He wandered up to Main Street and stood looking at the tall buildings that his poor father owned.
Passersby smiled when they saw the little flaxen-haired boy, and many a rough face softened at the sight of his innocent blue eyes.
Poor little Willie. What could he do in the great, busy city to help his sick father?
“I know what I will do,” he said to himself presently. “I will go up and raise the rent of several offices and that will make my papa feel better.”
Willie toiled up three flights of stairs of one of his father’s largest buildings. He had to sit down quite often and rest, for he was short on wind.
Away up to the third story was an office rented by two young men who had just begun to practice law. They had their sign out, and had given their note to Mr. Flint for the first month’s rent. As Willie climbed the stairs the young lawyers were eating some cheese and crackers, with their feet on their desks, and six empty quart beer bottles stood upon a table. They were breathing hard, and one of them, who had a magnolia in his buttonhole, was telling a funny story about a girl.
Presently one of them took his feet off his desk, opened his eyes and said:
“Jeeminy! Bob, get onto his Fauntleroyets.”
The gentleman addressed as Bob also took his feet down, wiped his knife, with which he had been slicing cheese, on his hair, and looked around.
A little blue-eyed boy with long golden curls stood in the doorway.