Ben took the card, and put it in his pocket. He found the office to be located in Trinity Building, Broadway.
"I'll call every week reg'lar," he said.
"That's right, my lad. Good-morning."
"Good-mornin'."
Ben felt that he had started well. He had cleared nine cents by his sale, four representing his regular commission, while the other five cents might be regarded as a donation. Nine cents was something. But for his idea about the papers, he would have made nothing so far. It is a very good thing to have two strings to your bow, so Ben thought, though the thought did not take that precise form in his mind. He kept on his way till he reached the ferry. There was no train in on the other side, and would not be for some time, but passengers came over the ferry, and Ben placed himself where he could be seen. It was some time before he sold another paper however, although Ben, who improved some of his spare time by looking over the pictures, was prepared to recommend them.
"What papers have you got, boy? " asked a tall, lank man, whose thin lips and pinched expression gave him an outward appearance of meanness, which, by the way, did not belie his real character.
Ben recited the list.
"What's the price of 'Harper's Weekly'?"
"Ten cents."
"Ten cents is too much to pay for any paper. I don't see how they have the face to ask it."