"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.