we'll take in a movin'-picture show, an' mebby youse kin
remember if youse ever saw one before."

"All right," agreed Dick, and they started out together.

The Bowery was ablaze with lights and there was quite a crowd in the
street.  It was the first night Dick had been out since his illness,
and, before that, he could not remember having seen New York lighted
up.  He was much interested in everything he saw.

"Wait a minute," exclaimed Jimmy, as they passed a tobacco store.
"I've got t' git some cigarettes.  I'm all out."

He hurried inside, and came out smoking one, putting the remainder of
the box in his pocket.

"I don't see why youse don't take a smoke," he said to Dick.

"I suppose because I never learned how.  Do you like it?"

"Do I?  Say, it's all to de merry.  Better have one."

"No, thank you.  I don't think it's a good thing for boys to smoke."

"Why not?"

"I've read somewhere that it makes them stunted.  And it isn't good for
their brains."

"Huh!  It ain't hurt me none."

"How long have you been smoking?"

"Ever since I was twelve, an' I'm goin' on sixteen now.  I keep right
on growin'.  Course I ain't sayin' much of me brain, but den I guess I
never had much."

"I think you are very bright and quick," said Dick with earnestness.
"If you want to get on in the world I wouldn't think smoking would be
good for you."

"Aw, all de kids does it.  An' look at de men.  Why, I seen a
millionaire once an' he was smokin' a big black cigar."

"Perhaps; but I don't believe he smoked when he was a boy."

"Aw, sure he did.  Smokin's fun."

"I wish you'd give it up," went on Dick.  "It must cost you something."

"Oh, not much.  Only a nickel a day.  Crimps!  I knows some fellers dat
smokes three packs a day."

"That is too many, even for a man, I would think.  But if you only
spent five cents a day, that's thirty-five cents a week."

"All dat?" inquired Jimmy.  "I never s'posed it was so high.  Maybe I'm
spendin' too much."

"Thirty-five cents is nearly a quarter of the amount we pay a week for
our room," went on Dick.

"Well, I'll cut down some," promised Jimmy, "but I ain't goin' t' stop
altogedder."

Dick wisely forebore to pursue the matter any further.  By this time
they were at the place where the moving pictures were shown, and Dick,
who had most of the money, though Jimmy kept some, bought two tickets.

"Dere's a friend of mine.  I want t' speak t' him," said Jimmy as they
entered the place, for the performance had not yet begun after the last
intermission.  The newsboy saw Sam Schmidt in the next aisle.

"Say, Dutchy," he asked in a whisper, "did youse see anyt'ing about dat
reward fer me friend yet?"

"No, not yet," replied the German youth.  "I keeps lookin' in der
baber, but I ain't seed nottings about no rewards fer der poy.  Dere is
a rewards fer a mans, und vun fer a vomans, but not any for dot poy.
But vait, don't give him up t' der bolice yet."

"I ain't goin t'.  Him an' me is partners."

"Dot's right.  Keep him safe py you, und mebby you'll git moneys for
him.  I'll keep on der vatch out."

"Dat's right, Dutchy.  Say, youse ain't seen nuttin' of Mike Conroy
lately, have youse?"

"Sure, I seen him und dot dog feller out in der street a vhile agos.  I
dinks dey vos comin's in here."

"What dog feller?"

"Der vun dey calls Bulldogs."

"Oh, him.  Well, I've got somethin' t' settle with Mike Conroy.  I
t'ink he robbed me."

Suddenly the lights were turned off, and the man in charge of the
picture machine prepared to operate it.  Jimmy made his way back to
where Dick sat, his conversation with the German newsboy not having
been overheard.

"I hope dey have a prize-fight or a robbery picture," said Jimmy.

"Do you like those best?" asked Dick.

"Bettcherlife!  Dem's bully.  Dey have one scene where a feller gits a
knockout blow right in de middle of de ring, an' youse kin see him fall
over, dead to de woild.  Den dere's annuder where a feller shoots
fifteen Injuns out West."

"I think I'd like something quieter, like scenes of travel in foreign
lands."

"Oh, dey uster have dem, but de fellers hissed when dey was showed an'
dey took 'em off."

The pictures now began, and Dick was much interested in one showing the
fire department in action.  It was very realistic, though of course it
was all arranged purposely for the picture machines, and the woman
jumping from the window of a burning building, though it looked very
real and dangerous, was only an imitation.  Dick at first did not
realize this, but Jimmy, who had acquired a fund of knowledge on these
points, enlightened him.

There was some singing by a performer after this picture, and when the
lights were turned up Jimmy saw, sitting not far from him, Mike Conroy
and his crony, Bulldog.

"Dere he is!" he exclaimed when the singer had finished.

"Who?" asked Dick.

"A feller I t'ink robbed me.  I'm goin' t' tackle him after de show."

"Are you going to fight?"

"I will if youse'll stand by me."

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a fighter.  I'd rather not."

"Well, mebby it's just as well, 'cause Mike an' Bulldog could lick de
both of us.  But I'll tell him he robbed me."

During the performance Jimmy smoked several cigarettes, as did nearly
every one else in the place, until the room was so thick with the vapor
that it was hard to see the pictures clearly, and it was difficult for
Dick to breathe.

"Dey didn't have no prize-fight, an' dat robbery picture was rotten,"
declared Jimmy when the performance was over, and the two boys made
their way out.  "I ain't comin' here no more."

"I don't believe I will either," declared Dick with a cough.

"Don't youse like it?"

"Oh, yes, some of the pictures were very interesting, but I could
hardly breathe on account of the smoke."

"Oh, youse'll git used t' dat," declared Jimmy.  "If youse took a
cigarette yerself youse wouldn't mind it."

"I'm afraid that wouldn't make much difference.  But it's nice out
here."

"Wait till I see if I kin spot Mike," proposed Jimmy, and they took
their position near the doorway.  Soon Bulldog and his crony came out.

"Hey, Conroy," began Jimmy, stepping up to the larger youth.  "What'd
youse do wid me money?"

"Your money?  What's de kid talkin' about?" and Mike turned to Bulldog.

"Search me," was the answer.  "Hit him a poke an' come on."

"You hit me an' I'll tell dat cop over dere," threatened Jimmy,
motioning toward a bluecoat.  "Youse swiped some chink offen me, Mike,
an' I want it."

"Aw, fergit it," advised the other.  "Who says I took any of your
money?  You never had any."

"I had more'n a dollar an' a half when I was here t' de show last time,
an' youse an' Bulldog sat behind me.  When I come out I didn't have a
red cent left."

"An' youse t'ink I took it!" exclaimed Mike.  "Say, youse has nerve,
youse has."

"Gimme de money," demanded Jimmy.

"I'll give ye a poke in de ribs if ye bodders me any more!" cried
Conroy, making a dart toward Jimmy as he saw that the policeman was
moving away.

"Aw, who's afraid of youse?" asked Jimmy boldly, but he looked to see
if a way of retreat was clear.  The instant his head was turned Mike
made a rush for him and hit Jimmy in the face.  Then before the boy
could strike back at him Conroy had dodged away and was off down the
street, running, while Bulldog Smouder followed.  Mike was not going to
risk remaining after hitting Jimmy when there was a policeman within
call.

"Did he hurt you much?" asked Dick sympathetically.

"Naw," bravely replied Jimmy.  "Wait till I git him off alone somewhere
an' I'll have a try at lickin' him.  I'll practice up an' see if I
can't do him."

Then to console his wounded spirit, as well as to forget the pain of
the blow, for it had been a hard one, Jimmy lighted another cigarette.




CHAPTER XI

PLANNING A TRICK

While Jimmy and Dick went to their room in the lodging-house, Mike
Conroy and Bulldog Smouder, after turning a corner and finding there
was no pursuit after them, slackened their pace.

"What'd youse run for?" asked Bulldog.  "I'd 'a' helped if it come t' a
fight."

"Aw, Bricks can't fight me," replied Mike.  "But I didn't want dat cop
t' see me.  He's been lookin' fer me."

"Fer what?"

"Aw, he t'inks I swiped some fruit offen an Italian's stand, an' de
<DW55> made a complaint ag'inst me."

"Did youse take any?"

"Jest a few bananas.  But don't say nuttin'."

"Course not.  I didn't squeal when youse took Bricks' coin, did I?"

"Go easy on dat," advised Mike.  "Somebody might hear.  I give youse
half, anyhow."

"I know dat.  Dat's why I didn't squeal."

"Say, I wonder who dat well-dressed guy was wid Bricks?" went on Mike.
"I seen him t'-day sellin' papes wid him."

"I don't know.  Maybe Dutchy does."

"How would he know?"

"I seen Jimmy talkin' t' him kinder serious jest as we come in
t'-night."

"Where does Dutchy hang out?"

"Down on Mulberry Street.  Why?"

"Let's find him an' see if he knows anyt'ing about de new kid wid
Bricks," proposed Bulldog.  "Dere's somethin' funny about him.  Why,
he's a reg'lar swell, an' travelin' wid Jimmy looks queer."

"What do youse t'ink it is?"

"I've got a suspicion he might have runned away from home t' see life
in a great city as it's played in de theaters."

"Well, suppose he has?"

"Maybe we kin pipe his folks off as t' where he is an' git a reward."

"Dat's so!  Bully fer you, Bulldog.  Come on, we'll see if we can spot
Dutchy."

The two plotters found the German newsboy after a little search.
Bulldog had agreed to do the talking.

"Hello, Dutchy," he greeted.  "Say, don't youse want a cigarette?"

"Sure.  I ain't had no luck dese days, und I ain't got no money fer
smokes."

"Well, here's a couple," went on Bulldog, for he wanted to get on the
right side of the other lad.

"Ach!  Now I feels petter alretty yet," announced Sam as he lighted the
cigarette, for he, like nearly all the other newsboys, was addicted to
smoking.

"I saw Jimmy Small an' his new partner t'-night," went on Bulldog.
"It's a wonder dat new kid don't go back home."

"Home?  Did youse know vere his home vos?" asked the German, thinking
from Bulldog's remark that he must know something of Dick.

"Well, maybe I do.  What do youse know about him?"

"Vos dere a rewards for him in de baber?" asked Sam in his turn.  "I
vos lookin' fer it, but I don't see any."

"I don't know; but what did you hear about him?  He's got a swell home,
I understand, an' his dad wants him t' come back."

"I knowed he vould!" exclaimed Sam.  "Tell me, vere is his home?  I
goes me und dells Jimmy.  He is goin' to divide der rewards mit me."

"Where'd he pick up de kid?" asked Bulldog, determined to get all the
information he could without disclosing the fact that he knew nothing
of Dick.

The German lad, who had been deceived by Bulldog's manner, readily told
all he knew of Dick, and how he had been found.  Bulldog and his crony
exchanged glances.

"Now tells me vere his home is und I tells it t' Jimmy," went on Sam.
"We must hurry t' git der rewards pefore der bolice."

"Aw, I don't know anyt'ing about him," replied Bulldog with a laugh.
"I was only foolin' youse."

"Foolin'!  So?  Dot's a yoke, hey?  Vell, I'm sorry I told you
anydings, und I'll tells Jimmy t' be on der lookouts by you both
alretty yet."

"Oh, dat's all right," spoke Bulldog quickly, for he did not want Jimmy
to learn he had been making inquiries concerning Dick.  "I didn't t'ink
you'd mind, Dutchy.  Here, have some more cigarettes, an' t'-morrow
night we'll take youse t' a show."

"Is dot some more foolin's?" asked the German boy suspiciously.

"Naw, dat's de straight goods; won't we, Mike?"

"Sure."

"Dot's all right, den.  I vun't say noddings.  But it's queer about dot
Dick Box.  He has forgotten all about hisself, und he don't even know
vot his own name is.  Ach!  Dot's a yoke, too, I dinks!" and the German
boy, laughing himself back into good nature, left the two plotters.

"Well, what next?" asked Mike of his crony, after Sam's departure.

"I don't know exactly.  I've got t' t'ink it out.  But I'll bet we kin
find out where de kid belongs an' git dat reward away from Jimmy.  He
don't know nuttin'.  He can't read or write."

"No, but Dutchy kin, an' maybe he'll help him.  Youse heard what he
said about lookin' fer a reward in de papers."

"Oh, dat's all right.  I'll fix Dutchy.  I'll give him a song an'
dance, an' he won't know whether he's standin' on his head or his feet.
Youse leave Dutchy t' me.  I'll 'tend t' him."

"All right.  Go ahead; but I git half de reward."

"Sure.  Ain't we pals?"

"What ye goin' t' do foist?"

"I'm goin' t' have a talk wid de police."

"Dat'll give de whole t'ing away."

"Naw.  Not de way I do it.  I knows a detective, an' I kin find out on
de quiet if dere's any alarm out fer a boy answerin' Dick's
description.  Dat's what I'll do foist."

Meanwhile Dick and Jimmy, all unconscious of the plot against them,
were in their new room discussing plans for the next day.




CHAPTER XII

DICK BECOMES A TEACHER

For several days Dick and Jimmy did well as partners in the newspaper
business.  There happened to be considerable news, and there was a good
demand for papers.  Consequently the boys sold a large number and their
earnings were considerable.

"Crimps!  But we'll be millionaires if dis keeps on," remarked Jimmy
one night, when they were in their room counting up their cash.

"Hardly that," replied Dick, "but we have enough for our next week's
room rent, sufficient to live on and three dollars besides.  I think we
had better open a bank account with that."

"A bank account?"

"Yes; why not?  Frank Merton told me about the Dime Savings Bank, where
he puts his money."

On Frank's return from Brooklyn he had renewed his acquaintance with
Dick, and the two boys had taken quite a liking to one another.

"Well, youse is de treasurer of dis firm," replied Jimmy.  "If youse
t'inks a bank account is de proper t'ing, why, go ahead an' open it.  I
guess I kin stand it if youse kin."

"It will be a good thing in case we have bad luck.  We'll have
something to fall back on for our room rent."

"All right, sport," exclaimed Jimmy, who occasionally did not use
Dick's name in speaking to him, calling him whatever he happened to
think of in the way of street slang.  "Go ahead, cully.  I'm game."

So the next day Dick opened a bank account in his name, as Jimmy could
not sign the book, a fact of which the newsboy was not at all ashamed.
Nor could he read more than the titles of the different papers he
carried, and these were distinguished by him more by the different
kinds of type than by the difference in letters.

Dick's fear about poor business was justified.  A heavy rain storm took
place that afternoon, just at the time when the extras came out.  It
seemed as if every one got in out of the wet, and there were few
persons on the street to buy papers.  The rain kept up until long after
dark, and the two partners, who had to go out rain or shine, found they
had not sold ten papers between them.

"Dis is de time we're up ag'inst it," remarked Jimmy rather dismally as
they took back to the newspaper offices the unsold copies and started
for their room.

"Well, we can't always expect to do as good business as we did at
first.  Anyhow, we don't have to worry about our room rent nor our
supper.  To-morrow we'll probably do better."

"Let's take in a show," proposed Jimmy.  "I feel sort of low in me
mind, an' a good show'll cheer me up."

"Do you think we can afford it?  We haven't made our expenses to-day,
and I don't believe we should waste any money on a show.  We ought to
wait until we have had better luck.  Of course half the money is yours,
and you can do as you please.  Only I'm not going to spend any of mine
on a show.  Besides, we saw one this week."

"Well, maybe I'd better stay home den," agreed Jimmy with a sigh.
"Anyhow, I've got some cigarettes an' I'll have a smoke."

"Jimmy," said Dick with a sudden resolve, "I wish you'd do me a favor."

"Sure.  What is it?"

"Don't be so quick to promise until you hear what it is.  Perhaps
you'll not want to do it."

"Why, I'd do anyt'ing fer youse, Dick."

"Will you give up smoking?"

"What's dat?" asked Jimmy suddenly, pausing in the act of lighting his
cigarette.

"I wish you would stop smoking.  It can't do you any good, and I'm sure
it must do you harm."

