"What do you ask?" he said.
"It's worth a quarter to black them shoes," said the boy, swinging them critically.
"Then I can't afford it,"
"Twenty cents."
"No," said Sam. "I've got to earn my own living, and I can't afford it. Is blackin' boots a good business?"
"Some days it is, but if it comes rainy, it isn't. I'll give you a bully shine for ten cents."
"Will you show me afterwards where I can get some dinner cheap?" asked Sam, who was still hungry.
"Yes," said the boot-black. "I know a tip-top place."
"Is it far off?"
"Right round in Chatham street—only a minute's walk."