“That’s too bad.”
“I’m going to the city to make my fortune.”
“That’s uphill work.”
“Maybe it is. But I read in a book how a boy went to the city and helped a Wall Street man, and got to be worth three million dollars. I’m going to help a Wall Street man if I can find one.”
“I’m afraid you’ll never find that kind. What kind of a book did you read that story in?”
“A book they called a five-cent library. It had a colored picture on the cover. The story was called ‘Clever Carl; or, From Office Boy to Millionaire.’ Say, but Carl was a wonder!”
“He must have been—in the book. Don’t you know all such stories are fiction pure and simple.”
“Fiction? What do you mean?”
“They are not true. If Carl went to the city it’s more than likely he’d have to work as hard as anybody to make a living. Of course, he might, in the end, become a millionaire, but the chances are a million to one against it.”
At this announcement the boy’s face fell, and he wiped his perspiring and dusty face with a handkerchief.