"Stop smokin'?  Say, I--I don't believe I kin.  Honest I don't.  Seems
like whenever I feel bad a cigarette makes me feel fine."

"That's just the trouble.  You will get to depend on them to make you
feel good, and you'll have to keep on smoking more and more as you grow
older."

"Aw, what's de harm?  All de kids does it, an' look at de men."

"I know plenty of them do, but I don't believe any of them can say it
benefits them.  I read in the paper the other day that a doctor said it
was very injurious for boys to smoke.  I saved the article.  You ought
to read it."

"Huh!  I can't read me own name."

"Oh, excuse me.  I didn't mean to make you feel bad," spoke Dick
quickly.  "I forgot you couldn't read."

"Dat's all right, cully.  Me feelin's ain't hurted."

"Would you like to read?" asked Dick as an idea came to him.

"Say, would I?  Betcherlife I would.  But I don't s'pose I ever kin
learn."

"I don't see why not."

"How could I?  Who'd teach a newsie like me t' read?"

"I would, Jimmy, if you wanted me to."

"No kiddin'?"

"No 'kidding,' as you call it.  I would like to very much."

"Does ye t'ink I kin learn?"

"I don't see why not.  You are bright and quick, and you have a good
memory, for you know where almost every street in New York is located."

"Oh, dat's easy; but dem letters--every one looks so much alike dat I
never kin tell 'em apart."

"Oh, they are all different, as I can soon show you.  Will you try?"

"Sure I will.  Crimps!  But t'ink of me learnin' t' read!"

"And why don't you include writing while you're about it?" asked Dick
with a smile.

"Writin'?  Say, if I lived t' be a hundred years old I might learn t'
scribble me own name, but dat's all."

"Oh, no.  I am sure you could learn to read and write.  If you like I
will teach you both."

"Start in den!" exclaimed Jimmy with the air of a martyr.  "De sooner
de quicker.  Say, tell ye what I'll do," he added as he put back in the
box the cigarette he had not lighted.  "If youse kin teach me t' read
an' write I'll--I'll stop smokin'."

"Really?" asked Dick, much delighted.

"Sure.  I guess I kin, but I'd like a cigarette awful jest now.  Maybe
if I smoke one now I kin quit easier."

"If you are going to stop, you might as well stop at once," said Dick
firmly, for he wanted to reform his partner if he could.

"All right," agreed Jimmy with a sigh, and he put the box of cigarettes
back in his pocket.

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Dick.

"I'll give 'em t' Dutchy.  He smokes."

"Throw them away.  It isn't good for Sam to smoke, and you shouldn't
give him the chance."

This proposition was almost too much for Jimmy, used as he was to the
life of the streets, but he had started on a new line of conduct and,
at least for a time, he was going to follow it.

He hesitated a moment, and then, with something like a sigh of regret,
he went to the window of the room and tossed the box out into the air
court.  The cigarettes fell to the pavement below, where the rain soon
spoiled them.

"Now for the first lesson," said Dick.  "We'll begin on the letters,"
and finding in an old newspaper an advertisement where the print was
large, he began to teach Jimmy the rudiments of reading.

[Illustration: "We'll begin on the letters," said Dick.  _Page_ 92]

The newsboy was eager to learn, and as Dick was an enthusiastic
teacher, the lesson went on surprisingly well.  It was nearly midnight
before they stopped, so quickly did the time pass.

"How do you like it?" asked Dick as they got ready for bed.

"It's--it's kinder queer," replied Jimmy.  "I can't seem to remember
whether de cross piece of de letter T is on de top or on de bottom, an'
I've clean forgot which is knocked flat on de side--de D or de O."

"Oh, you'll soon remember all that.  Don't be discouraged.  It will
come in time," said Dick encouragingly; and then the two newsboy
partners said good-night and crawled between the blankets.




CHAPTER XIII

BULLDOG QUESTIONS DICK

Business was better for the two boys the next day, as the rain had
ceased and there was a lively demand for papers.  As soon as the first
rush was over Jimmy, who was as usual at his place at Broadway and
Barclay Street, turned to an advertisement in one of the papers and
began to pick out the letters.  He was engaged in this occupation when
a man stopped in front of him, but at first Jimmy did not see him.

"Aren't you selling any papers to-day?" asked the man.

"Sure," replied Jimmy, alive in an instant to business.  "_Sun, Woild,
Herald, Times, Joinal_--why--why----" he exclaimed as he looked up and
saw Mr. Crosscrab, the young man from Vermont, standing in front of him.

"I see you remember me," said Mr. Crosscrab, smiling.

"Dat's what I do.  Did youse git t' Brooklyn all right?"

"Yes, and when I got there I found my aunt very sick.  That is why I
haven't been back to New York.  This is the first chance I have had to
come over, and I took the opportunity of looking for you."

"Well, I'm right on de job.  Have a paper?"

"I'll take a _Sun_," and the countryman handed Jimmy a nickel.

"Dat's all right," replied the newsboy in a spirit of generosity.
"Have one on me."

"Are you giving papers away?"

"To me friends, yep."

"Well, I don't expect to get my news that way, though I'm glad you
consider me a friend.  I insist on paying for this."

"But didn't youse give me a quarter?"

"That was for information furnished.  I consider I got twenty-five
cents' worth from you.  Now I want to buy a paper.  If you won't sell
it, I'll get one from some other boy."

"Well, if youse puts it dat way I'll take de coin," said Jimmy, though
he honestly wanted Mr. Crosscrab to take a paper for nothing.

"How have you been since I last saw you?" asked the young man.

"Fine.  I've got a partner in me business now."

"Is that so?  Who is he?"

"Dick Box."

"Dick Box?  What a strange name."

"Well, I found him in a queer place--in a box--so I give him dat name.
He don't know any udder."

"That's odd.  Well, I am going up to Central Park.  Which is the best
way to get there?"

Jimmy gave the necessary directions.

"I'd like to have you come along," proposed Mr. Crosscrab, who had
taken quite a liking to Jimmy.

"Can't leave me business.  Me partner'd git mad if I made him do all de
work."

"No, probably it wouldn't be right.  Well, perhaps I will see him some
day and take you both along.  I need a guide to show me around New
York.  I suppose you would come if I made it worth your while?"

"I'll have t' speak t' me partner," replied Jimmy with a laugh.

"Where do you live?"

"Newsboys' Lodgin' House.  We've got a regular room, an' we're dead
swell.  Come an' see us."

"Perhaps I will some time," and with a pleasant smile Mr. Crosscrab
bade Jimmy good-by.

"Dick Box," mused the country young man as he walked away.  "That is
certainly an odd name.  I used to know a boy named Dick, but his last
name wasn't Box nor anything like it."

During this time Dick was selling papers in the financial district.  He
found that it was an advantage to follow his method of calling the
attention of the bankers and brokers to news in which they were
interested rather than to more sensational items.

He sold nearly as many papers as did Jimmy, who had years of experience
to his credit.  Dick soon became well known as a newsboy in the moneyed
section of the city, and many rich men bought their papers regularly
from him.  His frank and courteous manners, and the quiet,
business-like way in which he went about gained him a number of friends.

It also gained him enemies among the other newsboys, who did not like
to see their territory invaded by a newcomer, especially one who did so
well.

But as the financial district was patroled by several policemen and
detectives to prevent robberies, none of the jealous newsboys dared
attack Dick and engage him in a fight, which a number of them wanted to
do to pay him back for taking some of their trade away.

Dick was doing nothing wrong, and he knew it.  The streets were free,
and if he could sell papers by his own methods, he knew he was within
his rights.

Still there was much feeling against him, and among those who
considered him their especial enemy was Bulldog Smouder.  He had often
sold newspapers in Wall Street, and he noted a falling off in his sales
since Dick's advent.  Bulldog's method was like that of his companions.
He would yell out at the top of his voice, and call some piece of news
which might or might not be true.  And whatever it was, he mumbled his
words so that no one could understand him.  Whenever he saw a man put
his hand in his pocket he would assume that the man wanted a paper, and
he would rush up and thrust one in his face.

On one occasion a gentleman who frequently bought a paper of Dick
approached him, putting his hand in his pocket to extract a coin.  The
motion was observed by Bulldog, who rushed forward with such eagerness
that he ran into the man.

"Here!  What are you trying to do!" exclaimed the customer.

"Wuxtry!  Don't youse want a wuxtry?  All de latest news!" exclaimed
the big newsboy.

"Certainly I want a paper, but I prefer to buy it of this lad," and he
purchased one from Dick.

"I'll fix youse fer dis!" threatened Bulldog when the man had gone.
Perhaps he might have undertaken to chastise Dick then and there had it
not been for the presence of a big policeman on the next corner.

"What have I done?" asked Dick.

"Youse is takin' all me customers away."

"I didn't do anything to induce that man to buy of me."

"Yes, youse did."

"What did I do?"

"Well, I don't know what it was, but youse has got t' git outer here.
Dis is me stampin' ground, an' I want youse t' git."

"Suppose I don't?" asked Dick, who was not afraid, even if Bulldog was
the larger.

"Well, you'll see.  Who are youse, anyhow?  Comin' t' N'York an'
buttin' in here where youse ain't wanted.  Why don't youse go back
home?"

"I would if I knew where my home was," spoke Dick quietly, for he made
no secret of his queer plight.

"Say, kid, honest, don't youse remember anyt'ing about yerself?" asked
Bulldog with a sudden assumption of friendliness, for he happened to
remember the conversation he and Mike Conroy had had concerning Dick,
and he thought this a good chance to further the plot which the two had
made.

"I can remember very little about what happened before I met Jimmy
Small."

"Don't youse know what kind of a place youse lived in?"

"I haven't the least idea."

"An' can't youse remember yer own name?"

"Only the first part of it."

"Well, dat's a queer go!  Would youse like t' git back home, kid?"

"Indeed I would.  Why, do you know anything about me?  My mind seems in
a daze whenever I try to think about it.  If you know anything, please
tell me."

"Naw, I don't know nuttin'.  Say, youse didn't run away, did youse?
Youse ain't comin' no game like dat, is yer?"

"No, certainly not," replied Dick, his face flushing at the insinuation.

"Well, dat's queer," murmured Bulldog as he turned away.  Then he
started suddenly as he saw coming toward him a man whom he knew.  It
was a detective from police headquarters, and Bulldog had frequently
given the man information about petty thieves.

"Say," said Bulldog in a low tone to the detective as the latter
reached him, "I want t' ask youse a few questions.  Come in here," and
he motioned to a hallway.  The detective, who was inclined to be
friendly with the newsboy, thinking he might have some future use for
him, complied, and soon the two were in conversation.




CHAPTER XIV

JIMMY'S FURTHER PROGRESS

Meanwhile Dick, all unconscious of the plot being woven about him,
continued to sell his papers.  When he was out he went to the delivery
wagon and got more, and he remained in the financial district until
three o'clock, when, as that marks the close of the day's business,
there was not much chance to sell any more papers.

Then he went up to report to Jimmy and help him dispose of his stock by
circulating around City Hall Park and the streets leading to the
ferries.

"Well, dis ain't so bad," remarked Jimmy as they went to supper that
evening, calculating on the way how much they had taken in.

"No, indeed," said his partner.  "If this keeps on we can soon start a
regular stand."

"Crimps!  Dat would be fine!  But I guess we'll have t' have more money
saved up.  All de good places is taken, and we'd have t' buy somebody
out."

"Oh, yes, we'll have to have more money," agreed Dick.  "But if all
goes well we can put another dollar in the bank this week."

"Dat's de stuff.  Crimps! but I'm hungry!  Guess I'll have a----"
Jimmy stopped suddenly as he put his hand in his pocket.

"What's the matter?  Lost your money?" asked Dick anxiously.

"Nope.  I was jest goin'--jest goin' t' smoke a cigarette, but I
forgot----"

"I'm glad you remembered in time.  Do you find it hard to give them up?"

"It's kinder hard--jest now."

"Then come on, let's hurry up and have supper and you'll not think of
smoking."

"All right," Jimmy agreed, but it was quite a struggle for the lad.
The cigarette habit had taken more of a hold on him than he supposed,
and he felt that he must smoke.  But he determined to keep his word,
and as he was a boy of some strength of character, in spite of his
surroundings, he did not readily give in to the temptation.

After supper the reading lesson was resumed, and Dick also began to
instruct his pupil in the mysteries of writing.  It was not easy work,
but Dick was not discouraged.

Jimmy had one merit, he really wanted to learn; for he was sharp and
shrewd, and he saw what an advantage it was to Dick to be able to read
and call out intelligently the items of news.  In this way Dick could
sell as many papers as could Jimmy, and with half the effort, for Jimmy
made himself hoarse with his frequent cries of "Wuxtry!"  Then, too,
Jimmy was aware of how much better off he was since he had formed a
partnership with Dick.  He actually had money in the bank, a thing he
never dreamed of before, and he had a good room, which formerly was
such a rare occurrence for him that he could count on the fingers of
one hand the number of times it had happened since he had had to shift
for himself.  So Jimmy determined to do his best to learn to read and
write.

In a week the newsboy knew the alphabet, and could spell a few simple
words.  The writing came slower, but he was making progress.

Then another improvement took place.  As he learned to spell the words
he also learned how to pronounce them correctly.  He saw that "the"
spelled a different word from "de," as he was accustomed to pronounce
it, and he began to practise using "this" and "then" in place of "dis"
and "den."

"There!" exclaimed Jimmy triumphantly one night as he looked at a piece
of paper.  "There's me name!" and he looked at it proudly, for it was
written after a severe effort on his part.  "Did I speak right den--I
mean then?" he asked.

"Very nearly, except that you said 'me name' instead of 'my name',
Jimmy."

"Dat's so--I mean that's so.  Well, what do youse think of me--I mean
my writin'?"

"It's very good; but if you want to speak correctly, don't say 'youse'
for you, and put a final 'g' on your words that need it."

"Crimps! but dat's--I mean that's a lot to remember," he answered with
a sigh.

"You're not sorry you're learning, though, are you?"

"Betcher life I ain't."

He gave a sudden start.

"I s'pose I shouldn't say that," he added.

"Well, I don't know that it's any particular harm," answered Dick.
"It's slang, and when you grow up to be a man I don't suppose you'll
like to use slang.  The trouble is, as I've read, it's hard to break
off the habit.  So I suppose it's best to start young."

"Dat's--I mean that's what it is.  I'm goin'--there, I dropped another
'g'--I'm going to try," and Jimmy spoke very slowly.

"You're doing very well," complimented his young teacher.  "I wish I
was making some progress myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'd like to find out who I am.  Sometimes in the night I get to
thinking about it, and I feel quite badly.  I think I must have
some--some folks somewhere, and maybe they're anxious about me."

"Don't any of it come back to youse--I mean you?" asked Jimmy
sympathetically.

"Not the least.  I've tried and tried again, but all I can remember is
a big house somewhere with lots of ground around it and a man and a
lady who were good to me.  I seem to remember driving a horse once."

"Maybe you worked as a driver," suggested Jimmy, "and a horse kicked
you.  That's how your head was hurt, maybe."

"I don't believe so.  I don't remember working anywhere.  I wish there
was some way of finding out about myself."

Jimmy felt a sudden twinge of his conscience.  Perhaps it was his fault
that Dick had not been able to discover the secret of the mystery that
surrounded him.  Jimmy had said nothing to the police about the boy,
and Sam Schmidt had not read of any reward being offered for
information of a missing lad.  Jimmy determined to make amends.

"Dick, I've got somethin' to tell you," he said, speaking slowly and
more correctly than he ever talked before.  "Maybe it's my fault that
you don't know who you are."

"Your fault?  How do you mean?"

And then Jimmy, feeling very much ashamed of himself, told of how he
had kept silent, hoping that a reward would be offered.

"I'm--I'm awful sorry," he concluded.  "I feel real mean about it,
Dick, for you've been so good to me an' have done so much for me."

