Sam, thoughtfully. "Can you make much that
way?"

"'Pends on how many jobs you get, and whether the cove's liberal.
Wimmen's the wust. They'll beat a chap down to nothin', if they can."

"How much do you get anyway for carrying a bundle?"

"I axes fifty cents, and generally gets a quarter. The wimmen don't
want to pay more'n ten cents."

"I guess I'll try it to-morrow, if you'll tell me where to go."

"You can go along of me. I'm goin smashin' myself to-morrer."

"Thank you," said Sam. "I'm glad I met you. You see I don't know much
about the city."

"Didn't you bring no money with you?"

"Yes, but it was stolen."

"Was your pockets picked?"

"I'll tell you about it. I was robbed in my sleep."

So Sam told the story of his adventures with Clarence Brown. Tim
listened attentively.

"He was smart, he was," said Tim, approvingly.

"He's a rascal," said Sam, hotly, who did not relish hearing his
spoiler praised.

"Course he is, but he's smart too. You might a knowed he'd do it."

"How should I know? I thought he was a kind man, that wanted to do me
a favor."

Tim burst out laughing.

"Aint you green, though?" he remarked. "Oh my eye, but you're jolly
green."

"Am I?" said Sam, rather offended. "Is everybody a thief in New
York?"

"Most everybody, if they gets a chance," said Tim, coolly. "Didn't you
ever steal yourself?"

Sam colored. He had temporarily forgotten the little adventure that
preceded his departure from his country home. After all, why should he
be so angry with Clarence Brown for doing the very same thing he had
done himself? Why, indeed? But Sam had an answer ready. The deacon did
not need the money, while he could not get along very well without it.
So it was meaner in Clarence Brown to take all he had, than in him to
take what the deacon could so well spare.

I hope my readers understand that this was very flimsy and
unsatisfactory reasoning. Stealing is stealing, under whatever
circumstances. At any rate Sam found it inconvenient to answer Tim's
pointed question.

They talked awhile longer, and then his companion rose from the
bench.

"Come along, Johnny," he said. "Let's go to roost."

"All right," said Sam, and the two left the Park.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SAM TURNS IMPOSTOR.

Tim conducted our hero to an alley-way, not far from the North river,
in which an old wagon had come to temporary anchor.

"This is my hotel," he said. "I like it cause it's cheap. They don't