“I shouldn’t want to be a newsboy,” thought Oliver; “yet I would rather do that than starve.”
Walking over to the little park in front of the City Hall, he sat down on one of the benches and read the paper he had bought. There was but little in it to interest him, and he had soon finished. Then he threw down the sheet. In an instant a man sitting near snatched it up.
“Through?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Oliver.
“Thanks;” and immediately the man was deeply absorbed in the journal.
“Evidently he is too poor to buy a paper, and yet he is hungry for something to read,” thought Oliver, and he hit it exactly.
The boy found the time hanging heavily upon his hands after this. He detested spending a day in idleness, yet it could not be helped. He walked over to the North River, and then up West Street, and finally returned up Vesey Street to the post-office.
Here he hunted up the right window, and asked if there were any letters.
For reply one was handed out.
How eagerly Oliver took it up! It bore the Rockvale postmark. It was from home!