"How did you get the place?"

"It is kept by a cousin of the old woman. He wrote that he'd take me if I'd come on. So I went; but I didn't like it."

"Where did you live?"

"With him. He had a house in Chelsea, just over the river, like Brooklyn is. I got my board and a dollar a week."

"That ain't much," said Sam.

"No, I should say not. I had to pay my way over the ferry out of it, too. It didn't leave me no money for cigars nor nothing."

"How long were you there?"

"About three months. I would not have stayed so long, only I couldn't get money to get back."

"You got it at last; or did you walk back?"

"Walk? I guess not. It's three or four hundred miles."

This was not quite exact, but near enough for a guess.

"How much did it cost you to come back?"

"Five dollars."

"That's a good deal. Where did you get so much?"

"I found it in the street one day," answered Tim, with a little hesitation.

"How long have you been back?"

"About a week. I've been looking round for you. Where do you hang out?"

"I've got a room of my own," answered Sam, with an air of importance.

"You have! You're in luck. What are you doin'?"

"I've got a place with Dalton & Co., on Pearl Street."

"What business?

"Merchant. He's awful rich. Just look at that!"

Sam displayed his bundle of checks.

"I don't see nothin' particular except some bits of paper."

"You don't know anything about business, Tim. Them's checks."

"Are they?"

"They're good for a lot of money. Here's a check for twelve hundred dollars, and there's others besides."

"That piece of paper worth twelve hundred dollars!" said Tim, incredulously.

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Take it to the bank."

"What bank?"

"Fourth National Bank."

Tim looked at Sam with respect. He must certainly occupy a responsible business position if he was trusted with such a large amount of money.

Sam, in putting back his checks, was careless enough to drop the twelve-hundred-dollar check. He hurried off, unconscious of his loss, and Tim quietly secured it. He ought to have restored it to Sam, as he easily might have done; but an idea struck him. He would instead carry it round to Mr. Dalton, and in all probability secure a reward for his honesty. This was sharp practice, and hardly consistent with friendship for Sam; but Tim was a boy not particularly scrupulous, who cared more for number one than for any friend. He went into a store near by, ascertained the number of Mr. Dalton's place of business, and hurried down there.

"Is the boss in?" he asked of William Budd, whom he first encountered.

"Yes."

"I'd like to see him."

"What for?"

"Important business," answered Tim.

Budd looked at him rather incredulously.

"If you want to apply for a place, it's no use. We've got a boy already."

"That ain't my business. I've picked up something in the street that belongs to Mr. Dalton, I'm thinkin'."

"What is it?"

"A check."

"Sam must have dropped it," thought William, instantly. "Let me see it," he said, aloud.

"I'll show it to the boss," said Tim, obstinately.

"Come on, then."

"Here is a boy, Mr. Dalton, who thinks he has found something belonging to you," said the young man.

Mr. Dalton looked up.