He did see two signs, but the places were meant for smaller lads than Tom—boys who had parents to support them—and who would be content with two or three dollars a week.
“I guess this is going to be a poor year for boys,” thought Tom, as he went over to a little park, where, sitting on a bench, he ate his lunch. He spent five cents for a cup of coffee and a bun at a street stand, and felt somewhat better after it, for the day was cold.
“There’s a big building,” mused the boy, as he looked at one just across from the little park. “There must be a couple of hundred offices in it. Now they need boys in an office, and out of the two hundred there ought to be a place for me. I’m going to ask in every office in that building.”
Tom did not know how much of a task he had set for himself, but he started bravely in, beginning on the ground floor, and working his way up.
In some places he was politely told that there was no opening for him. In others he was gruffly given the same information, though, by this time, he was getting hardened to rebuffs.
“Well, I’ve asked in twenty-five places,” he mused. “Here goes for the twenty-sixth.”
He entered an office marked “Real Estate and Insurance.” A rather pretty girl was pounding away at a typewriter.
“Do you want a boy?” asked Tom, smiling, in spite of his weariness.
“Do I want a boy?” she asked wonderingly. “Why, no. Are you a messenger boy? I didn’t ring for any.”
“I’m looking for work,” explained Tom.