Jim indulged in a profane e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"What's he goin' to do about it?" he asked.

"He's made me give up the money, and he's sent me for you."

"I won't go," said Jim, hastily.

"You'd better. If you don't, you'll be took up."

"What am I to go to the office for?" asked Jim, rather startled.

"To give up the money."

"I've spent two dollars."

"If you give up what's left, and agree to pay the rest, he'll let you off."

"Did he say so?"

"Yes, he told me so."

If there had been any hope of escaping with the money, Jim would have declined calling on Dr. Graham; but of that he knew there was little chance. Indeed, he was not altogether unknown to the police, having, on two or three previous occasions, come under their notice. So, considerably less cheerful than before, he accompanied Sam to the office.

"Is this the boy?" asked the doctor, surveying Sam's companion attentively.

"Yes, sir."

"I am glad to see you, young man," said the doctor, drily. "Suppose we settle money matters first of all. How much have you left?"

Jim drew out eight dollars in bills.

"So far, so good. You owe me two dollars."

"Yes, sir."

"I won't ask for your note of hand. I'm afraid I couldn't negotiate it; but I expect you to pay me back the balance by instalments. If not, I shall know where to lay hold of you."

Jim had nothing to say.

"Now you can go. Sam, you can stay."

"I suppose he's goin' to send me off," thought Sam.

"You may stay till to-morrow night, Sam," said the doctor, "and I will pay you what balance I owe you. After that, I think we had better part company. You are a little too enterprising for me."

Sam made no objection. In fact, he had got tired of the confinement, and thought it would be an agreeable variety to return to his old life again. The next evening, therefore, he retired from professional life, and, with a balance of fifty cents in his possession, set up once more as a street vagabond. When Jim Nolan paid up his indebtedness, he would be ent.i.tled to two dollars more. Until then he was held for the debt of his confederate.

CHAPTER XXVI.

PIPKIN'S DINING-ROOMS.

Sunday is a dull day with the street-boys, whatever their business may be. The boot-blacks lose least, but if the day be unpropitious their earnings are small. On such a day the Newsboys Lodge is a great resource. It supplies all that a boy actually needs--lodging and two meals--for the small sum of eighteen cents, and in cases of need will trust boys to that amount.

Sam naturally had recourse to this hold on finding himself out of a situation. He had enough to pay his expenses, and did not feel compelled to go to work till Monday. Monday morning, however, the reduced state of his finances compelled him to look for employment. If he had had a little capital he might have set up as a newsboy or boot-black, but five cents can hardly be considered sufficient capital for either of these lines of business. Credit is the next best thing to capital, but Sam had no credit. He found that out, after an ineffectual attempt to borrow money of a boot-black, who, having ten dollars in a savings-bank, was regarded in his own cla.s.s with high respect as a wealthy capitalist. The name of this exceptional young man was William Clark, better known among the boys as Ready Money Bill.

When twelve o'clock came, and Sam had earned nothing, he bethought himself of Bill, the capitalist.

"Bill," he said, "I want to borrer a dollar."

"You do!" said Bill, sharply. "What for?"

"To set me up in business."

"What business?"

"Evenin' papers."

"Haven't you got no stamps?"

"No."

"What have you been doin'?"

"I've been in an office."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"The boss thought he wouldn't need me no longer."

"I see," said Bill, nodding. "You got sacked."

"Not exactly."

"Same thing."

"Will you lend me the money?"

"I'd never get it back ag'in."

"Yes, you would."

"I dunno about that. Where'd you get money to pay me back?"

"The boss owes me two dollars."

"Why don't he pay you?"