half as much—­upon a solemn promise to redeem it, as even the pawnbroker doubted the wisdom of such an investment at his own figures.  That week the young man encountered a gentleman who, in England, had known him well.  The disparity in their positions was great, as the gentleman was now able to give and recently had given his church ten thousand dollars, but that disparity had been greater in England, where it had been in favor of the young man.  However, this did not prevent the gentleman offering the young man a job of gardening at a dollar a day, as that was a good bargain, and that did not prevent the young man eagerly accepting the offer.  That week he earned his board.  The next week he was adrift again, quite well used up from heavy work, but very active.  His hope was the one striking point in his character.

HIS CHEERY VOICE

could always be heard.  People liked to have him around, but they never seemed to pay him anything in return.  Early in June he got a job sandpapering window-frames in a city cellar.  This tried his mettle for it broke his hands to pieces, but he worked through the job at eight dollars a week.  It ruined about twenty-five dollars’ worth of clothes unavoidably.  Coming out of the cellar the last day of the job, he looked into a store which was just opening.  Did they want clerks?  Oh, yes.  “Lots” of them.  How much did they pay?  Five per cent.  What were they to sell?  “Milton gold jewelry.”  All right.

“MILTON GOLD JEWELRY”

was made a sensation.  It was all in the name.  Had they called it brass the people would have stood off.  Make a chain that looks like gold, call it Milton or Shakspeare or Byron gold, and the people want it—­or, at least they did, the year of the fire.  The sales of our friend footed up more than those of any of thirty clerks, and netted him about a dollar and a quarter a day.  But this charming industry could not last.  The people had bought a chain which they supposed to be worth sixty dollars for a dollar and a half.  In two weeks the chain would fade.  It was a necessity of the business to keep moving.  Our friend could have gone to some other city with the lover of Milton, if he had paid his own fare, but he was heartily disgusted with the business, the scheme being essentially American.  He next was taken to Morris, Ill., by some kind of a gang-worker.  The English system of working from farm to farm with a large force was to be tried.  There he was treated a good deal worse than hogs should be used.  Finding his way back to Chicago, he again began

HIS TRAMP FOR WORK.