d but one tie to bind him to the city. He had a father
living, but he might as well have been without one. Mr. Nolan was
a confirmed drunkard, and spent the greater part of his wages for
liquor. His potations made him ugly, and inflamed a temper never
very sweet, working him up sometimes to such a pitch of rage that
Johnny's life was in danger. Some months before, he had thrown a
flat-iron at his son's head with such terrific force that unless
Johnny had dodged he would not have lived long enough to obtain a
place in our story. He fled the house, and from that time had not
dared to re-enter it. Somebody had given him a brush and box of
blacking, and he had set up in business on his own account. But he
had not energy enough to succeed, as has already been stated, and
I am afraid the poor boy had met with many hardships, and suffered
more than once from cold and hunger. Dick had befriended him more
than once, and often given him a breakfast or dinner, as the case
might be.

"How'd you get away?" asked Dick, with some curiosity. "Did
you walk?"

"No, I rode on the cars."

"Where'd you get your money? I hope you didn't steal it."

"I didn't have none."

"What did you do, then?"

"I got up about three o'clock, and walked to Albany."

"Where's that?" asked Dick, whose ideas on the subject of geography
were rather vague.

"Up the river."

"How far?"

"About a thousand miles," said Johnny, whose conceptions of distance
were equally vague.

"Go ahead. What did you do then?"

"I hid on top of a freight car, and came all the way without their
seeing me.* That man in the brown coat was the man that got me the
place, and I'm afraid he'd want to send me back."

* A fact.

"Well," said Dick, reflectively, "I dunno as I'd like to live in the
country. I couldn't go to Tony Pastor's or the Old Bowery. There
wouldn't be no place to spend my evenings. But I say, it's tough in
winter, Johnny, 'specially when your overcoat's at the tailor's, an'
likely to stay there."

"That's so, Dick. But I must be goin', or Mr. Taylor'll get somebody
else to shine his boots."

Johnny walked back to Nassau Street, while Dick kept on his way to
Broadway.

"That boy," soliloquized Dick, as Johnny took his departure, "aint
got no ambition. I'll bet he won't get five shines to-day. I'm glad
I aint like him. I couldn't go to the theatre, nor buy no cigars,
nor get half as much as I wanted to eat.--Shine yer boots, sir?"

Dick alway