For a few seconds Dick said nothing.  The disclosure was quite a shock
to him.  But he did not blame Jimmy, for he realized that the boy did
not know any better.

"Do you think the police would know anything about me, Jimmy?" asked
Dick at length.

"Maybe they would.  Come on, we'll go to headquarters," replied Jimmy,
anxious to make up for lost time.

It did not take the two boys long to reach police headquarters in
Mulberry Street.  Jimmy felt a little diffident about going into that
dreaded place, of which he had heard so much, and the brass-buttoned
sergeant sitting behind the brass railing looked very stern, but the
newsboy mustered up courage to enter.  As for Dick, he was filled with
a nervous excitement.

The story was soon told, and the sergeant at once took an interest in
Dick's queer plight.  He questioned the youth carefully, but, as we
know, Dick could tell little about himself.  The sergeant went over the
books from the time Jimmy had found his partner in the box, but there
was no report of any missing boys answering the description of Dick,
though there were many youngsters missing.

"Didn't you say you had a hat with you in the box?" asked the sergeant.

"Yes, sir," replied Dick.  "That is it," and he handed it over.

The officer looked at the band inside.  This was a bit of detective
work that had not occurred to either Dick or Jimmy.

"Hum!" remarked the sergeant with a shake of his head.  "All it says is
'Boston Store.'  I thought it might give the name of the place where it
was bought."

"Perhaps it was purchased in Boston," suggested Dick, "though I don't
remember ever living near there."

"No," replied the officer, "nearly every city has either a 'New York'
or a 'Boston' or a 'Philadelphia' store, and they are scattered from
here to San Francisco.  It's a queer custom.  If that hat had the
maker's name in it it might be a clue.  However, I'll telegraph to
Boston and make some inquiries."

"When will you have an answer?" asked Dick eagerly.

"Some time to-morrow, or maybe late to-night.  Better call in
to-morrow."

"I will," promised Dick, and feeling for the first time since he found
himself in this queer plight that there was a ray of hope, he and Jimmy
went back to the lodging-house.

Dick did not sleep well that night, for he was thinking that perhaps
the next day would find his identity established and the mystery solved.




CHAPTER XV

PITCHING PENNIES

But Dick was doomed to disappointment.  Early the next morning he and
Jimmy called at police headquarters.

"There's no news for you," said the sergeant.  "I wired to Boston, but
the police there haven't any calls for any missing boys answering your
description.  If you were a man now you might answer."

"Why, are there any men missing?" asked Dick, interested to know there
were other persons in a similar plight to his own.

"Yes, several.  However, don't be discouraged.  I'll keep on the
lookout, and if I hear anything I'll let you know.  Better leave me
your address."

Dick gave it to the sergeant and then, rather discouraged, he left with
Jimmy to begin the day's work of selling papers.

"I guess nobody wants me back," said Dick a little sadly as, with his
bundle under his arm, he started for Wall Street.

"Sure they does," declared Jimmy.  "It'll come out all right, you see.
Anyhow, I want you.  I don't know what I'd a' done if it hadn't been
fer youse--I mean for you."

"Oh, I guess you'd have gotten along," replied Dick, smiling to see his
partner's efforts to talk more correctly.  "However, I'm glad I'm of
some use to some one.  I hope we have a good day to-day so we can put
some more money in the bank."

"Ain't we got quite a lot?"

"Yes, but I want to get enough ahead for a special purpose."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you later.  It's going to be a surprise."

Then, fearing Jimmy would ask more questions, Dick hurried off.

Business was fair the rest of the week, and Saturday night Jimmy and
Dick were able to put away three dollars between them.

"Come on," said Dick that night after supper.

"Where you going?"

"To the bank."

"You don't need me to put that money in."

"No, but I'm going to draw some out."

"Draw some out?  What fer--I mean what for?"

"You're going to have a new suit of clothes," declared Dick.  "You need
one, and we can afford it.  That is not exactly a new one, but I saw
some good second-handed clothes in a store to-day, cheap, and you need
a suit."

"I guess I do," admitted Jimmy, looking at his rather ragged one.  "But
it ain't fair to take the money for that.  We may need it."

"If we do we'll earn more.  You have a right to look as good as
possible, now that we're in business.  It will make a better impression
on the customers."

"Dat's so--I mean that's so," agreed Jimmy.  "Well, I'll leave it to
you."

They went to the bank, which kept open Saturday night for the benefit
of depositors who got their wages on that day, and Dick drew out
enough, with what they had accumulated that week, to buy Jimmy a good
second-hand suit.  The boy's appearance was much improved by it, and he
surveyed himself proudly.

The purchase of the suit made quite a little hole in their savings, but
Dick did not regret it.  For the first time since he and Jimmy had been
partners they went walking the following Sunday in the better part of
the city.  Heretofore Jimmy, with his ragged garments, had refused to
stir away from the vicinity of the lodging-house, but now he felt that
even Fifth Avenue was not too stylish for him.  Certainly clothes make
a great difference to almost any one.

Dick, who had a dim recollection of having been in the habit of going
to church on Sunday, wanted to propose it to Jimmy, but he reasoned
that the newsboy might object to having too many reforms instituted at
once.  So Dick decided to wait a while.

Several weeks passed, and Jimmy continued to improve in his lessons.
He could write short sentences now, and was beginning to be able to
read simple stories in an old school book Dick had purchased.  The
young teacher also began to impart to his pupil a knowledge of
arithmetic, and this he found was comparatively easy, as Jimmy had a
good head for figures and was quick in making change.

Prosperity seemed to smile on the two newsboy partners.  They continued
to save a little every week, and in this they were encouraged by Mr.
Snowden, manager of the lodging-house.  Frank Merton, whose room was
not far from where the two boys had theirs, used frequently to come in
evenings and help Jimmy with his lessons.  As Dick had a good
education, he was also of service to Frank, who had had to leave school
when very young.

"Why don't you get ready to go to night school when the term opens,
Jimmy?" proposed Frank one night.

"Maybe I will."

"That would be a good thing," agreed Dick.  "I think I'll go myself."

"You?  You don't want to learn any more, do you?" asked Jimmy, whose
language had improved very much.

"Indeed I do.  Why, I don't know much more than you do.  I must have
been going to school--in my--before the accident happened, you know,"
for that was the way Dick referred to the past.

"If we all three could go it would be fine," said Frank.  "They have
good teachers at the school where I go.  The term will open again in
September.  That's about two months off."

The boys discussed this plan, and Dick, though he did not mention it,
had it in mind to propose to Jimmy soon that they take Frank into
partnership with them.  Dick's trade in papers in the financial
district was growing to such an extent that he could scarcely take care
of all his customers, with the limited number of papers he could carry.
He was thinking of opening a stand in Wall Street if he saw a chance
for a good location.  But he decided to wait a while.

In the meanwhile the police sergeant had received no word concerning
Dick, and the boy was much disappointed.  However, he kept up his
courage as best he could, hoping something would occur to disclose his
identity and put him in communication with his relatives, if he had
any.  He and Frank kept close watch of the reward and personal columns
of the papers, and Jimmy, whose reading had rapidly improved, also did
as much as he was able to in this respect.

Dick was beginning to feel proud of his success with Jimmy, and the
teacher, young as he was, began to perceive that the newsboy had a
sterling character.  It is true that once or twice Jimmy had forgotten
his promise about smoking, and when out with other boys of his
acquaintance had indulged in a cigarette or two.  But he was always
sorry for these lapses, and after telling Dick of them would make a new
resolve.  He had not smoked now in over three weeks.  He was using less
and less slang, too, and his manners were much improved.

These changes and the wearing of neater clothes could not but have
their effect.  Though his former companions laughed at the changes in
Jimmy, he knew they were doing him good.  He began to assume a more
business-like air.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Crosscrab one day as he stopped to buy a
paper of Jimmy.  "Matters seem to be going pretty well with you.  You
look prosperous."

"We're doing fine!" declared Jimmy.  "It's all due to me--I mean
my--partner, though.  He's all to de merry--I mean he's a fine lad."

"I must call and see him," said the young man.  "I should like to meet
such a sensible business boy, as you tell me he is.  Perhaps I could
help him, as I am thinking of going into business myself here in New
York."

"Say, don't bust up--I mean break up our partnership," pleaded Jimmy.
"I wouldn't know what to do now without Dick."

"Yes, I guess it would be a pity to separate you.  Well, I'll not do
it."

But if Dick expected Jimmy was going to improve all at once, and drop
all his manners and customs learned of a long association with street
urchins, he was disappointed.  One day, when Dick came up from Wall
Street a little earlier than usual, he went to Barclay Street and
Broadway to look for Jimmy.  He did not find him there as he expected.

"Seen Jimmy?" he asked of Sam Schmidt, who was standing there selling
papers.

"Yah.  He und Ted Snook, dey iss gone off."

"Gone off?  Where?"

"Hush!  Don't say nottings, but Jimmy he ask me t' take his place und
sell vot babers he had left."

"What did he do that for?"

"Hush!  He und Ted, dey is goin' t' pitch pennies."

"Pitch pennies?"

"Yah!  Down by der Battery, vere dere ain't no cobs.  Der cobs 'ud
arrest 'em if dey ketched 'em, so dey vent down dere.  Ted he sait as
how he could beat Jimmy, und Jimmy says as how he can vin all Ted's
pennies.  So dey are at it, und I is sellin' Jimmy's babers."

"Pitching pennies!" exclaimed Dick to himself, with a little sinking of
his heart.  "I hope Jimmy doesn't do much of that gambling.  If he gets
in with that crowd he'll begin smoking again.  I must go after him."
And he started toward the Battery to look for his erring partner.




CHAPTER XVI

THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT

Dick did not have to ask any directions to find Jimmy when he reached
the Battery, which, as most of my readers may know, is a small park at
the lower end of the metropolis.  He saw a crowd of lads gathered in a
secluded corner, and he at once knew them to be newsboys and
bootblacks, for he recognized a number of them.

"That's where they are probably pitching pennies," he thought.  "I must
get Jimmy away from there."

His approach was unnoticed, so intent were the lads on the game, and
not until Dick called Jimmy's name was the latter aware that his
partner was present.  Even then, beyond a first start of surprise, he
showed no astonishment.

"Hello, Dick," he called.  "How'd you find me?"

"Sam Schmidt told me."

"Sam Schmidt!  I'll punch his head fer squealin' on us!" exclaimed a
red-haired lad.  "What right's he got t' butt in?"

"That's all right," responded Jimmy with an air of superior knowledge.
"He's a partner of mine.  Dick's all right.  Did you want me, Dick?"

"Yes, you'd better come with me."

"Aw, an' break up de game!" expostulated several.  "Why, Jimmy is
winners, an' he can't go until we gits our stakes out."

"Sure I'm winnin'!" said Jimmy proudly.  "I'm forty-two cents to the
good now."

"I'd like to talk to you," went on Dick to his chum.

"All right, I'll come."

"Naw; stay!" called Pete Lanson.  "Here, have a cigarette, Bricks."

Jimmy stretched out his hand to take one of the paper and tobacco
rolls.  For an instant he forgot his promise to Dick.  Then he
remembered it and shook his head.

"Gee!  Youse must 'a' turned inter a Sunday-school kid," sneered Pete.

"I cut out smokin'," declared Jimmy, with a slight blush.  "Me an' me
partner can't afford it," he went on.  "We're savin'--I mean saving--up
for to buy a regular stand."

"Git on t' his sassiry language!" remarked another, with a mean laugh.
"Fust we know Bricks'll be shakin' us all togedder."

"Dat's right," chimed in one or two.

"Go on, Bricks; it's your shot," advised Pete.  "I t'ink I kin win from
youse now."

"Are you coming with me?" asked Dick in a low tone.

"Say, kid, be youse his guardian?" inquired a big lad.  "Why didn't
youse tie a string t' Bricks if yer so careful of him as all dat."

"Guess I'll have to go, fellers," spoke up Jimmy, rather regretfully,
it must be admitted.

"What?  An' not give us a chance t' git some of our money back?" came
from three or four.

"Some other day I will."

"Naw, I want t' pitch some more now," declared Pete.

There were angry murmurs at Dick's interference, and several scowled at
Jimmy.  It looked as if there might be trouble, but just then a
policeman opportunely came in sight.  Some one spied him, and there was
a cry:

"Cheese it, de cop!"

Instantly the penny-pitching crowd dispersed as if by magic.  Most of
the boys jumped through the railings, cut across the grass plots and
were lost to sight among the trees.  The bigger lads walked more
slowly, with an assumed air of innocence.  As for Jimmy, he joined
Dick, and the two strolled over to the edge of the Battery wall,
looking down into the swirling waters of the bay.

"Did you want anything special?" asked Jimmy.

"Yes, I did."

"What is it?  Is there a big extra out?"

"No.  I heard you were gambling, and I came down to stop you."

"Gambling?  You don't call pitchin' pennies gambling, do you, Dick?"

"What else is it?"

"Well, I s'pose it is, in a way.  But that's no harm.  All the fellows
does it."

"I'm afraid that doesn't make it good, Jimmy.  I don't want to be
finding fault all the while, and I'm sure I don't set up to be any
better than you are, but I know gambling is bad.  You'll never win in
the long run, and it will do you harm.  Besides, you can't afford to
lose, even if it is not wrong."

"But I won to-day."

"Do you often win?"

"Naw, this is the first time I ever made much.  Most times I lose."

"I thought so.  I hope you don't do it much."

"Not very often.  De cops--I mean the policemen--are too strict.  I do
it once in a while."

"I wish you'd give it up," went on Dick.  "I know I'm asking a lot of
you.  First you gave up smoking for me, then the use of slang and rough
expressions, and now I ask you this.  But I do it for your own good and
because I like you, Jimmy."

"I know youse does--I mean you do, Dick, an'--say--I'll--I'll stop
pitching pennies if you don't like it."

"Will you, really?"

"Honest!  Here's my hand!"

Jimmy was thoroughly in earnest, and Dick knew his partner would keep
his word.  It might be well to say right here that from then on Jimmy
never gambled, though often he was sorely tempted by his associates.

"What'd I better do with this money?" asked Jimmy after a pause.  "I
s'pose if it ain't right t' pitch pennies, it ain't right t' keep the
money."

"No, it is not.  Do you know who you won it from?"

"Sure."

"Then I'd give it back."

"Well, I guess I will, but it comes hard.  I was goin' to a good show
to-night with it."

"I'll stand treat for the show," said Dick, for he felt that something
was coming to Jimmy for giving in about the gambling.

"Bully fer youse--I mean that's fine!  But I've got t' pay Sam Schmidt
for selling papers for me."

"Yes, you will be a little out of pocket on account of taking the time
off, but better that than to get in the habit of gambling."

"Well, I didn't do so much, and I never thought it was wrong.  All the
fellers does it."

"I suppose so, but if we're going to make a success of this business we
can't afford to gamble."

"No, I s'pose not," replied Jimmy a little dubiously.

Dick took his partner to a better class of theatrical performance that
night, for the lad who had forgotten his identity did not care much for
the moving picture shows.

"How do you like this?" he asked Jimmy.

"Well," was the slow answer, "I s'pose it's swell, an' all that, an'
I'll get used to it in time, but I like a prize-fight best."

Dick laughed heartily, but he did not tell his partner the cause of his
mirth.

During the days that followed the two newsboys did a good business.
They sold many papers, and Dick was now on an equal footing with Jimmy,
though the latter had had much more experience.  There was more talk of
taking Frank Merton into partnership with them, but as the latter had
built up a good trade for himself in another part of the city, he did
not know whether it would be a wise thing or not to make a new venture.

Meanwhile Dick was no nearer a solution of the mystery than enshrouded
him.  Night after night he would try and try again to remember who he
was and where he came from, but without result.  The past was like a
sealed book to him, and he had absolutely no recollection of who he was
or where he had lived.

"Do you know what I would do?" said Frank one night when, in the room
of the partners, the three were talking over the strange case.

