en and, having threatened to arrest several lads who annoyed the
newcomer, there was no more trouble.

Meanwhile Dick was no nearer than ever a solution of the mystery that
surrounded him. He hoped nothing now from the police, and, as for
seeing some notice in the papers describing a missing boy like himself,
he had long ago given that up. The two partners continued to live in
their room at the lodging-house, and they were slowly accumulating a
nice little balance in the bank.

But it grew slowly, too slowly to give them hope that they would reach
the figure demanded by the news-stand owner in time to buy him out.

They heard, incidentally, that several of the bigger newsboys were
thinking of consolidating and purchasing the place, and Jimmy suggested
that he and Dick take Frank into partnership, but when the matter was
explained to him, Frank, while grateful for the offer, said he could
not afford to go into the scheme. He had some money saved up, but he
said he had to help support a widowed aunt, a sister of his dead
mother, and, as she would soon have to undergo an operation in the
institution where she was, he was saving his money to help pay for it,
as the old lady was destitute.

So that practically shattered the hopes of the two partners of owning
the stand. Nor could they find one any cheaper that would suit their
purpose.

"Never mind," said Dick. "We'll be ready to buy one next year."

But if Dick had ceased, save at odd times, to make some effort at
discovering his identity, this was not true of two other persons.
These were Bulldog Smouder and Mike Conroy. The two plotters had not
forgotten their plan.

"Say, Bulldog," said Mike, one night not long after Dick's and Jimmy's
attempt to buy the stand, "ain't dere nuttin' doin' in gittin' de
reward fer dat kid?"

"Sure dere is."

"What?"

"Well, I've got me plans all made."

"'Bout time youse said somethin'. Did de detective know anyt'ing?"

"Not a t'ing. Dere ain't been no reward offered."

"Den what's de good of bodderin' wid it?"

"Dis good. I'm satisfied dat kid run away from home somewhere a good
ways off. Dat's why nuttin' ain't been heard of it here in N'York.
But I'll bet his folks, whoever dey are, wants him back. He's one of
dem nice kids. He ain't fit fer dis business."

"He seems t' sell a lot of papers," remarked Mike.

"Yep. Too many. I'd like t' git him outer de way an' I could make
more money down Wall Street wa