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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 The dealer, always ready for a bargain, was induced to climb up to
the attic room, and take a look at the cheap wooden bedstead, with
its scanty bedding, and the two chairs, which were about all the
furniture the room contained.
"It's not worth much," he said.
"Well, I suppose it's worth something," said Martin.
"What'll you take for it?"
"Three dollars."
"I'll give you one dollar."
"That's too bad. You ought to give me two dollars, at any rate."
At length, after considerable chaffering, the dealer agreed to give
a dollar and a quarter, which Martin pocketed with satisfaction.
Just as he had effected the sale, the landlord's agent appeared.
"Have you got your rent ready?" he asked of Martin.
"No, I haven't," said Martin.
"Then you must move out."
"I'm just moving."
"But I shall seize the furniture," said the agent. "I can't allow you
to move that."
"Take it, if you want to," said Martin, in a coarse laugh. "I've just
sold it to this man here."
"I don't believe it," said the agent, angrily.
"Oh, well, it's nothing to me. Settle it between you," said Martin,
carelessly, going downstairs, leaving the dealer and the agent to an
animated and angry dispute over the broken-down bedstead.
"That was neatly done," thought Martin, laughing to himself. "I
don't care which gets it. I suppose they'll have a fight about it. Now
I must have a good breakfast, and then for a talk with that young
rebel. He thinks he's cheated me cleverly, but I'm not through with
him yet."
Martin strayed into a restaurant at the lower end of Chatham
Street, where he made a satisfactory breakfast, with as little regard
to expense as if his resources were ample. Indeed, he felt little
trouble about the future, being fully determined that in the future, as
in the past, Rufus should support him.
"Aint I entitled to his earnings, I'd like to know till he comes of
age?" thought Martin.
So he convinced himself readily that law and right were on his
side, and it was with no misgivings as to the result that he
approached the newsboy whom, from some distance away, he saw
actively engaged in plying his business.
"'Herald,' 'Tribune,' 'Times,' 'World'!" cried Rough and Ready,
looking about him for possible customers.
"So I've found you at last," said James Martin, grimly addressing
the newsboy.
"I haven't been lost that I know of," said Rough and Ready, coolly.
"Where were you last night?"
"At the Newsboys' Lodge."
"What made you leave home?"
"I didn't like staying there."
"You're a mighty independent young man. How old do you
pretend to be?"
"Fifteen, as near as I can remember," said the newsboy.
"I didn't know but you were twenty-one, as you claim to be your
own master," sneered Martin.
"I don't see why I shouldn't be my own master," said Rough and
Ready, "as long as I have to support myself."
"Aint I your father?"
"No, you aint," said the newsboy, bitterly. "You married my
mother, and killed her with your ill-treatment. I don't want to have
anything more to do with you."
"Oh, you're mighty smart. What have you done with your sister?"
"She's safe," said the newsboy, shortly.
 "What business had you to take her away from her home?"
demanded Martin, angrily.
"I've got the care of her."
"She's my child, and you must bring her back again."
"Your child!" said Rufus, contemptuously. "You did not give a cent
towards supporting her. What little you earned you spent for rum. I
had to pay all the expenses, and when I bought my sister some new
clothes, you were mean enough to carry them off and sell them. If it
hadn't been for that, I would have left her a little while longer. But
that was more than I could stand, and I've carried her where you
won't find her."
"Tell me, instantly, where you have carried her," said James
Martin, stung by the newsboy's reproaches, and doggedly resolved
to get the little girl back, at all hazards.
"I don't mean to tell you," said Rough and Ready.
"Why not?"
"Because she is in a good place, where she will be taken care of,
and I don't mean that you shall get hold of her again."
"You'd better take care what you say," said Martin, his red nose
growing redder still, in his angry excitement.
"I'm not afraid of your threats," said the newsboy, quietly.
"I've a great mind to give you a flogging on the spot."
"I wouldn't advise you to try it, unless you want me to call a
copp."
James Martin had no great love for the police, with whom he had
before now got into difficulty. Besides, he knew that Rufus, though
not as strong as himself, was strong enough to make a very
troublesome resistance to any violence, and that the disturbance
would inevitably attract the attention of the police. So he forbore to
attack him, though he found it hard to resist the impulse. But he
shook his fist menacingly at Rufus, and said, "Some day I'll get hold
of your sister, you may be sure of that, and when I do, I'll put her
where you'll never set eyes on her again. Just remember that!"
