"I'll tell you what I can do. Come to my little room, and we'll take turns sleeping in the bed. It is only eighteen inches wide, or we could both occupy it at a time."
"I'll come round and sleep on the floor, John. I won't deprive you of your bed. I wish I knew what to do."
"Perhaps Mr. Bond would take you back."
"No, he wouldn't. I am convinced that there was a conspiracy to get rid of me. I might try my hand at selling papers."
"You are too much of a gentleman to go into the street with the ragged street boys."
"My gentility won't supply me with board and lodging. I mustn't think of that."
"Something may turn up for you to-morrow, Oliver."
"It won't do to depend on that. If I canturn up something, that will be more to the purpose. However, this is our last night in this room, and I won't worry myself into a sleepless night. I will get my money's worth out of the bed."
Oliver was not given to dismal forebodings or to anticipating trouble, though he certainly might have been excused for feeling depressed under present circumstances. He slept soundly, and went out in the morning, active and alert.
He took a cheap breakfast—a cup of coffee and some tea-biscuit—for ten cents. He rose from the table with an appetite, but he didn't dare to spend more money. As it was, he had but forty cents left.