“You’d better get a place and work. That will be better than to starve or go to jail.”
“That is true. I didn’t think of that,” said Victor, brightening up. “But I don’t know what I can do. I never did any kind of work. I am afraid no one will employ me.”
“Then set up in business for yourself. You can sell papers if you can’t do anything else. That is, if you are not too proud to do it.”
“I am not too proud to do anything,” said the miserable Victor, “if I can make a living!”
“Good for you! That shows that you are not a snob, any way. What do you think your rich and aristocratic father would say if he should learn that his son was a newsboy?”
“He wouldn’t like it, and I don’t like it myself, but I shall not be ashamed to do it, if it is necessary.”
“I admire your spunk, Victor.”
“I am afraid I haven’t got much,” said Victor, shaking his head. “Oh, what a fool I have been! If I were only out of this scrape, I’ll never get into another.”
“It may all come right. It’s time we got letters. When we do we’ll start for home.”
At this instant there was a knock at the door, and the landlady, a stout woman with a red face, appeared.