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a little of the run of the streets in that section, as Jimmy had told
him about them, and he knew he would soon be in the financial district,
where the brokers and bankers had their offices.

In spite of his recent accident, and his trouble over forgetting who he
was, Dick had a good head for business, even though it was the first
time he had tried to sell newspapers. He decided to look over the
front pages and learn just what were the principal items of news. He
had not forgotten how to read and write, though many other things had
slipped from his recollection.

He saw there was a long article concerning a big bank failure, and
another about an important notice sent out by the United States
Treasurer.

"Those ought to interest the bankers and business men more than murders
and fires," thought Dick. "I guess I'll call out about those."

He was, naturally, a little bashful about shouting as did the other
newsboys, but he made up his mind that, as he was thrown on his own
resources by a queer trick of fate, he must do his best to earn a
living.

"Here goes," he said, as he approached a group of well-dressed men
standing at Broadway and Cortlandt Street.

"Excuse me," he began, in a clear but not very loud voice, as he stood
near the men, "but would any of you gentlemen like to buy the latest
extra? It has an account of the failure of the Morrisville Trust
Company and a decision of the United States Treasurer on gold
shipments. Besides, there is all the latest news."

Probably no regular newsboy in all the big city of New York would have
thought to try that means of selling papers. All they did was to
shout: "Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" or "Fire! Murder! Suicide!"

"Hello! What's this?" exclaimed one of the gentlemen, turning around
and beholding Dick. "What sort of a newsboy is this, who doesn't shout
his head off at you?"

"What did you say about the Morrisville Trust Company?" asked another
gentleman nervously.

"It has failed. Here is a full account of it," and Dick showed the
paper with the story on the front page, under a big, black heading.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed the man who had asked the question. "That's
bad for me. Here! Give me a paper."

He fairly snatched one from Dick, and tendered him a nickel.

"Give me one, too," requested another of the group. "I want to read
about that gold statement."

"I'll have one also," added a third man, and soon every one had
purchased a paper.

"Her