“I wouldn’t like to sell it,” said Carl.
“You won’t get any more for it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that; but it was given me by my mother, who is now dead. I would not like to part with anything that she gave me.”
“You would prefer to get off scot-free, I suppose?” retorted the clerk, with a sneer.
“No; I am willing to leave it in your hands, but I should like the privilege of redeeming it when I have the money.”
“Very well,” said the clerk, who reflected that in all probability Carl would never come back for it. “I’ll take it on those conditions.”
Carl passed over the pencil with a sigh. He didn’t like to part with it, even for a short time, but there seemed no help for it.
“All right. I will mark you paid.”
Carl left the hotel, satchel in hand, and as he passed out into the street, reflected with a sinking heart that he was now quite penniless. Where was he to get his dinner, and how was he to provide himself with a lodging that night? At present he was not hungry, having eaten a hearty breakfast at the hotel, but by one o’clock he would feel the need of food. He began to ask himself if, after all, he had not been unwise in leaving home, no matter how badly he had been treated by his stepmother. There, at least, he was certain of living comfortably. Now he was in danger of starvation, and on two occasions already he had incurred suspicion, once of being concerned in a murder, and just now of passing counterfeit money. Ought he to have submitted, and so avoided all these perils?
“No!” he finally decided; “I won’t give up the ship yet. I am about as badly off as I can be; I am without a cent, and don’t know where my next meal is to come from. But my luck may turn—it must turn—it has turned!” he exclaimed with energy, as his wandering glance suddenly fell upon a silver quarter of a dollar, nearly covered up with the dust of the street. “That shall prove a good omen!”