"And you mean to say that you lost the whole hundred dollars!" ejaculated the newsboy. "That's awful, Nat!"
"I wish I could get hold of that Nick Smithers. I'd—I'd wring his neck for him!"
"It won't do any good to look for him. I know his kind. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow. Those chaps work their schemes all over the States."
Nat was in no humor to eat supper, and scarcely touched a mouthful. Mrs. Talcott and Dick did all they could to cheer him up.
"Make the best of it," said the newsboy. "You'll be sure to strike something good sooner or later."
"I guess I'm too much of a greeny to do that," answered Nat.
That night when our hero went to bed he could not sleep. His ready money was running low, and how to turn he did not know. Bitterly he upbraided himself for having trusted Nick Smithers, but this did no good. His money was gone, and it was doubtful if he would ever see a cent of it again.
"I ought to go back on the farm where I belong," he muttered. "I'm not smart enough to get along in a city like New York."
But by morning his thoughts took a turn, and at breakfast his eyes were as bright and expectant as ever.
"I'm going out and get something to do," he said firmly. "And I'm not going to let anybody get the best of me again."