"He's carried her off. That's why I'm tryin' to find him. If it wasn't for that I wouldn't trouble myself."
"You don't say so? Well, that's a pity. He isn't fit to take care of her. I hope you'll find her."
"Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I guess I'll go upstairs and ask some of the rest."
Rough and Ready ascended the stairs, and called upon some of his old acquaintances, with inquiries of a similar character. But he got no information likely to be of service to him. Martin had not been seen near his old lodgings since the day when he had disappeared, leaving his rent unpaid.
"Where shall I go next?" thought the newsboy, irresolutely.
This was a question more easily asked than answered. He realized that to seek for Rose in the great city, among many thousands of houses, was something like seeking a needle in a haystack.
"I'll go and get my papers," he decided, "and while I am selling them, perhaps I may think of where to go next. It'll be a hard job; but I'm bound to find Rose if she's in the city."
That she was in the city he did not entertain a doubt. Otherwise, he might have felt less sanguine of ultimate success.
He obtained his usual supply of papers, and going to his wonted stand began to ply his trade.
"You're late this morning, aint you?" asked Ben Gibson, a boot-black, who generally stood at the corner of Nassau Street and Printing-House Square. "Overslept yourself, didn't you?"