"Well, what would you do, Frank?" asked Jimmy.

"I'd take Dick to a doctor."

"A doctor?  Why, I'm not sick!" exclaimed Dick.

"No, I suppose not.  But I read of a case the other day of a man who
was hit on the head and he forgot everything he ever knew.  They took
him to a hospital, operated on him, and his memory came back to him."

"I wonder if mine would?" asked Dick, with a new look of hope on his
face.

"There's nothing like trying," said Frank.  "Suppose we ask the
superintendent, Mr. Snowden?"

"That's a good idea," came from Jimmy, who was sitting in a corner of
the room.

This they did, and Mr. Snowden agreed to have a physician who was a
friend of his look at Dick.  The superintendent of the lodging-house
agreed, in a measure, with Frank that perhaps there might be some
injury to Dick's head because of the blow, which, when the resulting
depression on the skull was removed, would bring back his memory.

A few days later the doctor examined Dick.  The boy waited anxiously
for the verdict.

"I am sorry," said the doctor, "but I can do nothing for you.  There is
no special injury to the head.  The skull was not broken by whatever,
or whoever, it was that hit you.  You suffered some shock, and that
took away your memory.  Your mind now is as good as it was before the
accident, except that everything in the past is blotted out."

"And will I never remember it again?" asked Dick.

"I would not say that.  The chances are that some day it will all come
back to you with a rush.  Some forgotten incident will recall it all to
you.  It may be a slight thing--the hearing of some forgotten name--the
seeing of some forgotten face--and then you may remember who you are
and where you lived."

"Oh, I hope it comes soon," said poor Dick.  "I am tired of all this
uncertainty."

"Never mind," consoled Jimmy.  "I'll stick by you to the last."




CHAPTER XVII

AN OFFER OF A STAND

The disappointment following the doctor's verdict was keen for Dick.
He had hoped that something might be done to aid him, but he found the
only thing he could do was to wait, and this was very tedious.

"And maybe it will never happen," he said to Jimmy, that night in their
room.

"Yes, it will," declared his partner, with more conviction that he
felt.  "You'll remember who you are some day, I'm certain."

"Perhaps--when it's too late."

"Well, don't think any more about it," advised Jimmy.  "I heard some
news to-day I forgot to tell you."

"What was it?"

"Well, a fellow that has a fine news-stand on Sixth Avenue near the
elevated road wants to sell out.  He's sick, an' he's got to go out
West.  I thought maybe you and me could buy him out."

"That's so, we might.  How much does he want?"

"I don't know.  Sam Schmidt was telling me about it.  I didn't see the
man who owns it."

"Suppose we go and see him," suggested Dick.

It had, for some time, been the ambition of the newsboy partners to own
a regular stand, where not only papers but magazines and weeklies could
be sold.  Jimmy, in his wildest ambition, had sometimes dreamed of such
a rise in life, but, until he had met Dick and learned new habits,
including the one of saving his money, such a thing had not been
possible for him, even to consider.  Now he hoped he was in a position
to realize his fondest expectation.

They went to see the owner of the stand the next day.  The location,
they knew from their past experience, was a good one, as it was near
several ferries and street-car lines, as well as right under an
elevated station.  Thus the owner of the stand could always be assured
of a large number of customers.

"I wonder how much he'll want for it?" spoke Dick, as they approached.

"Oh, maybe about forty or fifty dollars.  How much have we got saved up
now?"

"Nearly twenty-five."

"Maybe he'll trust us for what we haven't got, Dick."

"Perhaps, if we give him a mortgage."

"What's a mortgage?"

"Why, it's a paper showing that you owe a man so much money, and you
give him a claim on your property as security.  You'll soon learn about
them in your arithmetic, especially when we get going to night-school."

"I don't care whether I learn or not, if I can be a part-owner in that
stand," declared Jimmy, his eyes shining as he noted the pile of papers
and magazines and saw the little enclosure where the proprietor of the
place sat.

"Oh, but you must," insisted Dick.  "Now shall I do the talking, or
will you?"

"You'd better.  But if he tries to come any 'con' game on us I'll have
something to say.  I know lots about selling papers, but not much about
buying stands."

"I hear this stand is for sale," began Dick, speaking to a young man in
charge.

"Who told you?" was the somewhat suspicious answer.

"My partner here, James Small, heard it from another newsboy, Sam
Schmidt.  Isn't it correct?"

"I suppose it is.  I want to sell out.  I've got to go West for my
lungs."

"That's too bad.  How much do you want for the stand?"

"Well, you know this is a good place to do business."

"I'll have to take your word for it," replied Dick.  "Still it seems
quite a lively place and ought to be good."

"Good?  I guess it is!"

"How much do youse--I mean you--take in every week?" asked Jimmy
suddenly, for he felt he could safely ask this question.

"What's that got to do with it?" inquired the stand-owner sharply.

"Lots.  If me and me partner buys this stand, we want to know how much
we're going to make."

"Well, I do a good business.  Of course some days it's better than
others."

"What does it average?" asked Dick.

"Well," replied the proprietor, after some figuring, "it averages
fifty-five dollars a week."

Jimmy uttered a low whistle of surprise.  That was higher than he had
thought.

"And what are the expenses?" asked Dick quietly.

"I have to pay the elevated railroad company ten dollars a week for
having my stand here, and I have to hire a boy to bring me papers and
other supplies, for I sell cigars and tobacco.  But there aren't many
weeks when I don't clear twenty dollars."

Dick thought this was a fine business, but, of course, if he and Jimmy
took it there would not be so much profit for each of them as the man
got, unless they could increase the business.  That was another matter
to consider.

"How much do you want for the stand?" asked Dick, while he and Jimmy
waited anxiously for the answer.

"Well, I'll take two hundred and fifty dollars cash, and not a cent
less."

The figure was so high, and the announcement of it caused the partners
such a surprise, that, for a moment, they did not know what to say.




CHAPTER XVIII

BULLDOG THREATENS DICK

Dick was the first to recover his composure.  He had to admit that he
had no idea of what a news-stand in New York might be worth.  His
previous notions, as well as those of Jimmy, had evidently been wrong.

"I'm afraid that figure is too high for us," spoke Dick slowly.

"High?  That's dirt cheap," declared the young man.  "Why you can make
the stand pay for itself in six months.  I'd never give it up if it
wasn't that my health has failed."

"But we haven't got that much money," said Dick frankly.

"Can't you get it somewhere?"

"I'm afraid not.  You see we are in partnership.  We haven't been at it
very long, but we've managed to save up twenty-five dollars."

"Oh, I couldn't think of taking that and waiting for the rest,"
declared the stand-owner.

"No, I wouldn't expect you to."

"Maybe you could borrow the rest somewhere.  I'd be willing to take two
hundred in cash and a mortgage for the balance."

"That would mean we'd have to borrow one hundred and seventy-five
dollars somewhere," said Dick.  "No, we can't think of it.  We'll have
to look for a cheaper stand or wait until we have more money saved up."

"You'll never get a cheaper stand.  I know something about them, for I
tried to buy one when I first went in the business."

"I haven't any doubt but what this stand is worth all you ask for it,"
went on Dick, "but it's beyond our means.  I'm sorry."

"So am I," frankly admitted the young man.  "I'd like to sell out to a
couple of young fellows, but, of course, if you haven't the money you
can't do business.  And I need cash to go away with."

"Well, we'll have to look somewhere else," remarked Jimmy, much
disappointed.  They bade the young man good-bye and started back to
resume the selling of papers, which they had interrupted in order to
make their inquiries.

"Did you think he'd want so much as that?" asked Jimmy, as they walked
up Barclay Street.

"No, I hadn't any idea stands were worth so much."

"Me either.  I guess we'll never get one now."

"Yes, we will," declared Dick firmly.  "I'm going to have one.  If we
can't find a cheaper one, we'll save up more money.  A stand is the
only way to make a good living in this business."

"Oh, we've done pretty well," observed Jimmy.  "I've made more money
since I've been with you than I ever made before."

"Yes, but it's not enough for a firm like ours," and Dick laughed.  "We
want to do three times as much."

During the days that followed the two partners devoted themselves
harder than ever to the business of selling papers.  They did well,
too, for Jimmy had much improved in his methods and had attracted a
number of new customers, who regularly bought their papers from him.
Dick, also, had increased his trade and was becoming well known in the
financial district as "the polite newsboy."

While at first there had been, on the part of other lads selling
papers, a disposition to annoy Dick, they now let him alone.  One
reason for this was a quiet word spoken to the policeman in that
district by one or two brokers, who had taken a liking to Dick, and who
understood the opposition to him.  After that the officer kept his eyes
open and, having threatened to arrest several lads who annoyed the
newcomer, there was no more trouble.

Meanwhile Dick was no nearer than ever a solution of the mystery that
surrounded him.  He hoped nothing now from the police, and, as for
seeing some notice in the papers describing a missing boy like himself,
he had long ago given that up.  The two partners continued to live in
their room at the lodging-house, and they were slowly accumulating a
nice little balance in the bank.

But it grew slowly, too slowly to give them hope that they would reach
the figure demanded by the news-stand owner in time to buy him out.

They heard, incidentally, that several of the bigger newsboys were
thinking of consolidating and purchasing the place, and Jimmy suggested
that he and Dick take Frank into partnership, but when the matter was
explained to him, Frank, while grateful for the offer, said he could
not afford to go into the scheme.  He had some money saved up, but he
said he had to help support a widowed aunt, a sister of his dead
mother, and, as she would soon have to undergo an operation in the
institution where she was, he was saving his money to help pay for it,
as the old lady was destitute.

So that practically shattered the hopes of the two partners of owning
the stand.  Nor could they find one any cheaper that would suit their
purpose.

"Never mind," said Dick.  "We'll be ready to buy one next year."

But if Dick had ceased, save at odd times, to make some effort at
discovering his identity, this was not true of two other persons.
These were Bulldog Smouder and Mike Conroy.  The two plotters had not
forgotten their plan.

"Say, Bulldog," said Mike, one night not long after Dick's and Jimmy's
attempt to buy the stand, "ain't dere nuttin' doin' in gittin' de
reward fer dat kid?"

"Sure dere is."

"What?"

"Well, I've got me plans all made."

"'Bout time youse said somethin'.  Did de detective know anyt'ing?"

"Not a t'ing.  Dere ain't been no reward offered."

"Den what's de good of bodderin' wid it?"

"Dis good.  I'm satisfied dat kid run away from home somewhere a good
ways off.  Dat's why nuttin' ain't been heard of it here in N'York.
But I'll bet his folks, whoever dey are, wants him back.  He's one of
dem nice kids.  He ain't fit fer dis business."

"He seems t' sell a lot of papers," remarked Mike.

"Yep.  Too many.  I'd like t' git him outer de way an' I could make
more money down Wall Street way.  So if we kin find out where he
belongs we'll git de reward an' business'll be better fer us."

"Dat's so.  How youse goin' t' do it?"

"Listen, an' I'll tell ye."

Then the two cronies whispered together for come time.

"Dat's a good plan," said Mike at length.  "I'll do me share.  When
youse goin' t' try it?"

"T'-night.  Once youse gits Jimmy outer de way de rest'll be plain
sailin' fer me."

"Oh, I'll do it."

Soon after this the two plotters separated.  Meanwhile Dick and Jimmy,
all unconscious of what was being planned against them, were doing
business as usual.

When Dick got back to the room, late that afternoon, having been out
selling extras after their regular work in the financial district, he
was surprised not to find Jimmy.  He had seen the latter, not an hour
before, and his partner had said he was, even then, on his way to the
lodging-house to get ready for supper.  Jimmy had promised to wait for
Dick.

"I hope he hasn't gone off with some of those boys, pitching pennies,"
thought Dick.  For he never could be quite sure of Jimmy, who was
easily tempted, though, of late, he had been very good indeed.

But Dick's wonderment over his chum's absence was cut short by the
entrance of Bulldog into the room, when, in answer to a knock on the
door, Dick had called an invitation to enter.

"Evenin'," said Bulldog shortly.  "Jimmy sent me fer youse, Dick.  He
want's youse t' come."

"Jimmy wants me?  Where is he?  What has happened?"

Dick felt a sudden fear.

"He's hurted a little bit--not much," went on Bulldog, "and he was took
inter a house.  He wants youse t' come.  Will yer?"

"Of course.  Do you know where he is?"

"Sure.  I seen him a while ago.  He ain't hurt bad.  If youse'll come
wit' me I'll show youse."

"Wait until I get my coat on and I'll come with you."

Dick followed his former enemy out of the lodging-house.  He had no
reason to suspect anything, for, of late, Bulldog had been rather
friendly than otherwise.

Dick followed his guide into one of the worst parts of New York, but
had little fear, as he had, more or less, become used to traveling
about the slums with Jimmy.  Bulldog led the way down through a dirty
alley and into a ramschackle tenement.

"He's right upstairs," he said.  "Come on."

Dick followed in the semi-darkness, illuminated by only a flaring
kerosene lamp.  Bulldog went into a room, and Dick, expecting to see
his partner lying hurt on a bed or lounge, was surprised to see no one
in the place.

"Why--why--where's Jimmy?" he asked.

"Jimmy is over in Brooklyn," said Bulldog, with a laugh.

"In Brooklyn?  I thought you said he was hurt."

"Well, I guess he is, fer he's bound t' fight wid Mike when he finds
out he's been fooled, an' Mike's liable t' hurt him."

"But what for?  Why should he be in Brooklyn?  And why have you brought
me here?"

"Jimmy's in Brooklyn t' git him outer de way," explained Bulldog, with
an ugly leer, "an' youse is here t' answer me some questions.  Now,
den, kid, I wants t' know where youse run away from home, who youse be,
an' where youse lives.  I'm goin' t' take youse back an' git de reward.
Now youse can't fool me, an' if youse tries, it'll be bad fer yer.
Come now, own up.  Didn't youse run away from home?  Answer me or I'll
punch ye till yer does!" and Bulldog threateningly shook his fist in
Dick's face.

[Illustration: "Didn't youse run away from home?"  _Page_ 137]




CHAPTER XIX

JIMMY TO THE RESCUE

When Jimmy started for the room, late that afternoon, after having met
Dick and arranging to go to supper with him, he was accosted, just
before he reached the lodging-house, by Mike Conroy.  Now, though Jimmy
suspected Mike of having robbed him, and though he considered him his
enemy, Jimmy was a whole-souled, good-hearted lad, not long holding
enmity against any one.  So, when Mike greeted him pleasantly enough,
Jimmy responded in kind.

"Heard youse was lookin' fer a news-stand t' buy," said Mike.

"We was," replied Jimmy, "but it was too steep for us."

"I know a feller what's got one t' sell cheap."

"Where?"

"Over in Brooklyn.

"I don't believe we'd like to go to Brooklyn.  New York is the best
place for a newspaper stand.  You can make more money here."

"No, I mean de feller what owns it lives in Brooklyn.  De stand is in
New York, close t' de elevated."

"How much does he want for it?"

"About seventy-five dollars."

This was so near the figure that he and Dick could command that Jimmy
was at once interested.

"What's the man's address?" he asked.

"I'll take youse t' him," volunteered Mike.  "He said he'd pay me a
commission if I brought him a customer, an' I'll bring youse."

"All right.  I'll go.  But I must leave word for Dick where I'm gone."

"Oh, youse needn't bodder about dat.  We'll soon be back," said Mike
quickly.  "Come on."

So, thinking he would return almost as soon as his partner reached the
room, Jimmy went away with Mike.  They crossed the bridge in the cars,
Mike generously paying the fares, and, once on the Brooklyn side, Mike
led the way to a trolley.  They rode for some time, and finally Jimmy
exclaimed:

"I thought you said it was only a little ways.  We're out in the
country now."

"We're most there," declared Mike quickly.  "It's only a few minutes
now," and he began to talk rapidly, telling Jimmy a number of stories
of New York life, and so keeping his companion interested to that
extent that Jimmy did not notice how far they had come.

