ide of him attracted his
attention. By instinct he jumped toward the gutter. The next instant a
mass of bricks came tumbling down. One struck him on the head, and this
knocked him insensible.

CHAPTER VII.

HAL DETERMINES TO INVESTIGATE.

When Hal came to his senses he found himself in the arms of a boy
slightly taller than himself, who was doing all in his power to restore
consciousness by the application of snow to Hal's forehead.

"What--what----" he began.

"Good! yer come around at last, have yer?" cried the boy. "Blessed if I
didn't think yer was a goner."

Hal put his hand up to his head.

"Where am I?" he asked, faintly.

"Yer all right; don't worry," replied the tall boy. "Don't yer remember
me?"

Hal pulled himself together, and looked at the speaker.

"Jack McCabe!" he cried.

"Yer struck it fust clip. Say, wot was der matter wid yer? Yer couldn't
have been froze, coz it wasn't cold enough."

"I was struck on the head."

"Gee crickety! Who struck yer?"

"I--I--nobody, I think. It was some bricks from that building."

"Oh, dat's it. How do yer feel now?"

"Awfully light-headed," responded Hal, telling the exact truth.

"Kin yer walk about a block? I only live jest around dat corner."

Hal started at these words.

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, is your father janitor of a building down in Wall Street?"

"O' course not. Didn't I tell yer we lived here?"

Hal looked relieved.

"What has that got to do with it?" he asked, curiously.

"Why, dem janitors all lives in der buildin's da takes care of,"
explained Jack.

"The reason I ask is because there is a Daniel McCabe janitor of the
building I work in."

"I t'ink dat's me uncle. Better now?"

Hal took a deep breath and straightened up.

"Yes, a good deal better."

"Yer got a lump on yer forehead as big as an egg."

"It feels twice that size to me," laughed Hal. "Jack, you have done me a
good turn I won't forget in a hurry."

The street boy blushed.

"Ah! go on, dat wasn't nuthin'," he replied. "I kinder like you, tell
der truth."

"And I like you, Jack," replied Hal, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

"Did yer git dat job?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"What do you mean?"

"Wot do da pay yer!"

"Seven dollars a week."

Jack McCabe's eyes opened like saucers.

"Yer foolin'."

"It's true, Jack."

"Gee crickety! but yer struck a snap. Say, if dere's enny more o' dem
jobs layin' around put in a word fer me,