"Give me a Erald," and then another mouthful to add,—"Don't cheat, now, you young rascal."
When the right change had been given, and the man was settled to his paper, the newsboy turned back to the boy whose eyes had expressed so much sympathy.
Bertie asked his papa if it would be too much trouble to change seats, and then he asked,—
"Do you sell many papers?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you do with the money?"
"I give it to mother. It doesn't half support us, though, and now she's going to die."
As the newsboy said this, a great sob seemed to choke him. Mr. Curtis, whose eyes were fixed full on his face, saw the little fellow resolutely suppress his emotion, and his sympathies were enlisted at once.
"Where does your mother live?" he inquired.
"Close by the depot in the city."