"You may give me five more."
Paul drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to Julius.
"By the way, Julius," he said "where do you expect to sleep to-night?"
"In the lodgin' house."
"Come up and stop with me. We can find room for you. Besides, my mother will give you a good supper."
"You are very kind to me, Paul," said Julius, gratefully.
"I ought to be. You did us all a great service. You must stay with us till it is time for you to go out West."
Julius made some faint objections, out of bashfulness; but he was so pleasantly received by Mrs. Hoffman, and treated with so much kindness, that he came to feel quite at home, and needed no urging after the first night. Jimmy asked him a multitude of questions about the burglars, how they looked and how they lived, to which Julius answered patiently.
"When you are out West, you must write to us how you are getting along, Julius," said Mrs. Hoffman, kindly.
Julius blushed, and did not answer. He seemed much embarrassed.
"Won't you?" asked Jimmy.
"I don't know how to write!" said Julius at last, feeling suddenly ashamed of his ignorance.
"Such a big boy as you can't write?" said Jimmy, in amazement.
"There is plenty of time to learn," said Paul, cheerfully. "Julius has had no chance to learn yet, but after he gets to the West he will make it up."
The mortification which Julius felt at his ignorance made him determine to study hard whenever he could. He felt that if he wanted to occupy a respectable position in society, he must, at least, know how to read and write.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE POOR ARTIST.
A week later Julius started for the West with a company of boys who went out under the auspices of the Children's Aid Society. His adventures out West will make the subject of another volume.
On the day succeeding his departure Paul was at his stand, when his attention was drawn to a man of respectable appearance, but poorly clad, and thin and emaciated, who, after a little hesitation, accosted a gentleman who was passing, in these words: "Sir, I hope you will excuse my liberty in addressing you, but I have been sick, and am without money. Can you spare me a trifle?"
"I never give to street beggars," said the gentleman, coldly.
The applicant shrank back abashed, and a look of pain and mortification overspread his features. Paul noticed it, and his heart was filled with compassion. He saw that the man was not a common street beggar; that, except under the pressure of necessity, he would not have asked help. Stepping up to him as he was slowly moving away, Paul said, gently: "Can I assist you in any way, sir?"
The other turned at the words.
"I am in great need of help," he said. "I am without money, and I have a little daughter at home who wants bread."
As he said this he came near breaking down.
"Let me help you," said Paul; and he drew a dollar from his pocket and passed it to the applicant.
"A thousand thanks for your generous kindness!" said the stranger, gratefully; "but"--and here he glanced at Paul's humble place of business--"can you spare this money?"
"Easily," said Paul. "I am doing very well, and saving up money every week."
"Then I will accept it. There are some kind hearts in the world. I felt very much depressed by the refusal I just received. It was a great sacrifice of pride for me to ask help of any one, but the thought of my little daughter removed all my scruples. I could bear privation and hunger myself, but I could not bear to see her suffer."
"Where do you live?" asked Paul.
"In Centre street. It is a miserable place, but all I can afford."
"May I ask your business?"
"I am an artist. I came from England, my native country, some months since, hoping to better my fortune here. But I fell sick in a short time, and continued so until a week since."
"You are not looking well."
"I have overcome my disease, but I need nourishing food, and I have not been able to buy it."
"How did you pay your expenses while you were sick?"
"I brought over with me a small sum of money, and by great economy I made it last till a week since. I am unknown, and, though I have two pictures finished, I cannot sell them. I was told that America was a good country for the poor; but I do not find it so for me."
"It may be, after you are known."
"But what shall I do in the meantime?"
Here an idea came to Paul. He had long intended to obtain a teacher of drawing for Jimmy. It would be a charity to employ this poor artist if he were competent.
"Did you ever give lessons in drawing?" he asked.
"Yes; I gave lessons in England. I would gladly find scholars here, but I am not known."
"I have a little brother who has a great taste for drawing," said Paul. "You may begin with him."
"Thank you," said the stranger, warmly. "You give me new hope. I will teach him gladly, and leave the price of the lessons to you."
"If you will tell me where you live I will call there at noon. You will want to buy some food for your little girl."
"Yes, poor little Mary, I must not leave her waiting any longer. I shall be very glad to see you at my poor room. It is No. -- Centre street, back room, third floor. Ask for Mr. Henderson."
"I will be sure to call."
The artist made his way to a baker's where he bought a loaf of bread.
Also at a shop near by he obtained a pint of milk, and, provided with these, he hastened home to his hungry child.
At noon, after taking lunch, Paul found his way to the address given him by the artist. The room was dark and scantily furnished. Mr.
Henderson sat before an easel, trying to work. He got up hastily as Paul entered.