 He went off muttering, leaving Rufus a little troubled. He knew
that his stepfather had an ugly spirit, and he feared that he would
keep on the watch for Rose, and some day might get hold of her.
The very thought was enough to make him tremble. He determined
to warn Miss Manning of the danger which threatened his little sister,
and request her to be very careful of her, keeping her continually
under her eye.
 CHAPTER VIII.
ROSE IN HER NEW HOME.

At the close of the afternoon the newsboy, counting up his gains,

found that he had made a dollar and a half by selling papers, and
twenty-five cents besides, by an errand which he had done for a
shopkeeper whose boy was sick. If he could keep up this rate of
wages every day, he would be able to get along very well. But, in
the first place, it was not often that he made as much as a dollar
and a half by selling papers, nor was there a chance to do errands
every day. When it was rainy his sales of papers fell off, as there
were not so many people about Rufus began to feel like a family
man, with the responsibility of supporting a family on his hands.
He was determined that his little sister should not be obliged to go
out into the street to earn anything, though there are many girls, no
older than she, who are sent out with matches, or papers, or
perhaps to beg. But Rufus was too proud to permit that.
"A stout boy like me ought to earn money enough to take care of
two persons," he said to himself.
About half-past five he started for Franklin Street, for it will be
remembered that he had arranged to take supper with his sister and
Miss Manning.
Rose had been listening for his step, and as soon as she heard it
on the stairs, she ran out on the landing, and called out, joyfully, "Is
that you, Rufie?"
"Yes, Rosie," said the newsboy. "What have you been doing to-
day?"
 "I've had such a nice time, Rufie," said the little girl, clinging to
her brother's arm. "Miss Manning began to teach me my letters to-
day."
"How does she get along, Miss Manning?" asked Rough and
Ready, who by this time had entered the room.
"Famously," said Miss Manning. "She's very quick. I think she'll be
able to read in three months, if she keeps on doing as well as to-
day."
"That's good," said the newsboy, with satisfaction. "I've always
been afraid that she would grow up ignorant, and I shouldn't like
that."
"I'm no great scholar," said Miss Manning, modestly; "but I shall
be glad to teach Rose all I can."
"I am afraid it will be a good deal of trouble for you."
"No, it is very little. Rose sits beside me, learning, while I am
sewing."
"But you have to leave off to hear her."
"Leaving off now and then rests me. Besides, as you pay part of
my rent, I do not need to work so steadily as I used to do."
"I've a great mind to ask you to teach me a little, too, Miss
Manning," said the newsboy.
"I'll do it with pleasure, as far as I am capable. How much do you
know?"
"Precious little," said Rufus. "I can read some, but when I get out
of easy reading I can't do much."
"Can you write?"
"A little, but not much."
"I will help you all I can."
"Then I'll bring a writing book to-morrow evening, and a book to
read out of."
Rough and Ready, though not as ignorant as many in his situation
in life, had long deplored his ignorance, and wished that he knew
more. But he had been obliged to work early and late, and his
stepfather was not one to give him assistance, or take any interest in
his improvement. So he had grown up ignorant, though possessed of
excellent abilities, because he saw no way of obtaining the
knowledge he desired. Now, however, he thought, with Miss
Manning's help, he might enter upon a career of improvement.
"Have you seen father yet, Rufie?" asked Rose, uneasily.
"I saw Mr. Martin this morning," said the newsboy, emphasizing
the name, for he would not recognize any relationship between
them.
"I mean Mr. Martin," said Rose. "What did he say?"
"He wanted to know where you were."
"Did he?" asked Rose, looking frightened.
"Don't be afraid, Rosie," said her brother, putting his arm round
his little sister's neck. "He doesn't know, and I shan't let him find
out."

Rose and her Enemy.

 "But if he should find out," said Rose, in terror. "You won't let him
carry me off."
"No, I won't. Don't be frightened. Do you like this better than
Leonard Street, Rosie?"
"Oh, ever so much."
Rufus looked pleased. He felt that he had made the best
arrangement in his power for his sister's comfort and happiness, and
that he had been very lucky to find so suitable a person as Miss
Manning to place her with.
