It was over a year since Harry had been in the city, and he was not very familiar with it, but he had a modest confidence in his ability to get along.
“Shine yer boots, guv’nor?” asked a ragged bootblack.
“How much?” Harry asked. “Seein’ it’s you, I’ll only ask ten cents,” returned the street boy.
“Thank you. I blacked my own boots before I left home.”
“Do you call that a shine?” said the boy, contemptuously, as his glance rested on Harry’s shoes, which certainly did not vie in polish with those operated upon by city bootblacks.
“It’ll do for me,” answered Harry, good-naturedly.
“Mornin’ papers—Herald, Times, Tribune, World!” called a newsboy.
“Give me a Herald,” said Harry, who suddenly bethought himself of the tin box, and was anxious to find out whether any allusion was made to the theft in the morning papers.
He opened the paper, and his eyes ran hastily over the crowded columns.