"No, I don't tell tales about my fellow clerks."
"Then won't you lend me a dollar?" inquired Sam, returning to the charge.
"I would rather not, under the circumstances."
Sam was disappointed. He had five cents left to buy lunch with, and his appetite was uncommonly healthy.
"Why wasn't I born rich?" thought Sam. "I guess I have a pretty hard time. I wish I could find a pocket-book or something."
Sam was a juvenile Micawber, and trusted too much to something turning up, instead of going to work and turning it up himself.
However, strangely enough, something did turn up that very afternoon.
Restricted to five cents, Sam decided to make his lunch of apples. For this sum an old woman at the corner would supply him with three, and they were very "filling" for the price. After eating his apples he took a walk, being allowed about forty minutes for lunch. He bent his steps toward Wall Street, and sauntered along, wishing he were not obliged to go back to the office.
All at once his eye rested on a gold ring lying on the sidewalk at his feet. He stooped hurriedly, and picked it up, putting it in his pocket without examination, lest it might attract the attention of the owner, or some one else who would contest its possession with him.
"That's almost as good as a pocket-book," thought Sam, elated. "It's gold—I could see that. I can get something for that at the pawnbroker's. I'll get some supper to-night, even if I can't borrer any money."