Beef, potatoes, bread and butter, all of the best, came, and were eaten with excellent appetite.
Jack was half afraid of the consequences when the waiter put a bright red check down beside his plate.
"Thirty cents?" exclaimed he joyfully, picking it up. "Why, that's the cheapest dinner I've had in New York."
"All right, sir. Come again, sir," said the waiter, smiling; and then Jack sat still for a moment.
"Six dollars, and, more too," he said to himself; "and my room's paid for besides. I can go right on looking up a place, for days and days, if I'm careful about my money. I mustn't be discouraged."
He certainly felt more courageous, now that he had eaten dinner, and he at once resumed his hunt for a place; but there was very little left of his smile. He went into store after store with almost the same result in each, until one good-humored gentleman remarked to him:
"My boy, why don't you go to a Mercantile Agency?"
"What's that?" asked Jack, and the man explained what it was.
"I'll go to one right away," Jack said hopefully.
"That's the address of a safe place," said the gentleman writing a few words. "Look out for sharpers, though. Plenty of such people in that business. I wish you good luck."