"Never before," said Mark, rather indignantly.
"Ah, that accounts for it. You haven't learned the business yet. After a few weeks you'll have a sick mother starving at home. They all do, you know."
"My mother is dead," said Mark; "I shan't tell a lie to get money."
"Come, you're rather a remarkable boy," said the young man, who was a reporter on a daily paper, going over to attend a meeting in Brooklyn, to write an account of it to appear in one of the city dailies in the morning. "I don't generally give money in such cases, but I must make an exception in your case."
He drew a dime from his vest-pocket and handed it to Mark.
Mark took it with a blush of mortification at the necessity.
"I wouldn't beg if I could help it," he said, desiring to justify himself in the eyes of the good-natured young man.
"I'm glad to hear that. Johnny." (Johnny is a common name applied to boys whose names are unknown.) "It isn't a very creditable business. What makes you beg, then?"
"I shall be beaten if I don't," said Mark.
"That's bad. Who will beat you?"