As he turned into Nassau Street he met an old acquaintance, Pat Riley
by name, with a blacking box over his shoulders.

"Hello, Sam!" said Pat.

"Hello, yourself! How's business?"

"Times is dull with me. What are you doin'?"

"I'm in an office," said Sam, with conscious pride.

"Are you? What do you get?"

"Five dollars a week."

"How did you get it?" asked Pat, enviously.

"They came to me and asked me if I would go to work," said Sam.

"Where are you goin' now?"

"To the post office, to get the letters."

"You're in luck, Sam, and no mistake. Got some new clo'es, ain't
you?"

"Yes," said Sam. "How do you like 'em?"

"Bully."

"I had a tiptop coat--blue with brass buttons--but the boss made me
change it. He ain't got no taste in dress."

"That's so."

"When I get money enough I'll buy it for best, to wear Sundays, he
can't say nothing to that."

"In course not. Well, Sam, when you get rich you can let me black your
boots."

"All right, Pat," said Sam, complacently.

"Who knows but I'll be a rich merchant some time?"

Here Pat spied a customer, and the two had to part company.

Sam continued on his way till he reached the old brick church which
used to serve as the New York post office. He entered, and met with
his first perplexity. He could not remember the number of the box.

"Here's a go!" thought Sam. "What's that number, I wonder? There was a
thirty-six to it, I know. I guess it was 836. Anyhow I'll ask for
it."

"Is there any letters in 836?" he asked.

Four letters were handed him.

Sam looked at the address. They were all directed to Ferguson & Co.

"That ain't the name," thought Sam. "I guess I'm in a scrape, but
anyhow I'll carry 'em to Mr. Dalton, so he'll know I went to the
office."

CHAPTER III.

SAM FINDS A ROOM.

"Here's the letters," said Sam, as he entered the office on his
return.

"You may carry them in to Mr. Dalton," said William Budd.

"Now for it!" thought Sam, as he entered the counting-room with
reluctant step.

"Here's the letters, Mr. Dalton," said our hero, looking embarrassed.

Mr. Dalton took them, and glanced at the superscription.

"What's all this?" he demanded. "This letter is for Ferguson & Co. And
so are the rest. What does it mean?"

"I guess there's some mistake," said Sam, uncomfortably.

"Why did you take these letters? Did you think my name was Ferguson?"
demanded Mr. Dalton.

"No, sir."

"Didn't you know they were