“Not just at present, but to some more agreeable neighborhood than this.  We’ll wait till you get a situation, and then we can decide.”

A few days later, as Dick was looking about for customers in the neighborhood of the Park, his attention was drawn to a fellow boot-black, a boy about a year younger than himself, who appeared to have been crying.

“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked Dick.  “Haven’t you had luck to-day?”

“Pretty good,” said the boy; “but we’re havin’ hard times at home.  Mother fell last week and broke her arm, and to-morrow we’ve got to pay the rent, and if we don’t the landlord says he’ll turn us out.”

“Haven’t you got anything except what you earn?” asked Dick.

“No,” said Tom, “not now.  Mother used to earn three or four dollars a week; but she can’t do nothin’ now, and my little sister and brother are too young.”

Dick had quick sympathies.  He had been so poor himself, and obliged to submit to so many privations that he knew from personal experience how hard it was.  Tom Wilkins he knew as an excellent boy who never squandered his money, but faithfully carried it home to his mother.  In the days of his own extravagance and shiftlessness he had once or twice asked Tom to accompany him to the Old Bowery or Tony Pastor’s, but Tom had always steadily refused.

“I’m sorry for you, Tom,” he said.  “How much do you owe for rent?”

“Two weeks now,” said Tom.

“How much is it a week?”

“Two dollars a week—­that makes four.”

“Have you got anything towards it?”

“No; I’ve had to spend all my money for food for mother and the rest of us.  I’ve had pretty hard work to do that.  I don’t know what we’ll do.  I haven’t any place to go to, and I’m afraid mother’ll get cold in her arm.”

“Can’t you borrow the money somewhere?” asked Dick.

Tom shook his head despondingly.

“All the people I know are as poor as I am,” said he.  “They’d help me if they could, but it’s hard work for them to get along themselves.”

“I’ll tell you what, Tom,” said Dick, impulsively, “I’ll stand your friend.”

“Have you got any money?” asked Tom, doubtfully.

“Got any money!” repeated Dick.  “Don’t you know that I run a bank on my own account?  How much is it you need?”

“Four dollars,” said Tom.  “If we don’t pay that before to-morrow night, out we go.  You haven’t got as much as that, have you?”

“Here are three dollars,” said Dick, drawing out his pocket-book.  “I’ll let you have the rest to-morrow, and maybe a little more.”

“You’re a right down good fellow, Dick,” said Tom; “but won’t you want it yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve got some more,” said Dick.

“Maybe I’ll never be able to pay you.”

“S’pose you don’t,” said Dick; “I guess I won’t fail.”

“I won’t forget it, Dick.  I hope I’ll be able to do somethin’ for you sometime.”