"We'll git out here," said Mike, at length.

"Say, this is the country for fair," exclaimed Jimmy, as he found
himself in the midst of open fields with only a few houses here and
there.  "This feller must want to get a good ways off from his work."

"He does.  It's jest a short walk now."

It was getting dusk and Jimmy was beginning to think Dick would get
tired of waiting for him.  He began to wish he had left some word, or
else that he had not gone with Mike.  The latter led the way across the
fields, toward a house.

"Look out!" suddenly exclaimed Jimmy's companion.  The boy turned his
head, and the next instant he felt one of Mike's arms encircle his
neck, while with the other hand Mike held Jimmy's wrists in a firm
grip.  Then, before Jimmy knew what was happening, Mike took his arm
from his neck and plunged that hand into Jimmy's pocket where the
newsboy kept his money.  He was robbing Jimmy.

"Here!  Let up!  Quit that!  Police!" cried the smaller boy, struggling
to free himself.  But Mike was too strong for him, and, in that lonely
place, there were no officers.  It was growing quite dark and no help
was in sight.

Suddenly Mike withdrew his hand from Jimmy's pocket, bringing out with
it all the money.  Then, giving the smaller lad a push that sent him
stumbling to the ground, Mike turned and ran away, making for the
distant trolley line.

"Now youse kin walk home, Bricks!" he called.  "Youse'll git dere by
t'-morror mornin'."

"Give me back my money!" shouted Jimmy, scrambling to his feet.

Mike, with a mocking laugh, raced on.  He was too swift a runner for
Jimmy, but the smaller boy pluckily kept after him.  Mike had a good
lead, and a little later he reached the trolley line and jumped aboard
a passing car, which soon took him out of sight.

"Well, if that ain't a mean trick!" exclaimed Jimmy, pausing when he
saw it was useless to run farther.  "He brought me out here to rob me.
I wonder what he did that for?  There's lots of places in New York.  I
wonder----" then a sudden thought came to him.

"Dick!" he exclaimed.  "Maybe they're going to do something to him and
they wanted to get me out of the way.  That's it!  They're up to some
trick, Mike and Bulldog, I'll bet anything!  And me many miles from New
York and not a cent of car fare!" he added ruefully, as he felt in all
his pockets.  Mike had done his part well and had taken every cent
Jimmy had.

For a time the boy did not know what to do.  He realized that he must
hurry back to the lodging-house, but how to reach there was another
question.  He thought of getting on a trolley car, telling the
conductor his plight, and asking for free transportation.  Then there
was his fare to pay across the bridge, though, of course, he could
walk.  For that matter he could tramp the entire distance, but it would
take him quite a while; and, meanwhile, what might happen to Dick?  He
felt rather dubious about asking the trolley car conductor to trust
him.  Probably the man would not believe his story.

"I certainly am up against it good and hard!" said Jimmy to himself.

Rapidly he considered matters.  Then, as he saw a light shining from a
distant house, he made up his mind to ask for help.  He thought over
what he had better say, and then, determining to be bold, as the case
demanded, he rang the bell and asked for the loan of ten cents, as that
was all he needed to get home.

"I'll leave you my watch for security," went on Jimmy, after he had
explained to the lady some of the circumstances of the case.  "It's
only a dollar one, but it's new and it keeps good time."

Fortunately Jimmy had approached a kind woman, who had a boy of her
own, and she not only loaned him the ten cents, but fifteen more,
giving him a quarter.  Nor would she take the watch as security.  Jimmy
promised to return the money the next day, and then, profuse in his
thanks, he hurried for the trolley and caught a car for Brooklyn Bridge.

Arriving at the lodging-house he hurried to the apartment.  His worst
fears were realized.  Dick was gone, and, from the appearance of the
room, he had left in a hurry, for his things were scattered around.

"They've got him!" exclaimed Jimmy in despair.  "Guess I'd better tell
the police."

He questioned Mr. Snowden, but the manager had not seen Dick depart
with Bulldog.  Nor was he inclined to think that anything had occurred.
He suggested that Dick had gone out to take a walk, but Jimmy felt that
something had happened.

He went out into the street, hardly knowing what to do, but trying to
make up his mind to some plan of action.  He saw Sam Schmidt, and, more
because he could think of no one else to appeal to than because he
hoped for news, he asked:

"Seen Dick this evenin', Dutchy?"

"Sure, dot's vot I has," was the unexpected answer.

"You have?  Where?"

"Him und Bulldog Smouder vent off over towards de Bowery a while ago.
Und dey vos in a hurry-up I d'inks, for dey vos valkin' fast."

"Where does Bulldog live?"

Sam gave the required information.

"Will you come with me, Dutchy?" asked Jimmy eagerly.

"Vere to?"

Jimmy rapidly explained and expressed his belief that Bulldog had
enticed Dick away somewhere, though what his object could be he could
hardly guess.

"Sure, I goes mit youse," declared the German newsboy.  "Ve lick dot
Bulldogs feller, dot's vot ve does."

"I guess we can manage him between us," said Jimmy, as he and Sam
started off to rescue Dick.




CHAPTER XX

DICK IS ILL

When Dick saw that he had been fooled by Bulldog and was in the power
of the bully, his first thought was one of fear.  For Dick was not a
very strong lad and was unused to physical violence.  So, when the big
lad shook his fist in his face and appeared ready to strike him Dick
shrank back.

"Aw, I t'ought I'd skeer youse," remarked Bulldog in surly tones.  "Now
youse had better tell me a straight story."

"What do you mean?" asked Dick.

"Aw, youse know what I means.  Youse has run away from home an' ye're
only chuckin' a bluff about bein' a newsboy.  Now I want t' know where
youse lives, so's I kin take youse home an' git der reward."

"If I knew where I lived and who my folks were, I would only be too
glad to tell you," answered Dick earnestly.  "I would go home myself,
without waiting for any one to take me."

"None of dat.  Dat's too thin!" exclaimed Bulldog.  "Youse has got t'
tell me or I'll punch yer head."

"I can't tell you."

"Well, den here goes fer a punch," and again the big boy raised his big
fist.

"I'll call a policeman," said Dick, who knew he was no match for the
bully.

"Go ahead.  We lick cops down dis way.  No perliceman ever comes in
here when he hears a row.  He knows it ain't healthy fer him, 'less
he's got a patrol wagon full of cops wid him.  Now, once ag'in, are
youse goin' t' tell me what I want t' know?"

"I can't!" exclaimed Dick, wishing he had Jimmy there to help him.  "I
would, really I would, if I could, but I can't remember anything,
except that I got hit on the head and then I woke up in the box with
Jimmy."

"Yes, dat's de story youse tells, but I t'ink it's a fake.  What I want
is de real t'ing."

"I am telling you the truth."

"Well, I don't believe youse are."

"You can ask the police at headquarters.  I have been there and told
them my story."

"Yes; when youse catches me around police headquarters it'll be colder
dan it is now."

Bulldog grasped Dick by an arm and pulled him closer to him, while his
heavy fist was ready to deal a cruel blow.  Dick tried to shrink away,
but he was held fast.  He looked about the room for some way of escape
or some weapon he might use on his captor.

The apartment, as far as he could see in the dim light of a smoking oil
lamp, was deserted.  There was only one door, that by which they had
entered, and Bulldog had locked that.  Nor was there anything in the
room, save a table and a few chairs.

"Oh, youse can't git away from me," said Bulldog, guessing of what Dick
was thinking.  "Now, den, take dat!" and he dealt Dick a hard blow in
the face.  Instinctively the boy raised his arm to protect his head.

"Oh, youse wants t' fight, eh?" inquired the bully, with a sneer, at
the same time taking the attitude in which pugilists are usually
depicted.  "Well, I kin give youse all of dat yer wants; see!"

Nothing was further from Dick's thought than to engage in a fight with
the bully, but Bulldog interpreted matters his own way.  All Dick cared
about was to escape.

Once more the coward hit him, and then Dick's natural courage arose.
He would not submit tamely to being beaten, and, with a wild desire in
his heart to hit back, his fist shot out.

It would be hard to say who was the more surprised, Dick or the bully,
at the effect of the blow.  It caught Bulldog on the cheek and forced
him back slightly.  But it had the effect of further enraging him, and
the bully advanced to the attack with an angry look in his eyes.

Suddenly Bulldog's fist shot out, and the blow taking Dick squarely on
the chest, sent him reeling and stumbling back.  An instant later he
fell to the floor.  Then the bully sprang forward, all his meaner
fighting instincts aroused, determined to cruelly punish the lad, who,
he believed, was trying to deceive him.

But at this juncture there was a sound in the hallway outside the door.
It was a hurried rush of feet, and some one turned the handle of the
door.

"Hey, Bulldog!  If you're in there let me in before I bust in the
door!" exclaimed a voice.

The bully paused, much surprised.

"Git on away from dere!" he cried.

"Let me in!" insisted the voice.

"Yah!  Let us in or ve comes in anyvays," added another.

"It's Dutchy!" said Bulldog, in a whisper.

There came a kick on the rickety old door that made it shake.

"Come on!  Open this door.  I know you've got Dick in there!" was the
demand.

"Git away from dere.  Dere's nobody here but me, an' I'll punch yer
head if youse don't stop bodderin' me," threatened the bully.

"Jimmy!  Jimmy!  Here I am!  I'm in here!" shouted Dick, rising to his
feet and running toward the door.

"Git back dere!" ordered Bulldog, making a grab for Dick as the boy
passed him.

But before Dick could reach the door it was burst open from outside,
and, tumbling into the room, came Jimmy and Sam, all out of breath from
running.  Bulldog started back and doubled up his fists.  Jimmy made
straight for Dick.

"Are you all right?  Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"Not--not much.  I'm all right."

"He hit you!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he saw a red mark on Dick's face.

"Yes, twice."

"The brute!  I'll make him pay for that!"

Jimmy was mad enough now to tackle Bulldog single-handed.  But there
was no need for this.  Sam Schmidt's fighting blood was up.  He
regarded Jimmy and Dick as his best friends, and the thought that one
of them had suffered at the hands of Bulldog made him angry.  Sam was a
big lad--taller, stronger, and heavier than the bully--but he had no
training in fist-fights.

Still he did not hesitate.  Straight at Bulldog he leaped, clasping him
in his big arms before the bully could strike out, and an instant later
the two went down, Bulldog underneath, while Sam rained blow after blow
on him.

"So!  Dot's de vay I do him," he explained between the thumps.  "Next
times you vos took somebodies yer own sizes, maybe so.  Eh?  Dere,
dot's fer goot luck," and, with a parting blow, he allowed Bulldog to
get up.  The bully lost no time in beating a hasty retreat.

Then, for fear he might get some of his cronies and renew the fight,
Jimmy advised that they leave, which they did, soon arriving at the
lodging-house.

Dick told his story, how he had been enticed away by the untruth about
Jimmy being hurt, and the latter related his part in the affair.

"We're well out of it," remarked Dick.

"We ought to tell the police," declared Jimmy.

"Vait.  I lick Mike Conroy de next times I sees him, alretty," declared
Sam.  "Dot vos fun, how I did up der Bulldog!  I don't guess dey
bodders you two any more."

"I guess not either," added Jimmy.

The story of how Jimmy and Sam had "done up" Bulldog, was soon
circulated among the newsboys, and it lost nothing in the telling.
When Jimmy and Dick went on the street the next day the former was
greeted on all sides as "Champion."

"Sam Schmidt did the most," he said, modestly.

"Dat's all right," answered some of his acquaintances.  "Youse is de
foist one t' stand out agin Bulldog, an' we're glad of it.  Maybe he'll
let us alone now."  For Bulldog was a terror to the smaller boys.

"I done it for me--I mean my partner," explained Jimmy, with a fond
look at Dick.  "Anybody what picks on him has to answer to me."

"Dot's right, und I helps, too," added Sam.  "Me und Jimmy ve fights
togedder, don't ve alretty yet, Jimmy?"

"Sure," replied the hero of the occasion.

It was hot that day, so hot, in fact, that it was hard work to tramp
about the streets to sell papers.

"It's me for a dip down at the Battery swimmin' pool when we get
through here," remarked Jimmy, as he met his partner at one of the
delivery wagons.

"That would be a good idea," said Dick.  "I'll go with you."

"I uster go in the fountain basin at City Hall Park," went on Jimmy.
"A dip there'd cool a feller off."

"Why don't you now?"

"Cops watches it too close.  Some of the fellers goes in, though, but
they're likely to lose their clothes.  Cops grabs 'em every chance they
gits."

The partners separated, Dick to go down to the Wall Street district,
and Jimmy to his regular corner.  During the afternoon, when Dick sold
out, and was about to go for more papers, he was called into a hallway
by a broker, who was one of his customers.

"Are you very busy?" the man asked Dick.

"Not so very, sir, just now.  I've just sold out, and I need more
papers.  Why?"

"Well, I'd like you to go on a little errand for me.  I want you to
take this note over to a firm of brokers," and he named one of the most
prominent ones in the financial section.  Dick wondered why the man
selected him, when there were plenty of messengers he could call by
touching a button in his office.  The man must have seen the unspoken
query on Dick's face, for he said:

"I want you to go, because this is a very important matter, involving a
stock deal, and if I send a regular messenger from my office, some
other dealers will be sure to notice it, and it may make trouble.  You
can go without being suspected.  Here is the note, and here is a dollar
for delivering it."

"That's too much," said Dick quickly.

"I think not," replied the broker with a smile.  "You are doing me more
of a service than you know.  Now don't lose any time."

Dick started off, with the note in his hand.

"Hold on!" called the man quickly.  "Don't go out with it that way.
Some one may have seen me speaking to you, and suspect something.  We
have to be very particular down here in Wall Street."

Dick had been down in that section long enough to understand that often
the winning or losing of a big financial deal depended on a small
matter, such as the broker had mentioned.

"Here, this will be a good way," went on the man, pulling a newspaper
from his pocket.  "Slip the letter in there, and then, if any one sees
you, they'll think you are merely going into the office where I am
sending you, to deliver a paper."

Dick did as requested, and was soon on his way, hardly able to believe
that he had earned a dollar so easily.  He hurried to the office, left
his message, without being observed, as far as he could tell, and then
he decided he would take a walk up to Barclay Street and see Jimmy.

"I promised him I'd meet him down at the bathhouse," said Dick to
himself, "but I don't feel like it.  Guess I must be a little under the
weather.  I don't believe it would be good to go swimming in that
water.  I'll use the bath-tub at the lodging house."

He went through City Hall Park, on his way to see his partner, for he
had emerged in front of the World Building.  As he crossed the open
space, and approached the fountain, he was aware that something was
going on.  There was a big crowd about the water basin.

"Maybe somebody's hurt," thought Dick, hastening his steps, but, when
he managed to wiggle through the throng, and was close to the edge of
the basin, he saw that it was merely the sight of some lads in the
fountain that had attracted the crowd.

The hot lads, braving the wrath of the police, of whom none were then
present, had taken off all the garments they dared, and had plunged
into the cooling water.  They were splashing about like birds, enjoying
a bath.

The crowd, which always assembles when this scene occurs in the park,
was looking on with huge enjoyment, staid business men and millionaire
merchants gathering to watch the boys at their sport.  The lads
splashed and ducked each other, at times, in their eagerness, even
wetting the by-standers.

Suddenly there was that cry which, above all others, startles the
newsboys and bootblacks of New York.

"Cheese it, de cop!"

Some lookout, posted for that very purpose, had spied the approach of
the bluecoat, who came up on the run, seeing the crowd, for he knew
what it meant--that the boys were disobeying a city ordinance, and
bathing in the basin.

Instantly there was a rush on the part of the lads to get out, for to
be caught meant to be arrested and fined.  The boys sprang over the
side of the basin, the crowd, laughing more heartily than ever, opening
to let them escape.

