He stopped to look at a few loaves of bread and a string of sausages that were displayed in the window of a cheap store. He wondered whether it would be wiser to spend his last few pennies for his breakfast, or save them for his dinner.
He had about decided to buy a piece of bread, and was waiting for the store to be opened for the day, when some one accosted him from behind: “Say, you boy!”
Joe turned and looked at the speaker. He was a rather stout, low-browed man, with a very red nose and a shaven face, upon which a rough stubble of beard had begun to grow.
His pantaloons were supported from below by the tops of his rubber boots, and suspended from above by a single brace, which ran diagonally across the breast of his red flannel shirt.
“Do you want a job, young fellow?” continued the man.
“What kind of a job?” asked Joe.
“Drivin’.”
“Drivin’ what?”
“Hosses on the canal. My boy got sick las’ night, an’ I’ve got to git another one. Do ye know anything about hosses?”
“Yes,” replied Joe. “I’ve driven ’em a good deal, and always taken care of ’em.”