“Dat’s what happens to me fer goin’ ter work reg’lar,” said the boy to himself. “Before I was in dat factory a day it took fire, an’ I hadn’t even had de time to learn de way out.” That night the boy sat down to supper with a hundred or more lads representing a dozen races and nationalities and innumerable callings, though the bulk of them made their living by selling newspapers and blacking boots. Supper over, they repaired to a big schoolroom on the floor above, and there, with slates and pencils and spelling books, endeavored to master the rudiments of an education. Skinny sat down at his desk with the others, and for an hour worked diligently. But every once in a while the remembrance of his friend, the fireman, would come into his mind. He knew intuitively that Bruce was interested in the young girl who had come to see him, and the tall, dark man who must be, the boy reasoned, connected with her in some way. He would make it his business to seek out this man, and all that he could learn about him he would place at the service of his new friend.
Born and brought up in the slums, having learned his trade in the streets and in the face of the sharp, juvenile competition which goes on there, Skinny was well suited to prosecute a search of the kind that now engrossed his attention. The next morning he was up at daybreak with the rest of the boys, and after breakfast betook himself to the big newspaper buildings where the presses were turning out the damp, freshly printed sheets by the thousands. Withdrawing from his hoarded capital half a dollar, Skinny invested it in a stock of morning papers, and then stationed himself near the entrance to the Bridge. By nine o’clock his stock was exhausted, and he had also secured about twenty papers which he had begged from passers-by who had read and were about to discard them. These he had also disposed of, and he was now more than half a dollar richer than he had been the night before. Satisfied with his morning’s work, he returned to the lodging house and rested there until it was time to resume business with the afternoon papers as his stock in trade. The various editions of these kept him busy during the afternoon, and netted him half a dollar. Then he went home, exhausted with his hard work, ate his supper, spent an hour in the schoolroom, and then went to bed.
For several weeks he labored industriously, and then beginning to tire of newspaper selling, he determined to find some other job.
Early one morning he bent his steps in the direction of Chatham Square, whence he walked along the Bowery till he came to Grand Street, and then, turning to the east, walked on until he found himself in the Jewish quarter of the town. As he walked he cast furtive and suspicious glances about him from time to time, for the exigencies of his life had taught him to be sharp and cunning, and distrustful of other people. It was seven o’clock by this time, and the street was full of girls hurrying toward the factories in which they worked. Turning into a side street the boy slunk along the pavement, and finally stopped and fixed his eyes on an old ramshackle building, the upper stories of which were occupied as a tenement house, while the ground floor was used as a sort of office. For some time the boy stood looking intently at this building from the opposite side of the street, and then seeing no sign of life in the office on the ground floor, he walked away, made a circuit of the neighborhood, and at the end of an hour returned once more; this time he found the office open and within it a small, dried up old man, who was writing in a big leather-bound book. To him the boy addressed himself:
“Want any errands run to-day, boss?” he inquired.
“No!” replied the old man, shortly.
“Hey, boss,” went on Skinny, “I used ter do odd jobs for dat bloke wid de black whiskers dat wuz here before, and I always done right by him.” The old bookkeeper fixed his spectacles on his nose, and looked sharply down at the lad who stood before him with upturned face and with his hat on the back of his head.
“Are you the boy that he used to send up town last winter?” demanded the clerk, suspiciously.
“Yes, I used ter take letters fer him way up above de bridge,” replied the other.
“Where have you been keeping yourself of late? If you’d been here a few days ago you might have earned a dollar or so, but you boys are never around when you are wanted,” continued the bookkeeper, speaking in sharp, stern tones.