Tom made the proposition as though it had come to him that moment, when in truth it had been in his mind from the first, as it was with Jim, who was on the point of uttering it, but was waiting for his friend, because he was a few months older and took the lead in all matters.

“I wonder if that wouldn’t be the best thing to do,” remarked Jim, like one to whom the idea was new.

“Neither of us has ever been in New York.  It is a great place, full of dangers of all kinds, but there are chances for every one to get along, if he will do what’s right and isn’t afraid to work.”

“If we should tell the people what we have in mind, they would advise us to stay here or to try Philadelphia.”

“We must pass Philadelphia to get to New York, but I don’t feel like staying there, do you, Jim?”

“No; I don’t fancy the place.  Father took me there once when I was a wee younker, and it struck me as being slow.”

Tom laughed at the thought of a little fellow being impressed that way by one of the leading cities in the Union.  He, too, had been in the large and handsome town, but for some reason, which he could not explain, had formed a prejudice against it.  He shook his head at the proposition of trying their fortunes there.

“Philadelphia isn’t big enough for us,” he remarked quizzically; “New York is the only place where we can spread and grow.”

“Then I propose we go to New York to seek our fortune.  What do you say?”

“We’ll stick together.”

And the young friends reached their hands toward each other and clasped them in the dim light of Jim Travers’s room.

It was an important decision they had reached, and they talked over the matter for a long time.  Each had quite a little sum of money, which they had saved with scrupulous care.  They had good serviceable clothing, with something extra in the way of change.  The executors of Mr. Travers had completed their duty and made their report to court.  As in the case of the Widow Gordon, not a penny was left for the boy, and the house and everything it contained was to pass into the hands of strangers.

Jim Travers and Tom Gordon were occupying their single room on sufferance.  The new-comers were to take possession on the first of the following month, and a hint had been given the boys which it was impossible for them to misunderstand.  Their room was preferable to their company.

“Next Tuesday is the first,” remarked Jim; “I suppose we can stay here the few days until then.”

“That’s less than a week.  What’s the use of waiting when we have made up our minds to go?” was the pertinent question of Tom.  “I prefer not to meet those folks that are coming here.”

“That’s the way I feel,” assented the younger, striving to repress his ardor over the prospect.  “They will put on airs, turn up their noses at us, and make themselves at home.  I can’t bear,” he added, his voice slightly trembling, “to see them parading through the house which father owned, and walking into his room as if no one else had the right to go there.”