While he was talking with Rose, the seamstress had been moving
about quietly, and by this time the little table was neatly spread in
the centre of the room. On it were placed knives, forks, and plates
for three. The teakettle had boiled, and, taking out her little teapot,
the seamstress put it on the stove for the tea to steep.
"Do you like toast, Rufus?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss Manning; but I don't want you to take too much
trouble."
"It's very little trouble. I think Rose would like toast too. I've got a
little meat too."
She took from the cupboard about half a pound of steak, which
she put on the coals to broil.
"I'm afraid you're giving us too good a supper," said the newsboy.
"Beefsteak costs considerable. I don't want you to lose money by
Rose and me."
"There is no danger of that," said Miss Manning. "It doesn't cost
as much as you think for. The steak only cost me twelve cents."
"But there's the tea and the toast," suggested Rough and Ready.
"Toast costs no more than bread, and six cents pays for all the
bread we eat at night. Then I only need a spoonful or two of tea,
and that, and the sugar and butter altogether, don't cost more than
eighteen cents."
"Do you mean that we can live like this for thirty cents a meal?"
asked the newsboy, incredulously. "Why, I have about as much as
that to pay for my dinner at the eating-house, and the meat isn't as
good as this, I am sure."
"Yes, they charge considerable for the cooking and the profits,"
said Miss Manning. "I do the cooking myself, and save all that."
By this time dinner, as we may call it, was ready, and the three sat
down to the table.
It was, to be sure, an humble meal; but it looked very attractive
and inviting for all that, with the steak on a plate in the centre, the
well-browned toast on one side, and the little plate of butter on the
other, while the little teapot steamed with its fragrant beverage. It
was so different from the way in which they had lived in Leonard
Street, that it seemed very pleasant to the two children.
"Isn't it nice, Rufie?" said Rose.
"Yes," said the newsboy. "It's what I call reg'larly jolly. Besides, it
cost so little money, I can't get over that. I'm sure we're much
obliged to Miss Manning."
"But," said the seamstress, "you must remember that if it's better
for you, it's better and pleasanter for me too. You mustn't think I
used to live like this before Rose came to me. I couldn't afford to.
Sometimes I had a little tea, but not often, and it was very seldom
that I ate any meat. The rent came hard for me to pay, and I had to
work so steadily that I didn't feel as if I could afford time to cook
anything, even if I had the money to buy it with."
"What did you have for supper, Miss Manning?" inquired Rose.
"Generally I didn't get anything but dry bread, without butter or
tea."
"But I should think you would have felt hungry for something
else."
"I didn't have much appetite. I sat so steadily at my work, without
a chance to breathe the fresh air, that I cared very little about
eating. My appetite is beginning to come now."
"I think you and Rose had better take a walk every day," said
Rufus. "You both need to breathe the fresh air. That is, if you think
you can spare the time."
"Oh, yes, I can spare the time, now that I get paid so well for my
boarder," said the seamstress, playfully. "An hour or two of my time
is worth very little. How much do you think I earn when I sit over
my work all day,—about fourteen hours?"
"I don't know," said Rufus. "I think you ought to earn as much as
a dollar."
Miss Manning shook her head, with a smile.
"I see you know very little about the wages paid to us poor
seamstresses," she said. "If I were paid a dollar for my day's work I
should feel as if I were worth a fortune."
"But you earn near that," said the newsboy, "don't you?"
"When I work steadily, I earn about three shillings," said Miss
Manning.
I must here remind my New England reader, who is accustomed to
consider a shilling about seventeen cents, that in New York eight
shillings are reckoned to the dollar, and a shilling, therefore, only
represents twelve and a half cents; Miss Manning's day's work thus
brought her thirty-seven and a half cents.
"Three shillings!" repeated Rough and Ready, in surprise. "That's
very poor pay. I think I do very poorly if I don't make as much as a
dollar. Won't they pay you any more?"
"No, they find plenty who are ready to take their work at the price
they are willing to pay. If anybody complains, they take away their
work and employ somebody else."
"How much do you think I made to day?" asked the newsboy.
"A dollar and a quarter?"
"I made a dollar and seventy-five cents," said Rough and Ready,
with satisfaction.
"Rufie's real smart," said Rose, who was proud of her brother, in
whom she felt implicit confidence.