As luck would have it, two or three of the larger boys, in their
efforts to get away, ran toward the side of the fountain where Dick
stood.  He tried to get out of their path, that he might not hamper
them in their escape, but there was a fat man behind him and Dick
stepped on his toes.

"Ouch!  My gracious!  That's my corn!" cried the man, limping away.

Dick started to apologize, but he had hardly begun it, when he was
fairly overwhelmed by the lads leaping from the basin.  They did not
care where they landed, as long as they got away from the officer, and
they toppled on Dick, splashing water on him from the fountain, and
from their own dripping forms.

Dick was knocked down, and one of the boys fell on top of him, the
glittering drops splashing all about.  Dick struggled to his feet,
trying to get rid of the water in his eyes that he might see which way
to go to run so as to get out of the way.  But, just as he turned to
go, he felt some one seize him, and a voice exclaimed:

"Now I've got you, anyhow!  Come along with me!"

"Where to?  What for?" asked Dick, and he looked up to see that a
policeman had him by the shoulder.

"Where to?  Why, the station house, of course.  And what for?  I guess
you don't have to ask that!  I'll catch some more of you chaps for
takin' a dip in the basin the first chance I get, too!  You got ahead
of me to-day."

"I wasn't in the basin," declared Dick.

"You wasn't?  Say, what ye givin' me?  Didn't I see ye runnin', an'
ain't ye all wet?"

"The water was splashed on me," asserted Dick.  "I was just watching
them, and some of the boys jumped on me."

"Think I'll believe such a fishy yarn as that?" asked the officer,
incredulously.  "I seen ye in swimmin', an' ye'll have t' come with me."

"But I wasn't in," insisted Dick, wishing Jimmy was now at hand to aid
him.

"Ain't I got eyes in my head?" asked the officer in contempt.  "You
can't lie out of it that way.  Why, you're drippin' wet.  You must have
gone in with all yer clothes on."

"I didn't go in at all."

"Aw, cut that out an' come along."

Dick did not know what to do.  He looked around at the faces of the
crowd that had gathered, hoping to see some one to whom he could
appeal.  But he saw no one.  The officer was about to lead him away.
All at once a man stepped forth from the throng.  He was limping
slightly.

"What's he done, officer?" he asked.

The man looked like an influential citizen, and the policeman decided
it would be the best policy to answer him.

"Swimmin' in the basin," he said.  "Against the law."

"I wasn't in," declared Dick, with tears of mortification in his eyes.
"They splashed the water on me.  Why, I was standing near you," he went
on, for he recognized the man as the fat person, on whose toes he had
accidentally stepped.

"Why, bless my soul, so you were!" exclaimed the fleshy gentleman.
"Officer, you are making a mistake."

"I guess I know my business," replied the bluecoat shortly.  "Move on
here.  Let me pass or I'll run some of ye in."

"I tell you that you are making a mistake, officer," insisted the fat
man, firmly.  "This boy stood right in front of me when I was watching
the lads in bathing.  He was not in the water at all.  Why, you can see
that for yourself.  His shoes are not wet."

Sure enough, though Dick was pretty well soaked all over, his feet had
escaped the drenching.

"How do you know he stood in front of you?" inquired the policeman, not
accepting the more apparent evidence of the shoes.

"How do I know?  The very best reason in the world.  He stepped back to
get out of the way of the rushing lads, and he came down on my favorite
corn.  I'm limping yet."

"I'm very sorry," began Dick, who had not had time to finish his
apology.

"That's all right," answered the fat man, good-naturedly.  "I'll
forgive you, and do you a favor in the bargain.  No, officer," he went
on, "you are mistaken.  This boy was not in bathing.  I will testify in
his favor.  Here is my card, if you insist on making an arrest."

He passed a bit of pasteboard over to the policeman, who, when he had
read it, took on a different attitude.

"Oh, very well, Alderman Casey," he said, "I beg your pardon.  I didn't
know he was a friend of yours, or I wouldn't have bothered him.  Of
course I must have made a mistake.  He can go."

"I don't know whether he's a friend of mine or not," continued the
alderman with a smile.  "I'm inclined to think, by the way my corn
hurts, that he isn't.  But I want to see justice done.  There, my lad,
run along now, before you get any wetter, or step on any more fat men's
toes," and the alderman, satisfied at having done a good act, and at
demonstrating his influence over the police before a crowd, laughed
heartily.

Dick lost no time in making his escape, fearing the officer might
change his mind.  He found Jimmy and related what had occurred.

"Crimps!  Say, you has luck!" exclaimed Dick's partner.  "Alderman
Casey is one of the big-bugs!  What, didn't you know him when he was
speakin' to youse--I mean you?"

"No."

"Well, of course it takes time to know all the main gazabos of this
town," spoke Jimmy, with an air of lofty wisdom.  "But I'm sorry you
don't feel well.  Come an' have a soda."

"No, I don't think I care for any.  I don't believe it would be good
for me.  But you go get one."

"All right, I will.  Then you won't come swimmin' to-night, Dick?"

"No, I've had enough of it for one day.  I guess I'll be better in the
morning."

Dick did not feel very well that night when he went to bed.  The
excitement had a bad effect on his nerves, and when he awoke in the
morning, he had quite a fever.  His face was flushed and his breathing
rapid.  He tried to get up to go out with his papers, but found himself
too dizzy to stand.

"I--I guess I'm sick, Jimmy," he said.  "But I'll be all right in a
little while.  You go ahead out, so as not to lose the morning trade."

"What?  And leave you here all alone, and sick?  I guess not much!
Wait, I'll call Mr. Snowden.  He knows somethin' about medicine."




CHAPTER XXI

JIMMY IN TROUBLE

When the manager of the lodging-house saw Dick, he realized that the
lad was quite ill.  He did not try to prescribe for him, but at once
called in the district physician.

The doctor looked grave when he had felt of Dick's pulse, looked at his
tongue, and asked him some questions.  Then he beckoned Mr. Snowden to
come out of the room.

"What is it?" asked the manager.

"I'm afraid the lad's going to be quite ill.  I can't be positive, but
I don't like his symptoms.  He must have had some shock recently that
brought this on.  He looks like a boy from some refined home.  How does
he come to be in this place?"  This physician was not the one who had
seen Dick before.

Mr. Snowden explained as much about Dick's case as he knew, ending up
with an account of Bulldog's meanness.

"That fright was what brought it on," declared the doctor.  "Well, I'll
leave some medicine for him, and I'll come in again this afternoon.  He
ought to have some one to look after him."

"I guess we can arrange that.  His 'partner,' as he calls him, Jimmy
Small, is very kind to him.  The two boys have done well selling
papers, and I understand they have quite a tidy little sum saved up.
They are trying to buy a stand.  I guess Jimmy will stay in and look
after him, and I will do what I can."

"Perhaps that will answer.  He may take a turn for the better.  I can
tell in a few hours."

Mr. Snowden had a talk with Jimmy, telling him part of what the doctor
had said, but not enough to alarm the lad.  As he expected, Jimmy at
once offered to stay at home and nurse Dick, as he had done once before.

"But what about selling the papers?" asked the manager.

"I can get Sam Schmidt and Frank Merton to look after part of my
customers for me.  The rest will have to wait until Dick gets well."

This arrangement was carried out, Frank and Sam gladly agreeing to do
all in their power to help the two boys.  Dick was quite ill, but
fortunately nothing very serious developed.  His fever still continued,
however, and he was too weak to get out of bed, the physician said.

"How long will I have to stay in?" asked Dick.

"At least a week.  Perhaps longer.  You require nourishing food, and
your nerves need quieting.  You are not used to this life."

"No," said Dick softly, and again there came to him the troublesome
question of what sort a life he was accustomed to, and who he was.

"But you must not worry," cautioned the doctor.  "You'll be well taken
care of, and in a short time you can go out again."

In a few days Dick was enough better so that he did not need any one
with him constantly.  Jimmy, therefore, could go out on the streets
selling papers, for Mr. Snowden or some of the men employed about the
lodging-house looked in Dick's room several times during the day to see
if he needed anything.

"Lots of men is askin' for you," said Jimmy, when he came home one
night.  "Sam Schmidt is takin' care of your customers down in Wall
Street, and they want to know when you're comin' back.  They say
they're waitin' for you, and for a while they'll buy of Sam.  He tried
to explain that he was workin' for you, but he can't twist his Dutch
tongue well enough yet.  But I guess it's all right."

Dick did not recover as quickly as the doctor expected he would, and he
had been in bed over a week, for the fever did not seem to yield to the
treatment.

"It must be some trouble that I can't get at," said the baffled
physician one day to Mr. Snowden.  "Perhaps that blow he got just
before he found himself in the box may have had something to do with
it.  If he doesn't get better soon I'll have him taken to the hospital.
We may have to operate."

"Don't tell him or Jimmy that."

"Oh, no; not until it's necessary.  I'll try some new medicine."

It was the day following this that something happened which changed
everything, and while at the time it seemed to Jimmy quite a
misfortune, in the end it turned into a blessing.

As might be expected, Mike Conroy and Bulldog Smouder were much
incensed at the failure of their plot.  Jimmy had reached New York much
quicker than they had thought he would, thanks to the kindness of the
woman who supplied him with carfare, and to whom, with Dick's help that
same night, he had mailed back the twenty-five cents with a letter of
thanks.  Then, too, Sam's unexpected aid and his beating of Bulldog
made that bully very angry.  So the two cronies were looking for a
chance to get "even," as they called it.

They had about given up trying to get any reward for restoring Dick to
his home, and they began to believe that the boy was telling the truth
about himself.  But their anger turned against Jimmy, whom they both
regarded as their enemy.  They were on the lookout for an opportunity
to injure him in some way.

Chance gave them the very opportunity they wanted.  It was in the
afternoon, Jimmy was selling the last of his papers, and was counting
on getting back to the room where Dick was.  An Italian banana peddler
stopped his cart right behind the boy and began to arrange the fruit in
tempting piles.  Just then Bulldog and Mike passed, and as Jimmy was
counting his change he did not see them.

"Shove him over inter de Ginny's cart an' run," suggested Mike.

"Sure," agreed his crony, always ready for a mean trick.

When Jimmy was not looking Mike stepped quickly up and gave the newsboy
a vigorous push.  Jimmy lost his balance, and the next instant was
fairly on top of the cart.  It upset, and he rolled to the ground amid
bunches of the yellow fruit.

"Comme sta!" wildly exclaimed the Italian.  "Whatta for you doa dat?
Badda de boy!  Me calla de police!  Upseta alla de banan!"

"I didn't do it.  They pushed me," said Jimmy as he struggled to his
feet and started to point out Bulldog and Mike, of whom he had caught a
passing glimpse as they fled.  But they had hid in a doorway and could
not be seen.

"Nobody doa de push!" declared the Italian.  "Badda de boya, makea me
mucha de troub!  Hey, police!" and he beckoned to a big bluecoat.

"Now what's the row?" asked the officer.

"Dessa boy he upseta my stand.  Spoila alla de banan."

"I didn't do it," declared Jimmy.

"Aw, g'wan!  Didn't I see you on top of the cart," said the officer.
There had recently been a concerted protest on the part of Italian
peddlers against newsboys and bootblacks who annoyed them, and as the
Italian vote was getting large, interested politicians had induced the
police captains to instruct their men to be on the lookout to arrest
boys who bothered the peddlers.  So the officer took more interest in
this case than otherwise he would have done.

"Some one pushed me," asserted Jimmy again.

"That's a likely story.  I seen you do it.  Now I'm goin' to run you
in," and with that the bluecoat arrested Jimmy and marched him off to
the police station, the Italian following with his cart to make a
complaint.




CHAPTER XXII

MR. CROSSCRAB IS ROBBED

Jimmy was in despair.  He did not see how he was going to convince the
sergeant in the station-house that he was innocent of the charge.
Certainly to the policeman and the Italian it did look as if Jimmy had
deliberately jumped on the cart, thus upsetting it.

And another matter worried Jimmy.  He knew that if the stories of the
policeman and peddler were believed he would probably be locked up over
night for a hearing before the magistrate the next morning.  Meanwhile
who would look after Dick?

"Crimps! but this is bad luck!" thought Jimmy.  "If I only had some one
to go my bail maybe I could get off."

But he could think of no one on whom he might call.  Jimmy's
acquaintance was not among those capable of signing bail bonds.

A big crowd had gathered when the arrest was made, and Jimmy looked in
vain among the throng for some friendly person by whom he could send
word to Mr. Snowden of his plight He thought the manager might be able
to help him.

Then when the officer led him away quite a number of newsboys and
bootblacks followed.  Reaching the precinct station-house, Jimmy was
taken inside and made to stand in front of the big brass railing
surrounding the desk, while the sergeant prepared to hear what the
policeman had to say.

"Here's a kid that upset the Italian's cart," explained the bluecoat.
"I seen him do it."

"Dat's a'right, Mr. Police," added the peddler.  "He badda de boy.
Knocka alla de banan in de streeta."

"What's your name?" asked the sergeant, drawing the blotter, or slate,
toward him.  On this were written the names of prisoners, and Jimmy,
who had often been in station-houses when men were locked up, knew what
was coming next.

"You're not going to lock me up, are you?" he asked.

"That's what we are," replied the sergeant.  "This business of annoying
the Italians has got to stop."  He was only carrying out the orders of
his superiors.

"But I didn't do it."

"Well, you can prove that to the judge in the morning and he'll let you
go."

"Sure he done it," repeated the policeman.  "I seen him."

Which was true enough as far as it went.  The officer was honestly
mistaken, as was the Italian.  The sergeant wrote down Jimmy's name and
other information which the lad gave.

"Anybody go your bail?" and the sergeant looked up on asking the usual
question, for in such minor offenses as this he was empowered to take
bail for prisoners.

"If you could send to Mr. Snowden, manager of the Newsboys' Lodging
House, I'm sure he would," said Jimmy.

"Got any money to pay for a messenger?"

"Sure," and the newsboy hauled out a handful of change.

"All right," remarked the sergeant indifferently.  "Doorman, lock him
up and then call a messenger for him."

Even though he was to be locked in a cell, Jimmy did not mind it so
much, now that there was a chance to get word to Mr. Snowden.  He was
searched, his money being all that was returned to him, his knife and
some other possessions being retained by the sergeant until he should
be bailed or discharged.  Then the doorman summoned a district
messenger boy, to whom Jimmy talked through the bars of his cell,
instructing him to inform Mr. Snowden what had happened and ask him to
come to the police-station.

Meanwhile the policeman had gone back on his beat, and the Italian,
having been instructed to appear at court in the morning, was allowed
to go.  He had left his cart in front of the station-house, and his
stock of bananas was much less when he came out, as the temptation of
the fruit had been too much for the crowd of boys.

Mr. Snowden came promptly in response to Jimmy's request, and soon
arranged for bail for the lad.  So a few hours after he was arrested
Jimmy was free again, but he would have to be tried in the morning.

"I'd advise you," said the sergeant, who took more interest in Jimmy's
case when he heard from the lodging-house superintendent what sort of a
lad the newsboy was, "to hunt up these two chaps you say pushed you.
If you see them call a policeman and have them arrested.  You can make
a charge against them."

"But will a cop--I mean a policeman--arrest them on my say-so?" asked
Jimmy.

"I guess so.  Wait, I'll give you a note, and you can show it to the
officer nearest at hand when you see those two chaps," and the sergeant
wrote out a note for Jimmy.

Then with Mr. Snowden the boy left the station-house, his mind made up
to search for Mike and Bulldog and cause their arrest.  And this was
not so much because he was vindictive as that he wanted to be cleared
of the unjust charge.

"How's Dick?" asked Jimmy of the lodging-house manager.

"Not quite so well," was the grave answer.  "But don't worry.  I guess
he'll be all right."

"I suppose I'd better go back and take care of him instead of chasing
after Mike and Bulldog."

