an in the back eddies of life, he decided to follow the
suggestion.

"I will endeavor to throw you something from time to time," said
the prosperous lawyer, for it made him feel his own success to see
such a poor young man and it tickled his vitals into benignity.

The country boy sold all his possessions for a few hundred dollars
and came to New York. His friend was very kind in his manner and
prolific of advice, but, unfortunately, he had no room in his own
office for a junior or even an errand-boy. So Peters, for that
was the young man's name, dragged himself up and down the city
trying to find an opening, no matter how small. He was too old to
begin as a clerk and too much of a bumpkin for anything else, and
he found that nobody had any use for a young man of his particular
type and training. At last, in despair, he hired desk-room in an
office, shared jointly by half a dozen young men like himself, and
waited for something to turn up; but nothing came. His bank account
fell lower and lower, and he became more and more shabby. Moreover,
he was eating his heart out with disappointment, for he could not
return to his native town and confess himself a failure.

From time to time he would drop into his prosperous friend's offices,
but the latter never had anything to turn over to him and he would
return dejectedly to his own solitary desk. At last he was forced
to give up lunch and get along as best he could on two scanty meals
a day; he grew thin and haggard, his Adam's apple projected redly
above a frayed collar, his trousers grew wrinkled and shiny, and
he looked ready to take his place in the "bread line." Finally he
spent his last cent on a pretzel and made ready to "turn in his
checks."

At this point Peters paid a last visit to his friend, who was
visibly shocked at his emaciated appearance, for his eyes burned
with the fever of starvation and his jaw was set in a pitiful
determination to keep going until he dropped.

"Mr. Banks," said he grimly, "unless you give me something to do
I'll go under. The fact is, I'm starving!"

Mr. Banks look at him critically.

"Pretty near ready to give up, eh?" he remarked. "Better chuck it
and go back! I guess I was wrong when I told you to come down
here."

"Not yet," answered Peters doggedly. "When I go back it'll be in
a wooden box."

"Well," replied Mr. Banks, "I'm sorry; but there isn't a thing in
the office I can give you." He pondered a minute.