"You mustn't believe all she says, Miss Manning," said the
newsboy, laughing. "Rose thinks more of me than anybody else
does. But what were we talking about? Oh, about going out for a
walk every day. If you think you can spare the time to go out with
Rose, I think it will do you both good."
"We can come round and see you sell papers sometimes, Rufie,"
said his little sister.
"No," said the newsboy, hastily, "I don't want you to do that."
"Why not?" said Rose, surprised.
"Because Mr. Martin is on the lookout for Rose, and will very likely
be prowling round somewhere near me, ready to pounce on Rose if
he happens to see her. So I'd rather you'd keep on the west side
with her Miss Manning. If you go on Broadway, let it be somewhere
above Chamber Street, where you won't be seen from the Park. In
that way Martin won't be likely to meet you."
"It is best to be prudent, no doubt," said Miss Manning. "I will
remember your wishes."
The next evening, Rufus began to study, under the guidance and
direction of Miss Manning. He generally left the room about nine
o'clock, and made his way to the Newsboys' Lodge, where he now
passed his nights regularly.
 CHAPTER IX.
MR. MARTIN'S PECUNIARY TROUBLES.

James Martin, after his unsatisfactory interview with Rough and

Ready, found it necessary to make some plans for the future. He had
been forced to leave the rooms in Leonard Street; he had no longer
the newsboy's earnings to depend upon, and, disagreeable as it was
to work for his own living, there really seemed no other way open to
him. On the whole, as he had no home and no money, he was not
particular about resuming the care of Rose at once.
He was willing that her brother should retain the charge of her at
present at his own expense, but none the less was he angry with
Rough and Ready for defying his authority.
"I'll get hold of the girl yet, in spite of him," he said to himself.
"He'll find out what I am before I get through with him."
In the mean time, he thought of the work which had been offered
him in Brooklyn, and resolved, as a matter of necessity, to go over
and see if he could not effect an engagement. The new houses he
remembered were on Fourth Avenue, in Brooklyn. He did not know
exactly where, but presumed he could find out.
He crossed Fulton Ferry, luckily having two cents about him.
Fourth Avenue is situated in that part of Brooklyn which is known as
Gowanus, and is at least two miles from the ferry. The fare by the
horse-cars was six cents, but James Martin had only three left after
paying his ferriage. He could not make up his mind to walk,
however, and got into the Greenwood cars, resolved to trust his luck.
The cars started, and presently the conductor came round.
 Martin put his hand into his pocket unconcernedly, and, starting in
apparent surprise, felt in the other.
"Some rascal must have picked my pocket," he said. "My pocket-
book is gone."
"How much money did you have in it?" asked his next neighbor.
"Forty-five dollars and twenty-five cents," said Martin, with
unblushing falsehood. "It's pretty hard on a poor man."
The conductor looked rather incredulous, observing his
passenger's red nose, and that his breath was mingled with fumes of
whiskey.
"I'm sorry for you if you've lost your pocket-book," he said; "but
can't you raise six cents?"
Martin again thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out three
cents.
"That's all I've got left," he said. "You'll have to take me for half
price."
"Contrary to orders," said the conductor. "Couldn't do it."
"What am I to do then?"
"If you can't pay your fare, you'll have to get off the cars."
"It seems to me you're rather hard," said a passenger.
"I have to obey orders," said the conductor. "I don't make the
regulations myself."
"If you will allow me," said a lady opposite, "I will pay your fare,
sir."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Martin. "I'll accept your kind offer,
though I wouldn't need to be beholden to anybody, if it hadn't been
for my loss. It's pretty hard on a poor man," he added,
complainingly.
"Will you accept a trifle towards making up your loss?" said an old
gentleman, who had more benevolence than penetration.
"Thank you, sir," said James Martin, accepting the two-dollar bill
which was tendered him, without feeling the least delicacy in so
doing.
"You're very kind. I wouldn't take it if I hadn't been so
unfortunate."
"You're quite welcome," said the old gentleman, kindly. "You'd
better report your loss to the police."
"So I shall, as soon as I return to-night."
James Martin looked round among the other passengers, hoping
that some one else might be induced to follow the example of the
charitable old gentle man. But he was disappointed. There was some
thing about his appearance, which was not exactly engaging or
attractive, and his red nose inspired suspicions that his habits were
not quite what they ought to have been. In fact, there was more
than one passenger who had serious doubts as to the reality of his
loss.
