etly, and he had a fine
sunshiny walk of two and a half miles to the down-town restaurant where
he ate his ten cents' worth of bread and milk.

"It's enough for a while," he said, "but it doesn't last. If I was at
home, now, I'd have more bread and another bowl of milk. I'll come
here again, at noon, if I don't find a place somewhere."

Blue, blue, blue, was that Saturday for poor Jack Ogden! All the
forenoon he stood up manfully to hear the "No, we don't want a boy,"
and he met that same answer, expressed in almost identical words,
everywhere.

When he came out from his luncheon of bread and milk, he began to find
that many places closed at twelve or one o'clock; that even more were
to close at three, and that on Saturday all men were either tired and
cross or in a hurry. Jack's courage failed him until he could hardly
look a man in the face and ask him a question. One whole week had gone
since Jack reached the city, and it seemed about a year. Here he was,
without any way of making money, and almost without a hope of finding
any way.

"I'll go to the hotel," he said, at about four o'clock. "I'll go up
the Bowery way. It won't pay anybody to pick my pocket this time!"

He had a reason for going up the Bowery. It was no shorter than the
other way. The real explanation was in his pocket.

"Forty cents left!" he said. "I'll eat one sandwich for supper, and
I'll buy three more to eat in my room to-morrow."

He reached the stand kept by the three small old women, and found each
in turn calling out, "Here you are! Sanwiges!--" and all the rest of
their list of commodities.

"Four," said Jack. "Put up three of 'em in a paper, please. I'll eat
one."

It was good. In fact, it was too good, and Jack wished it was ten
times as large; but the last morsel of it vanished speedily and after
looking with longing eyes at the others, he shut his teeth firmly.

"I won't eat another!" he said to himself. "I'll starve it out till
Monday, anyway!"

It took all the courage Jack had to carry those three sandwiches to the
Hotel Dantzic and to put them away, untouched, in his traveling-bag.
After a while he went down to the reading-room and read; but he went to
bed thinking of the excellent meals he had eaten at the Albany hotel on
his way to New York.

Mary Ogden's second Sunday in Mertonville was a peculiar trial to her,
for several young ladies who expected to be in the Academy next term,
came and added them