"No, perhaps it will be well for you to stay away.  He will be sure to
question you, and if he hears of your arrest it might excite him.  I
will tell him you are all right, but that you have some business to
attend to.  Meanwhile you can look for those two young rowdies.  I hope
you find them.  I'll look out for Dick; so don't worry."

After a hasty supper Jimmy set out to find the two bullies, with the
note from the sergeant safe in his pocket.  He knew where Mike and
Bulldog usually were to be found at night--in the neighborhood of some
of the moving picture shows--and thither Jimmy went.

As he walked down the Bowery he saw a crowd in front of a
brilliantly-lighted store, the proprietor of which, to draw trade, had
installed a small cage of monkeys.  There was quite a throng of men and
boys watching the antics of the creatures.

As Jimmy approached the outer line of people he saw, standing close
together near the window, the two bullies whom he sought.  This was
unexpected good luck, and he looked around for a policeman.  He saw one
not far off, and then seeing a newsboy whom he knew, Jimmy quietly
whispered to the latter to summon the officer.

"What fer?" asked the lad.

"You'll see in a minute.  There's going to be some fun."

For Jimmy had made up his mind to grab both the bullies and hold them
until the officer could arrive, regardless of what they might do to
him, though he knew they would beat and kick him in an endeavor to get
away.  But he calculated it could not last long, as just before he
prepared to tackle the two he saw the officer start toward the throng.

"Now for it," said Jimmy in a whisper to himself.

But just then something most unexpected happened.  As Jimmy crept
closer to the two unsuspecting ones he saw the hand of Mike Conroy slip
into the pocket of a man standing near him.  Softly and slowly the hand
was inserted, and a moment later it was withdrawn, holding a pocketbook.

"He's picking that man's pocket!" thought Jimmy.  "Now I can make
another charge against him."

He made a sudden grab for Mike.  At the same instant the man who had
been robbed turned around, for he felt some movement in his pocket.

"Mr. Crosscrab!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he saw the man's face.

"Why, Jimmy, I've been looking for you!" cried the young man.  "But
what's this?  My pocketbook!"

For he saw it in Mike's hand, which Jimmy held in a firm grasp.

"He stole it!" cried Jimmy.

"I did not!  I found it on de sidewalk, an' I were jest goin' t' hand
it back t' him!" cried the bully.

"Hold him, Mr. Crosscrab!" cried Jimmy, making a grab for Bulldog, who,
seeing how matters were going, was trying to sneak away.  Mr. Crosscrab
acted promptly, and Mike struggled in vain to get loose.

"Let me go or I'll smash youse a good one!" threatened Bulldog, but
Jimmy held grimly on.

"What's the row?" asked the policeman, hurrying through the crowd that
had encircled the four.

"He tried to rob me," explained Mr. Crosscrab, and it was very evident,
for the pocketbook had fallen to the sidewalk when Mike opened his hand.

"All right.  I'll take him in.  You'll have to come along and make a
charge."

"I'll do it."

"And I want this one arrested!" exclaimed Jimmy.

"What for?" and the officer looked surprised.  "Are there two of 'em?"

"This fellow upset an Italian's cart by pushing me into it to-day,"
explained Jimmy, keeping hold of Bulldog despite the latter's efforts
to get away.  "I was arrested for it, and the sergeant said I should
have him and Mike locked up as witnesses.  Here's a note," and with
much difficulty Jimmy took it out and handed it to the policeman.

"I didn't do it.  It was Mike," declared Bulldog.

"Youse done it yerself," said Mike.

The policeman quickly read the note.  Meanwhile Mr. Crosscrab had been
holding Mike, and the crowd was now so thick that Bulldog had no chance
to escape, even if he had dared risk it with an officer at hand.

"All right.  I'll lock 'em both up," said the officer, taking one arm
of each of the prisoners.  "Make way there.  I'll ring for the wagon."

"I'll do it for you," volunteered Jimmy, for he had once opened a
patrol box and sent in a call for a policeman who had his hands full
with a refractory prisoner.

"All right.  You're a smart kid.  Here's my key," and the bluecoat
passed it over, temporarily letting go of Mike, but grabbing him again
as the thief started to run.

Meanwhile Mr. Crosscrab had picked up his pocketbook, and with Jimmy
followed the officer and his two prisoners, while the crowd trailed
along in the rear.  The patrol box was soon reached and Jimmy sent in
the call.  In a few minutes the wagon arrived, and Mike and Bulldog,
both protesting their innocence, were taken to the station-house.




CHAPTER XXIII

BACK AT BUSINESS

Formalities at the police-station were soon complied with.  Mr.
Crosscrab made a complaint of robbery against Mike Conroy, and that
bully was locked up.  There was also Jimmy's charge against him, and in
this was also included Bulldog, so that youth, too, was put into a
cell.  Mr. Crosscrab and Jimmy were told to appear in the morning as
witnesses.

"Well, Jimmy," remarked Mr. Crosscrab when they were in the street once
more, "you seem to be right on hand when you're wanted."

"It was mostly luck that I prevented him from robbing you though.  But
I did myself a good turn, for now I can be cleared of the charge of
upsetting the banana cart."

"If my pocketbook had been stolen it would have meant a serious loss to
me."

"How so?"

"It contains a large sum of money.  I am going back to my home in
Newton, Vermont, to-morrow, and I have to take quite a sum with me to
conclude some business matters in which I am engaged.  So if Mike had
gotten away with the cash I would have been put to considerable loss."

"Then I am glad I saw him in time.  When are you coming around to see
me and my partner, Mr. Crosscrab?  He's sick."

"I am sorry to hear that.  I meant to come before this, but I have been
quite busy since coming to New York.  Then my aunt being taken ill made
me change my plans.  However, she is better now, and that is why I am
going home."

"Are you coming back to New York?"

"Yes, I expect to return in about a week, and then I will be glad to
call and see you.  I hope Dick Box will soon be better.  I never can
help thinking what a queer name that is."

"It is rather odd, but we can't seem to get a better one for him nor
discover his real one."

"That is too bad.  I would like very much to see him, and I will just
as soon as I get back.  I would call to-night, only it is getting late
and I have several matters to attend to.  But I will see you at court
in the morning."

Jimmy bade his friend good-night and hurried to the lodging-house, for
he was anxious about Dick.  However, he found his partner much better,
and the doctor said he thought the boy would now speedily recover as
his fever had entirely left him.

Mike and Bulldog were given a preliminary hearing the next day.  On the
charge of theft Mike was remanded in heavy bail for the Grand Jury's
action, and Bulldog was also held as a witness.  Then Jimmy was
arraigned on the charge, made by the policeman, that he had tipped over
the Italian's cart.

But the previous complaints against the two youths had their effect on
Jimmy's case.  He told his story, saying how Bulldog and Mike had
pushed him, and the Italian, who had calmed down to a considerable
extent, gave such testimony that it convinced the magistrate Jimmy was
telling the truth.  Mike and Bulldog were questioned, and finally had
to admit that they were the guilty ones.

So they were convicted on that charge, and were sentenced to pay a fine
of ten dollars each.  As they did not have the money, and could not get
bail on the other charge, they were taken to the Tombs prison, while
Jimmy was allowed to go.  Incidentally the magistrate complimented
Jimmy on the manner in which he had caused the arrest of the two young
criminals.

"Well, I suppose I will have to appear later when Mike's regular trial
comes off," remarked Mr. Crosscrab as he parted from Jimmy in front of
the police court.  "But that will not be for some time.  Now I am off
for Vermont, but I will not forget to see you when I return.  Give my
regards to your partner, in whom, though I have never seen him, I take
a great deal of interest.  Poor Dick Box; I must help you to find a
better name for him when I get back."

"I wish you would.  The police can't seem to help him."

"Then I will.  Good-by, Jimmy."

"Good-by, Mr. Crosscrab."

Jimmy started back to work with a lighter heart than he had had in many
a day, and the principal cause of it was that Dick was getting better.
He would be able to be out in a few days, the doctor said.

So Jimmy hustled around and sold a large number of papers.  Frank
Merton and Sam Schmidt had been helping the partners, and business had
not been so bad, though of course the profits were largely taken up in
paying the two boys who did Dick's work.

One afternoon, at the close of the day's business, Sam Schmidt came to
Jimmy with every appearance of excitement.

"What's the matter, Sam?" asked Jimmy.  "Found a pocketbook full of
bills?"

"Nope, but I haf alretty found somedings else."

"What is it?"

"I haf found der advertisement about dot Box feller."

"What!  About Dick?  Have you found something about him in the paper?"
for Sam had not given up looking for a notice in the personal columns
of the papers, which might refer to the strange new boy who had come
into the midst of the news-lads.

"For sure, I haf.  Here it iss," and Sam pulled out a piece torn from
the Herald.

"Read it," said Jimmy.  "I ain't quite quick enough on me--I mean
my--words yet.  You read it."

"Vell, I am not so good on der Englishness of it, but dis is vot it
means.  'If der boy vot runned avay from his home vill come back all
vill be forgiveness, und der money he took to go und fight der Indians
mit, he can keep, for his mudder und his fadder is sorrowfulness mitout
him, und vould he please write or sends a message und all vill be vell,
und he kin haf der pony und der bicycle vot he wants.'  Dot's all dere
is to it."

"But don't it say who he is--who the kid is?--though I don't believe
it's Dick that's meant."

"Sure it says who it is vot put it in der paper," replied Sam.  "It
says dot der boy is to address Mr. Samuel Wonsonski, New York City."

"Then it ain't Dick," decided Jimmy.

"Vy not?  Ain't it got referenceness to a boy vot runned avay; und
ain't Dick a runavay?"

"I don't know as he is.  Anyhow, this can't be about him."

"Vy not?"

"Because this is the name of either a Jew or a Russian, and Dick's an
American."

"Oh, maybe dot's so," agreed Sam.  "But you can't always sometimes
tell.  Maybe he is a part Jew and part Russian and part American.  Ve
had better ask him, I dinks."

"Well, it wouldn't do any harm, I s'pose," admitted Jimmy.  "Come ahead
over to the lodging-house, and we'll tell him about this advertisement."

They found Dick feeling pretty comfortable, and, as he seemed able to
converse about the mystery, Jimmy began on the subject that had brought
Sam and himself to his partner's room.

"Dick," asked Jimmy, "you don't s'pose you ran away to fight Indians;
did you?"

"Fight Indians?  No.  Why?"

"And you didn't take any money from your dad; did you?"

"Of course not.  What makes you ask such questions?"

"Because it's in der paper," replied Sam.  "See, iss dis got anyding to
do mit you?" and he held out the torn piece of the newspaper.

Dick read it quickly, and slowly shook his head.  A look of hope had
come into his face when Sam had extended the slip, but it faded away
again, leaving him pale and wan.

"No, I'm sure that isn't my name," he said.

"Are you sure?" asked Sam, who hated to give up the idea.

"Very sure."

"But didn't you want a pony?" asked the German youth.

"No, as near as I can remember, I had a horse or a pony," replied Dick.
"I seem to recall something about owning one.  I know I used to take
long drives in a carriage, through a beautiful country."

"Den you didn't lif in New York," declared Sam, positively.  "Dis is a
great city, but dere ain't no beautiful country about it.  I know.  I
lived in der country in der Vaterland, und dot vos country dere vot
_vos_ country," and he sighed in regret.

He looked at the piece of paper once more.

"Vait!" he exclaimed.  "Vos you ever haf a desire for a bicycle?  Maybe
dot's it.  Maybe your fadder vouldn't gif you a bicycle, und you runned
avay to hund Indians, und dey scalped you, und took your remembery mit
'em."

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Dick, laughing in spite of himself.  "I never
cared much for a bicycle.  I'm sure I shouldn't have run away from home
because I couldn't have one."

"Und der Indians didn't scalp you?" asked Sam, as if still in doubt.

"No, indeed.  I've got all my hair yet, even if my memory has gone back
on me.  I guess that must refer to some other boy.  Why, of course it
does.  Here it says his first name is Isaac, and the description isn't
at all like me."

"Vell, dot's so," admitted Sam, when he had read the item over again.
"I guess it must be somebodies else dan you.  I'm sorry, Dick.  I
thought sure I hat found out who you vos."

"I wish you had, Sam, but I'll find out some day."

Dick sighed in regret, for the strain was beginning to tell on him.
Nevertheless he bore up well.

At the end of the week Dick was able to go out, and he felt so well
that he insisted that he be allowed to sell papers.

"I don't think you're able to," objected Jimmy.

"Oh, yes, I am.  Besides, I want to earn some money.  I've been quite
an expense to you."

"Crimps!  I don't mean that.  But that's nothing.  Look what you did
for me.  I'm ever so much better off since I met you."

"I am glad you think so, but you must have had to draw some of our
savings out of the bank for medicine and things, and I want to put it
back so we can purchase that stand before Christmas, if possible."

"Oh, Christmas is quite a ways off.  Besides, I only used about five
dollars from the bank.  Business has been very good lately, even with
paying Frank and Sam a commission."

Since Dick's illness Jimmy had developed quite a business talent, and
as he could now read and write some, he attended to matters connected
with their little bank account, putting some in and at times drawing a
dollar or so out, as it was needed.

Though Jimmy insisted that Dick take a rest before beginning to sell
papers, the latter would not hear of it.  The next day he started out
with his bundle as usual, glad to be back at business once more.  He
was welcomed by many of his former customers, who remembered him, and
he sold a large number of papers.

"How do you feel?" asked Jimmy that night when the partners were in
their room.

"Pretty good, only a little tired.  My, what a lot has happened since
that night I thought you were hurt!"

"I should say so.  Mike and Bulldog will not bother us for quite a
while, I guess," and this proved a correct surmise, for some time
later, at the trial, they were both convicted and sent to a reform
school for long terms.  Jimmy never recovered the money which Mike
stole from him at the moving picture show nor that taken in Brooklyn.

"Yes, lots of things happened," went on Dick, "only I wish a little
more had."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I wish I knew who I was."

Jimmy said nothing.  He did not like to see Dick sad, but he did not
know how to help him in this matter.  Would the mystery never be solved?




CHAPTER XXIV

MR. CROSSCRAB'S VISIT

Business with the partners went on as usual for several days.  There
was a brisk demand for papers, and slowly they saw the little savings
in the bank grow.  They began to have visions of a fine stand by
Christmas, and the one they had first considered was still in their
mind, for the owner had not succeeded in disposing of it.

"Dick," remarked Jimmy one night, "I've got a new scheme."

"What is it?" and Dick looked up from the book he was reading at his
partner on the other side of the table.  Jimmy was laboriously figuring
on the back of an old envelope.

"Well, you know that weekly illustrated paper that's making such a hit
now?  It comes out every Friday, an' lots of the boys sell it."

"Yes, I know the one you mean.  What about it?"

"I was thinking we might add it to our stock.  If we did, and sold
enough of 'em, we could make quite a bit.  There's two and a half cents
profit on each copy, and if we sold fifty each that'd be two dollars
and a half each week."

"Good!  You're coming on with your arithmetic," exclaimed Dick.  "Why,
that sounds good, Jimmy.  Let's do it."

"There's one thing agin it, though."

"What's that?"

"There's no returns.  You can't take back what you don't sell, and we
might lose on it."

"Well, I suppose we'll have to take that risk.  Business men generally
have to venture something."

"I know, but we ain't got much capital.  If we was to lose a dollar in
the week it wouldn't be no fun."

"No; still I think it's worth trying."

"Then I'll do it.  I'll order a stock for this Friday, and we'll see
what we can do."

Jimmy was glad his chum had agreed to the scheme, which the older
newsboy had had in mind for some time, ever since he saw how well some
of his companions were doing with the new weekly, which was making
quite a bid for trade.

Accordingly, when Friday came, Jimmy got up early, and purchased one
hundred copies of the periodical.  These he divided with Dick, and the
two boys, rather more heavily laden than usual, started out for their
day's business.

If Dick thought he was going to dispose of all his copies of the new
weekly quickly, he was much disappointed.  Down in the financial
section he sold his usual number of daily papers, but, when it came to
disposing of the other, he had no luck.