When the cars reached the entrance of Fourth Avenue, Martin
descended, and walked up the street.
"Well," he said, chuckling, as he drew out the bill from his pocket,
"I'm in luck. I'd like to meet plenty as soft-headed as that old chap
that gave it to me. He swallowed down my story, as if it was gospel.
I'll try it again some time when I'm hard up."
Martin began to consider whether, having so large a sum on hand,
he had not better give up the idea of working till the next day; but
the desire to find himself in a position in which he could regain Rose
prevailed over his sluggishness, and he decided to keep on.
He had not far to walk. He soon came in sight of a row of wooden
houses which were being erected, and, looking about him, he saw
the man he had met in the streets of New York only a day or two
before.
"Hallo, Martin!" he called out, seeing the new arrival; "have you
come over to help us?"
"Do you need any help?" asked Martin.
"Badly. One of my men is sick, and I am shorthanded."
"What do you give?"
 "Two dollars a day."
Wages are higher now, but this was before the war.
"Come, what do you say?"
"Well, I might as well," said Martin.
"Then I'll tell you what I would like to have you begin on."
The directions were given, and James Martin set to work. He was
in reality an excellent workman, and the only thing which had
reduced him to his present low fortune was the intemperate habits
which had for years been growing upon him. Mr. Blake, the
contractor, himself a master carpenter, understood this, and was
willing to engage him, because he knew that his work would be
done well as long as he was in a fit condition to work.
Martin kept at work till six o'clock, when all the workmen knocked
off work. He alone had no boarding-place to go to.
"Where do you board, Tarbox?" he asked of a fellow-workman.
"In Eighth Street," he answered.
"Is it a good place?"
"Fair."
"Who keeps the house?"
"Mrs. Waters."
"What do you pay?"
"Four dollars a week."
This again was lower than the price which mechanics have to pay
now.
"Is there room for another?"
"Yes, the old lady'll be glad to get another. Will you come?"
"Well, I'll try it."
So James Martin walked home with Tarbox, and was introduced to
Mrs. Waters,—a widow who looked as if it required hard work and
anxious thought to keep her head above water. Of course she was
glad to get another boarder, and her necessities were such that she
could not afford to be particular, or possibly Mr. Martin's appearance
might have been an objection.
"I suppose," she said, "you won't have any objection to go in with
Mr. Tarbox."
"No," said Martin, "not at present; but I may be bringing my little
girl over here before long. Do you think you can find room for her?"
"She might sleep with my little girl," said Mrs. Waters; "that is, if
you don't object. How old is she?"
"She is seven."
"And my Fanny is eight. They'd be company for each other."
"My little girl is in New York, at present," said Mr. Martin, "stopping
with—with a relative. I shall leave her there for a while."
"You can bring her any time, Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Waters. "If you
will excuse me now, I will go and see about the supper."
In ten minutes the bell rang, and the boarders went down to the
basement to eat their supper.
Considering Mrs. Waters' rate of board, which has already been
mentioned, it will hardly be expected that her boarding
establishment was a very stylish one. Indeed, style would hardly
have been appreciated by the class of boarders which patronized
her. A table, covered with a partially dirty cloth, stood in the centre
of the room. On this were laid out plates and crockery of common
sort, and a good supply of plain food, including cold meat. Mrs.
Waters found that her boarders were more particular about quantity
than quality, and the hearty appetite which they brought with them
after a day's work in the open air caused them to make serious
inroads even upon the most bountiful meal which she could spread
before them.
James Martin surveyed the prospect with satisfaction. He had lived
in a slip-shod manner for some months, and the table set by Mrs.
Waters, humble as it was, seemed particularly attractive. On the
whole, he could not help feeling that it was better than Leonard
Street. Indeed, he felt in particularly good spirits. He had two dollars
in his pocket, and had worked three quarters of a day, thus earning
a dollar and a half, though he would not be paid for his labor till the
end of the week. The thought did come to him once, that after all he
was well rid of Rose, as she would be an expense to him, and this
expense the newsboy had voluntarily assumed. Now he had only
himself to take care of. Why should he not give up the thought of
reclaiming her?
