"Thank you for the compliment;" and Ben rose from his knees, having made the newsboy's second shoe shine like a mirror. "Now, mister, if you'd like to have your boots shined up by a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I'm ready for the job."
"Well, perhaps I may as well. So you're in reduced circumstances, my lad?"
"Yes, sir; my aristocratic relatives have disowned me since I took to blackin' boots, just like they did Ferdinand Montressor, in the great play at the Old Bowery, when he lost his fortun' and went to tending bar for a livin'."
"I suppose Ferdinand came out right in the end, didn't he?"
"Yes, sir; owing to the death of fifteen of his nearest relations, who got blown up in a steamboat explosion, he became the owner of Montressor Castle, and a big pile of money besides, and lived happy forever after."
"Well, my lad, perhaps you'll be lucky too."
"Maybe you're meanin' to give me a quarter for blackin' your boots," said Ben, shrewdly.
"No, I wasn't intending to do it; but, as you're a gentleman in reduced circumstances, I don't know but I will."
"Thank you, sir," said Ben, pocketing the money with satisfaction. "Any time you want your boots blacked, just call on me, and I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever saw."
"All right, good-morning! When you get into your castle, I'll come and see you."