"Thank you, but I want to get something to do in the city," said he. "I am tired of farm life."

"Then I can't give you anything," and the jeweler turned away.

During the remainder of the day Nat visited several other stores and offices. But everywhere he received the same answer--that he was too late and the position advertised was already filled.

"Perhaps I did wrong not to take that position over in New Jersey," he thought, on his way to his boarding house. "But I don't want to go back to farm work if I can help it."

Two additional days pa.s.sed, and still Nat found nothing to do, although he tramped from Forty-second Street clear down to the Battery several times. Then he obtained a job which lasted three days and paid him but two dollars.

"This isn't earning a living," he reasoned. "Unless I do better I'll have to try selling papers or blacking boots."

One morning he did try selling papers, under the tutorship of d.i.c.k, but the effort was not a success. By noon he had earned exactly nineteen cents and had sixteen papers still on hand.

"I guess you wasn't cut out for a newsboy," said d.i.c.k, frankly. "What you want to do is, to get a steady job in a store or office."

"Yes, but the jobs are mighty scarce," answered Nat.

A week pa.s.sed, and the country boy could find nothing more to do that was steady. One day he helped a man distribute bills, and on another occasion he carried out packages for a florist, and the two jobs brought him in just a dollar. By this time the soles were worn from his shoes and he had to have them mended.

"Making one's way in the city isn't so easy after all," he thought one night, as he sat in his little room, on the edge of the bed. He had been counting up his money and found that he had but a little over four dollars left.

"I'll have to give Mrs. Talcott three and a half of that," he continued, "and that will leave me sixty-five cents. I've got to hustle or I'll be high and dry by next week."

Nat hustled all of the next week, but without results. In one store the proprietor was unusually harsh to him, and he came back to Mrs.

Talcott's house more downcast than ever.

"I guess they don't want me in New York after all," he mused. "If I can't get something to do I can't stay here, for Mrs. Talcott can't afford to keep me. I'll have to starve!"

He was so disheartened that he did not feel like eating. Immediately after the meal he went to his little room. Then, of a sudden he thought of the letter Paul Hampton had given him.

"I may as well open that," he reasoned. "Goodness knows I am short enough of funds, and pretty well discouraged too."

The letter was in his pocket, still pinned fast, and he brought it forth and gazed at it speculatively.

"It would be just like him to put a five-dollar bill in it," he thought.

With his penknife he slit the envelope open, and looked inside. It contained a slip of paper and another slip, of a green color.

"A bill, as sure as I'm in this room!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I don't suppose it's less than a five, and maybe it's a ten. If he--well I declare!"

Nat rushed to the window to look at the bill, and then with a gasp he sank back on the only chair which the little bedroom contained. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.

The bank bill was one for a hundred dollars.

CHAPTER XI

WHAT A HUNDRED DOLLARS DID

Nat continued to gaze at the bill like one in a dream. He had never seen a greenback that was worth a hundred dollars before, but he had no doubt of its genuineness.

"A hundred dollars!" he repeated several times. "Why, it's a small fortune!"

Then he began to wonder if Paul Hampton had not made a mistake, and turned to the slip of paper, upon which he found written:

"I give you this hundred dollars for what you did for me at Niagara Falls. Don't be discouraged. If you ever need a friend, write or come and see me. I sincerely hope the money will bring you good fortune."

"What a kind man," murmured Nat, and read the note again. "It was a mighty lucky thing for me that I went to the Falls."

When he went to bed he felt rich, and he came to the breakfast table whistling merrily.

"Hullo," cried d.i.c.k, "have you struck luck at last?"

"I'm in luck in one way," answered our hero. "Look at that," and he showed the bank bill.

"Why, it's a hundred dollars, Nat!" And the newsboy's eyes opened widely.

"Exactly."

"Where on earth did you get the money?"

"A gentleman gave it to me."

"What for?"

"For saving his life. But I didn't know I had it until I went to bed last night."

"You're talking in riddles."

"I'll explain," and then our hero told as much of the Niagara Falls episode as he deemed necessary.

"Here is the note," he concluded, showing the slip of paper, which was unsigned. "I don't feel at liberty to mention the gentleman's name. I don't think it would be just right."

"A rich man like that would be a fool to commit suicide," said d.i.c.k, bluntly. "What are you going to do with all that money?"

"I don't know. But I shan't squander it, I can tell you that."

"You can go into business for yourself on that amount."

"Maybe, but I guess I had better keep on hunting for a job. I can go into business for myself when I know more about New York."

"That's where you are sensible. You might lose your money in double-quick time in your own business."

Nat put the bill away very carefully, and then went out to look for a position as before. But the week pa.s.sed and nothing turned up.