ger, signaling with his
free hand. "I'll tell you more when we're inside."

Florence entered the car, and Dodger, following, took a seat at her
side.

They presented a noticeable contrast, for Florence was dressed as
beseemed her station, while Dodger, in spite of his manly, attractive
face, was roughly attired, and looked like a working boy.

When the conductor came along, he drew out a dime, and tendered it in
payment of the double fare. The money was in the conductor's hand
before Florence was fully aware.

"You must not pay for me, Dodger," she said.

"Why not?" asked the boy. "Ain't we friends?"

"Yes, but you have no money to spare. Here, let me return the money."

And she offered him a dime from her own purse.

"You can pay next time, Miss Florence. It's all right. Now, I'll tell
you where we are goin'. A friend of mine, Mrs. O'Keefe, has a lodgin'
house, just off the Bowery. I saw her last night, and she says she's
got a good room that she can give you for two dollars a week--I don't
know how much you'd be willing to pay, but----"

"I can pay that for a time at least. I have a little money, and I must
find some work to do soon. Is this Mrs. O'Keefe a nice lady?"

"She ain't a lady at all," answered Dodger, bluntly. "She keeps an
apple-stand near the corner of Bowery and Grand Street; but she's a
good, respectable woman, and she's good-hearted. She'll be kind to
you, and try to make things pleasant; but if you ain't satisfied----"

"It will do for the present. Kindness is what I need, driven as I am
from the home of my childhood. But you, Dodger, where do you live?"

"I'm goin' to take a small room in the same house, Miss Florence."

"I shall be glad to have you near me."

"I am proud to hear you say that. I'm a poor boy, and you're a rich
lady, but----"

"Not rich, Dodger. I am as poor as yourself."

"You're a reg'lar lady, anyway. You ain't one of my kind, but I'm
going to improve and raise myself. I was readin' the other day of a
rich man that was once a poor boy, and sold papers like me. But
there's one thing in the way--I ain't got no eddication."

"You can read and write, can't you, Dodger?"

"Yes; I can read pretty well, but I can't write much."

"I will teach you in the evenings, when we are both at leisure."

"Will you?" asked the boy, with a glad smile. "You're very kind--I'd
like a teacher like you."

"Then it's a bargain, Dodger," and Florence's face for the first time
lost i