But then, on the other hand, Rough and Ready's independent
course had offended him, and he felt a desire to "come up" with
him. He knew that nothing would strike the newsboy a severer blow
than to deprive him of his sister, and leave him in uncertainty as to
her fate. Revenge he felt would be sweet, and he fully determined
that he would have revenge.
"Let him look out for himself!" said James Martin. "I'll plague him
yet. He'll be sorry for his cursed impudence, or my name isn't James
Martin."
After supper Martin strolled out, and was not long in finding a
liquor-shop. Here he supplied himself with a vile draught, that had
the effect of making his red nose yet redder when he appeared at
the breakfast-table the next morning. However, he didn't drink to
excess, and was able to resume work the following day.
We must now leave him, awhile, and turn to little Rose and her
brother.
 CHAPTER X.
WHAT THE NEWSBOY FOUND.

It has been already stated that Rough and Ready had made a
careful estimate of his expenses, and found that to meet them,
including clothing, he must average seven dollars and seventy-two
cents weekly. He might get along on less, but he was ambitious of
maintaining himself and his sister in comfort.
This was a considerable sum for a newsboy to earn, and most
boys in our hero's position would have felt discouraged. But Rough
and Ready had an uncommon degree of energy and persistence,
and he resolutely determined that in some way the weekly sum
should be obtained. In some honest way, of course, for our hero,
though not free from faults, was strictly honest, and had never
knowingly appropriated a cent that did not justly belong to him. But
he was not averse to any method by which he might earn an honest
penny.
During the first fortnight after Rose came under the charge of Miss
Manning, the newsboy earned fifteen dollars. His expenses during
that time, including the amount paid for his sister, amounted to ten
dollars and a half. This left four dollars and a half clear. This sum
Rufus put into a savings-bank, knowing that after a time it would be
necessary to purchase clothing both for himself and his sister, and
for this purpose a reserve fund would be required.
One day, after selling his supply of morning papers, he wandered
down to the Battery. This, as some of my readers may need to be
informed, is a small park situated at the extreme point of Manhattan
Island. It was on a delightful promenade, covered with grass, and
shaded by lofty sycamore-trees. Around it formerly lived some of the
oldest and most aristocratic families in the city. But its ancient glory,
its verdure and beauty, have departed, and it is now unsightly and
neglected. None of its old attractions remain, except the fine view
which it affords of the bay, the islands, and fortifications, and the
opposite shores of New Jersey. The old families have moved far up-
town, and the neighborhood is given to sailors' boarding-houses,
warehouses, and fourth-rate hotels and bar-rooms.
The newsboy strayed into one of these bar-rooms, not with any
idea of drinking, for he never had been tempted to drink. The
example of his stepfather had been sufficient to disgust him with
intemperance. But it was an idle impulse that led him to enter. He
sat down in a chair, and took up a copy of the "Morning Herald," of
which he had sold a considerable number of copies, without having
had a chance to read it.
Chancing to cast his eyes on the floor, he saw a pocket-book. He
stooped down and picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket. He
looked about him to see if there was any one present that was likely
to have lost it. But, besides the bar-keeper, there was no one in the
room except a rough-looking laborer in his shirt-sleeves, and it was
evident that it did not belong to him, as he drew from his vest-
pocket the money with which he paid for his potation.
The newsboy concluded that the pocket-book belonged to some
patron of the bar, who had dropped it, and gone away without
missing it. The question came up, what should he do with it? Was it
his duty to hand it to the bar-keeper?
He decided that it was not. Bar-keepers are apt to have easy
consciences, and this one was not a very attractive representative of
his class. He would undoubtedly pocket the wallet and its contents,
and the true owner, if he should ever turn up, would stand very little
chance of recovering his money.
These reflections quickly passed through the mind of our hero,
and he decided to retain the pocket-book, and consult some one, in
whom he reposed confidence, as to the proper course to pursue. He
had no idea how much the wallet contained, and did not venture to
examine it while he remained where he was. He decided to ask Mr.
O'Connor, the superintendent of the Lodging House, what he had
better do under the circumstances.
"I will remain here awhile," thought Rough and Ready. "Maybe the
owner of the wallet will miss it, and come back for it. If he does, and
I am sure it is his, I will give it up. But I won't give it to the bar-
keeper; I don't like his looks."
