"Ten chances there for every one there is in the city, my boy," said Mr. Hubbard. "One hundred boys here for every place that's vacant. You go home. Dig potatoes. Make hay. Drive cows. Feed pigs. Do anything honest, but get out of New York. It's one great pauper-house, now, with men and boys who can't find anything to do."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack, with a tightening around his heart. "But I'll find something. You see if I don't—"
"Take my advice, and go home!" replied Mr. Hubbard, kindly. "Good-morning."
"Good-morning," said Jack, and while going out of that store he had the vividest recollections of all the country around Crofield.
"I'll keep on trying, anyway," he said. "There's a place for me somewhere. I'll try some other trade. I'll do anything."
So he did, until one man said to him:
"Everybody is at luncheon just now. Begin again by and by; but I'm afraid you'll find there are no stores needing boys."
"I need some dinner myself," thought Jack. "I feel faint. Mister," he added aloud, "I must buy some luncheon, too. Where's a good place?"
He was directed to a restaurant, and he seated himself at a table and ordered roast beef in a sort of desperation.
"I don't care what it costs!" he said. "I've got some money yet."