"Why, I get that magazine at home every Friday morning," said one
broker, the one for whom Dick had delivered the letter that day he
nearly was arrested at the park fountain.  "I subscribe for it."

"Then you don't want two copies," spoke Dick cheerfully, though he
began to have his doubts about Jimmy's new scheme.

He found that nearly every person whom he asked to buy the weekly
received it at his house, either through the mail, or from some boy who
had a route in that vicinity.  He did manage to sell a few copies, but
not enough to pay for carrying the fifty around.

"I don't believe you'll have much of a success with that," said a
banker, who was one of Dick's steady customers.  "The concern sent out
an army of agents to get subscriptions by the year, before allowing
boys to sell it on the streets, and persons down here haven't time to
read a magazine like that during business hours.  We get it at our
homes."

Before the day was over Dick began to believe this was true.  He only
managed to sell twelve copies out of the fifty he had taken out, and,
as the sale of the magazine was practically over on the day of
publication, he could see a financial loss staring him in the face.

"That is, unless Jimmy managed to dispose of all of his," he thought.
"Guess I'll quit now, and go up and see how he's making out."

He found Jimmy on his corner, busily engaged in disposing of the
evening papers, for his customers did not stop work as early as did
those in the financial section.

"How's the new weekly going, Jimmy?" asked 'Dick, when there came a
lull in trade.

"Rotten!" was Jimmy's characteristic answer.  "It's a regular lemon,
down here.  It's on de blink.  I sold ten copies, and I couldn't get
rid of another one.  So I stowed 'em away, and I got busy with me--I
mean my--regular papers.  No trouble to sell them.  How'd you make out?"

"Not much better.  I sold twelve."

"Say, ain't that the limit?  I'll never try a new stunt like that
ag'in.  Everybody I struck to buy one, had one already, or got it home."

"Same with me," agreed Dick.

"Well, I can see us losin' some of our hard-earned plunks," went on
Jimmy.

"Never mind," consoled his partner.  "We made a good try, and we'll
know better next time."

"You bet I will.  What's that the book says about a trolley conductor
stickin' to his car?"

"I guess you mean the one about the shoemaker sticking to his last,"
said Dick, with a smile.

"Well, last or first, it don't make much difference, only I'm going to
stick to daily papers after this.  Crimps!  T'ink what a lot of fun we
could have had with de chink we lost!"

"Well, we'll make it up, somehow," said Dick.  "Don't worry over it."

But Jimmy could not help it, and it was some time before he got over
the financial disaster which came to him and his partner.  However, it
was, as Dick said, a good lesson to them, not to venture into a field
of which they knew nothing.

Jimmy had, under Dick's guidance, resumed his studies at night, and
Frank Merton came in occasionally.  The boys began to plan on attending
night school as soon as the term opened, which would be in a few weeks.

"Then you'll have to study harder than you do now, Jimmy," said Dick.
"Those teachers will not be as easy on you as I am."

"Well, I guess I can stand it," answered Jimmy, with a little sigh.
"As long as I've got to read and write and do arithmetic, I might as
well learn to do it good."

One evening, when Jimmy had not come in, as he had undertaken to
dispose of a lot of late extras, Dick sat alone in the room.  He was
vainly puzzling over his queer case, and wondering if he would ever
learn who he was, and who his folks were, if he had any.  He tried and
tried again to penetrate back into the past, but he had to stop at a
certain place.  And that was a confused scene, where he found himself
in a crowd, felt a stunning blow on the head and then awoke in the box
with Jimmy.

"I'm afraid that's as near it as I ever shall get," thought poor Dick.
"If only I could see something, or somebody, or hear something said
that would recall the past.  But I can't."

A little later some one knocked on the door.  Thinking it was Mr.
Snowden, who used to call on the permanent lodgers in the house
occasionally, Dick called out an invitation to enter.

A tall young man came in.  He was a stranger to Dick, who looked at him
in the light of the gas-jet, wondering what was wanted.

"Is Jimmy Small here?" asked the young man.

"He is out selling papers," replied Dick.  "I'm his partner.  Can I do
anything for you."

"Well, I just dropped in to pay him a friendly visit, as I promised I
would.  I'm Mr. Crosscrab."

"Oh, yes, I've often heard Jimmy speak of you.  Won't you sit down.
He'll soon be in."

Dick stepped out of the shadow cast by a shelf on the wall and offered
Mr. Crosscrab a chair.  As the light fell upon the boy's face the
visitor stepped back in amazement.

"Who--who are you?" asked Mr. Crosscrab.

"Why, I'm Jimmy's partner."

"Yes, but what--what is your name?"

"Well, Jimmy calls me Dick Box.  My first name is Dick, but I have
forgotten my other."

"Yes, yes!  I know.  You're Dick Box.  At least, that's what Jimmy
calls you.  But--yes, it must be--yet I had better make certain before
I tell him," and these last words Mr. Crosscrab murmured in a low voice.

Dick did not know what to make of the man's manner.

"What is it?" he asked.  "What is the matter?"

"I wish I had known this before I went to Vermont," went on Mr.
Crosscrab, speaking to himself.  "Yet it must be the same one.  But how
could he be here when he's supposed to be in Chicago?"

Dick began to be a little alarmed.  He thought perhaps Mr. Crosscrab
might be a little insane.  He wished Jimmy would come in.

"Can't you remember your other name?" asked the visitor.  "Try--try
very hard."

"I have tried--every day, but it's no use."

"Do you know where you came from?"

"No.  All I can remember is a large house with lots of ground about it,
and a man and woman who were kind to me.  Oh, Mr. Crosscrab, do you
know anything about me?  Do you know who I am?  Tell me, please, if you
do!"

"I am not sure, yet you look exactly the same.  Tell me, can you
remember anything about the house where you used to live?"

Dick puzzled his brain.  Strange shadows seemed to flit past him, yet
they meant nothing.

"Can you recall a little brook that used to run in front of the house,
across the road, and a little rustic bridge that spanned it?" asked Mr.
Crosscrab.

"Yes!  Yes!" cried Dick eagerly.  "I begin to remember now.  Help me,
please do!"

At that instant the door opened and Jimmy entered.  He looked in
surprise at Mr. Crosscrab, and then Dick's manner showed him something
unusual was taking place.

"What is the matter, Dick?" he asked.  "Are you sick again?"

"No, but Mr. Crosscrab thinks he knows who I am.  He is trying to help
me remember."

"I am not sure," replied the visitor in answer to Jimmy's look.  "This
is the first time I have seen your partner, and I do not want to raise
false hopes.  Yet he may be a certain boy of whom I heard on my recent
visit to my home in Vermont."

"Who is he?" asked Jimmy.

"Perhaps I had better tell you the story," suggested Mr. Crosscrab.
"Then we can decide what to do.  But don't be disappointed if, after
all, the secret of Dick Box is still unsolved."

"Oh, I hope I can find out who I am," murmured the boy who had
forgotten the past.

"When I was home this trip," went on Mr. Crosscrab, "I heard my father
tell about a friend of his owning a farm not far away whose son is
missing.  The boy had been gone for several months, but the father only
just learned of it."

"How was that?" asked Jimmy.

"This way: The farmer I speak of lived with his wife and son on a big
farm near my father's.  One day, some time ago, all three started for
New York.  The farmer and his wife had to go to Europe to settle up an
estate to which the farmer had fallen heir, and his wife went with him.
As they expected to travel about considerably, for part of the property
was in Germany and part in France, they decided not to take their son
with them.  He was to be sent to a cousin in Chicago who would care for
him until his parents returned.

"The three arrived in New York, where the boy was to take a train for
Chicago and the father and mother embark on a ship for Europe.  They
took their son to the Grand Central Station here, and, bidding him
farewell, left him just before he was to take his train as they had to
go aboard their vessel.  That was the last they saw of their son.  They
went to Europe, and as they had to travel about more than they expected
they lost considerable of their mail.  They never got a letter from the
cousin in Chicago telling about their son, but they did not worry, for,
though they would liked to have heard from him, they thought he was all
right.  They wrote a number of letters to him, but he never got them."

"Why not?" asked Dick, who was deeply interested.

"Because the boy never got to Chicago.  He disappeared somewhere
between here and there, maybe after arriving in the western city.  His
father and mother never knew it until they came back from Europe last
week.  Then, in answer to a telegram to the cousin in Chicago asking
how their son was, there came a message saying he had never arrived.
The cousin, after receiving letters from the other side, which
indicated that the boy's parents believed their son was with her, had
tried to send them word that he had never arrived, but of course the
messages did not reach the boy's father and mother.

"So they never knew until they got back the other day that he has been
missing all this while.  They are heartbroken, and they have hired
private detectives to find him if possible.  This is the story my
father told me when I was home, and he showed me a picture of the
missing boy."

"Does the picture look like me?" demanded Dick.

"Very much.  So much so that I was startled when I came in here and saw
you."

"What's the missing boy's name?" asked Jimmy.

"Dick Sanden."

"That's me!  That's me!" exclaimed Dick, springing to his feet.  "I
remember now!  I'm Dick Box no longer!  I'm Dick Sanden!  I remember it
all!  Oh, how glad I am!"

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Crosscrab, for he did not want the boy to be
mistaken.  "Be careful now.  What is your father's name?"

"My father's name?  My father's name?" murmured Dick.  "I--I can't seem
to remember."  He passed his hand across his forehead.  "I can't recall
that," he said piteously.




CHAPTER XXV

WHO DICK BOX WAS--CONCLUSION

Crossing the room Mr. Crosscrab put his arm about Dick.

"You must calm yourself," he said, for the boy was on the verge of
tears and a nervous breakdown.  "Let us reason this matter out.  I
really believe we can establish your identity, but we must go slowly.
Your memory can not all come back at once.  It will take a little time."

"Do you know his father's name?" asked Jimmy.

"Yes, if that man is his father.  But I wanted to see if he could
recall it.  That would almost prove that Dick Box is Dick Sanden.  Mr.
Sanden's name is Oliver, and he lives in the township of Slaterville,
Vermont."

"That's it!  I remember now!" cried Dick joyfully.  "My father is Mr.
Oliver Sanden, of Slaterville.  Now I am sure who I am."

"We must not be too positive," cautioned Mr. Crosscrab with a smile.
"Your memory may be playing you tricks again, and you may think because
I mention a name that it is the one you have forgotten.  However, we
can soon make sure."

"How?" inquired Jimmy with tremendous interest.

"I will telegraph my father to go at once and see Mr. Sanden.  He can
come here to-morrow morning, and then we can make positive if Dick Box
is Richard Sanden."

"I'm sure I am," said Dick with a smile.  "It is beginning to come back
to me now.  I remember father and mother starting for Europe and how I
was to go to Chicago."

"What happened after you got to the Grand Central Station?" asked
Jimmy.  "Why didn't you go to Chicago?"

"That's something I can't remember.  That's still a puzzle."

"Well, don't worry over it," advised Mr. Crosscrab.  "We will try and
have it all straightened out to-morrow.  You had better lie down and
rest."

"Lie down!  I couldn't lie down when I am thinking this way," replied
Dick.  "I am so anxious to see my parents."

After a few more questions Mr. Crosscrab was reasonably certain that
Dick Box was indeed Dick Sanden, for Dick could describe different
parts of the farm and things in Slaterville with which Mr. Crosscrab
was familiar.

The two boys were eager to talk over the unexpected discovery of Dick's
identity as made by Mr. Crosscrab, but the latter insisted that Dick
must be kept quiet, and he threatened to take Jimmy away unless they
got more calm, as he feared Dick would become ill again.

It seemed to Dick that he would never get to sleep, but at length his
brain, tired with the many thoughts that flitted through it, was quiet,
and he slept heavily until morning.  Meanwhile Mr. Crosscrab had sent
off the telegram.

Dick and Jimmy decided not to sell papers the next day.  They were both
too excited to pay proper attention to the business, and Frank Merton
and Sam Schmidt were called on.

How long the hours seemed before it would be possible for Mr. Sanden to
arrive!  There had come a telegram to Mr. Crosscrab stating that he had
started from Slaterville at midnight and expected to be in New York
about noon.

As Jimmy, Dick and Mr. Crosscrab sat in the room of the newsboy
partners anxiously waiting there sounded out in the corridor the tramp
of several feet.

"That's the room right in there," they heard Mr. Snowdon say, directing
some one.  The next instant the door opened.  In rushed a man and woman.

"Dick!" they exclaimed in a breath, and a moment later Dick was folded
in the arms of his father and mother.

For Dick Box was really Dick Sanden, and the mystery of his identity
was solved.

What a happy time followed, and how fervent were the thanks poured out
on Mr. Crosscrab for his part in the affair I leave my young readers to
imagine.

"I remember it all now," said Dick after he had talked with his parents
and many things had been explained.

"All but how you came to wander off and sleep in that box," said his
mother with a smile.

"I think I can explain that," said Mr. Crosscrab.  "I made some
inquiries at the Grand Central Station to-day.  It appears that on the
day Dick was to start for Chicago there was an accident.  A boy waiting
on the platform to take a train was hit on the head by a trunk which
fell from the top of a pile on a truck.  The boy was knocked
unconscious, and an ambulance was summoned to take him to the hospital.
The ambulance doctor temporarily dressed the boy's injury and placed
him in the vehicle, together with a valise the boy had with him.

"The start was made for the hospital.  On the way the ambulance had to
stop because of a blockade on account of a fire.  The doctor left his
place at the rear of the vehicle to see if there was any need of his
services, for there was a rumor some one had been burned in the blaze,
and when he came back his boy patient was gone.  And from that time to
this the authorities never heard anything about him.  They concluded he
had not been badly hurt, and had slipped out of the ambulance and run
away, not being noticed in the crowd.  The valise was also gone, and
from the fact that Dick did not have it when he awoke in the box, it
was probably stolen."

"And I guess that's what happened," said Dick's father.  "The valise
contained Dick's tickets and most of his money.  He probably partly
regained his senses in the ambulance, slipped out and wandered around,
half dazed, forgetting all about himself, until he found the box and
went to sleep in it."

"My poor boy!" said his mother, unable to keep back the tears.  "What a
terrible time you had!  Oh, how worried we were when we got back from
Europe and found your cousin knew nothing about you!"

"Yes, you must have worried, mother," said Dick, "but I got along
pretty well.  Jimmy and I have built up a fine business.  I'm almost
sorry I can't stay and help him buy that stand."

"Don't let that worry you, my son," said Mr. Sanden with a smile and a
hearty hand-clasp for Jimmy.  "I'll see that your partner has the
finest stand in New York."

"Crimps!" exclaimed Jimmy, forgetting himself under the excitement of
the occasion.  "Dat'll be bul--I mean that will be fine!"

And so it turned out.  Mr. Sanden was a wealthy man, more so than ever
since coming into the European property, and Jimmy was made proprietor
of one of the largest and finest news-stands in the big city.  For fear
sharpers might take advantage of him, Mr. Crosscrab and Mr. Snowden
agreed to look after certain matters for him.

"But I won't have any partner," said Jimmy, when details had been
arranged about the stand, and arrangements made for Dick and his
parents to go home.

"Yes, you will," said Dick with a smile.  "Frank Merton is going to be
your partner, and Sam Schmidt will be general assistant."

Thus it was arranged, and to-day those newsboy partners, (the three of
them, for Sam was given a share in the business) do a large business in
papers and magazines.

As for Dick Box--I mean Dick Sanden--he went back to Slaterville, where
many friends whom he had forgotten for a short period were very glad to
see him.  He often comes to New York now, for he has grown to be quite
a man, and he never forgets to visit Jimmy, Frank and Sam, who are now
useful and respected citizens.  So, you see, the misfortune which came
to our hero was the means of good to several, and the little
partnership started between Jimmy and Dick had a far-reaching result.




THE END











End of Project Gutenberg's The Newsboy Partners, by Frank V. Webster

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