So Rufus remained in his seat reading the "Herald." He had never
read the paper so faithfully before. While he was still reading, a
sailor staggered in. He had evidently been drinking before, and
showed the effects of it.
"A glass of rum," he said, in a thick voice.
"All right, sir," said the bar-keeper, obsequiously.
"I'm bound to have a jolly time," said the sailor. "I've just come
back from a voyage, and I mean to make the money fly while I have
it."
So saying, he drew out half-a-dozen bank-bills, rolled up tightly
together.
"That's the talk," said the bar-keeper, complaisantly. "Nothing like
being jolly."
"I say, you drink with me," said the sailor. "I don't want to drink
alone."
"Certainly, thank you;" and the bar-keeper poured out a glass for
himself.
"Isn't there anybody that would like a drink?" said the sailor.
He looked around him, and his glance fell on Rough and Ready.
"Won't that boy drink?" he asked.
"You had better ask him."
"I say, won't you have a drink?" said the sailor, turning to the
newsboy.
"No, I thank you," said the newsboy.
 "Are you too proud to drink with a rough fellow like me?"
"No," said our hero; "but I never drink. I don't like it."
"Well, my lad, I don't know but you're right," said the sailor, more
soberly. "My mother asked me not to drink; but I couldn't hold out.
Don't do it, if you don't like it."
The bar-keeper by this time thought fit to interfere.
"Look here, boy," he said, angrily, "we don't want any temperance
lectures here. You've stayed as long as you're wanted. You needn't
come in here hurting our trade."
Rough and Ready did not think it necessary to answer this tirade,
but laid down the paper and went out, carrying the pocket-book with
him, of course. He did not open it, even after he got into the street,
for the action would be noticed, and it might excite suspicion if he
were seen counting over a roll of bills, which he judged from the
feeling the wallet contained.
It was now time to lay in his supply of afternoon papers, and he
therefore turned his steps to the offices, and was soon busily
engaged in disposing of them. Indeed, so busily was he occupied,
that he quite forgot he had the wallet in his possession. The papers
sold readily, and it was not till he was ready to go to supper with
Miss Manning and Rose that the thought of his discovery returned to
him.
"I will wait and open the pocket-book when I get to the room," he
said to himself.
"Well, Rose," he said, gayly, on entering the room, "what do you
think I've found?"
"I wish it was a kitten," said Rose.
"No, it isn't that," said Rufus, laughing, "and I don't think I should
take the trouble to pick it up, if I did find one."
"Do you like kittens, Rose?" asked Miss Manning.
"Yes, very much," said Rose; "they are so pretty and playful."
"Would you like to have me get one for you?"
"Will you?" asked the child, eagerly.
 "Yes; there's a lodger on the lower floor has three. No doubt she
will give us one."
"But won't it trouble you, Miss Manning?" asked the newsboy. "If it
will, don't get it. Rose can get along without it."
"Oh, I like kittens myself," said Miss Manning; "I should really like
one."
"Now I like dogs best," said Rough and Ready.
"Most boys do, I believe," said the seamstress.
"But kittens are much prettier, Rufie," said Rose.
"They'll scratch, and dogs won't," said the newsboy; "but if you
like a kitten, and Miss Manning is kind enough to get you one, I shall
be glad to have her do so. But you seem to have forgotten all about
my discovery."
"What is it, Rufie?"
Rough and Ready drew the pocket-book from his pocket, and
displayed it.
"Where did you find it, Rufus?" asked Miss Manning.
"Is there much money in it, Rufie?" asked his sister.
"I don't know yet, I'll look and see, and afterwards I'll tell where I
found it."
He opened the wallet, and drew out a roll of bills. Spreading them
open, he began to count. To his surprise they proved to be bills of a
large denomination. There was one one-hundred-dollar bill, five
twenties, six tens, and eight fives. He raised his eyes in surprise.
"Why, here are three hundred dollars," he said.
"Three hundred dollars!" exclaimed Rose, clapping her hands.
"Why Rufie, how rich you are!"
"But it isn't my money, Rose," he said. "You must remember that.
I may find the owner."
"Oh, I hope you won't," said the little girl, looking disappointed.
"But it isn't right to wish that, Rose," said Miss Manning. "Suppose
you had lost the money, you would like to have it returned to you,
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