"He never did anything bad," retorted Jimmy indignantly.
"Thank you, Jimmy," said Paul, laughing. "I'll come to you when I want a first-class recommendation. If I never did anything bad, I suppose you won't call that horse bad that I drew the other day."
"It was a bad picture," said the little boy; "but people don't get took up for making bad pictures."
"That's lucky," said Sam, "or I shouldn't stand much chance of keeping out of the station-house. I move Jimmy gives us a specimen of his skill. I've got a comic paper here somewhere. He can copy a picture out of that."
"Where is it?" asked Jimmy eagerly.
The paper was found, and the little boy set to work with great enthusiasm, and soon produced a copy of one of the pictures, which was voted excellent. By that time he was ready to go to bed. Paul and he had to take up with a bed on the floor, but this troubled them little.
They felt thankful, under the circumstances, to have so comfortable a shelter. Indeed, Jimmy troubled himself very little about the future.
He had unbounded faith in Paul, to whom he looked up with as much confidence as he would have done to a father.
Early the next morning Mr. Norton was obliged to enter upon his daily duties. The poor must be stirring betimes, so they all took an early breakfast.
"Mother," said Paul, "it won't be much use to look up new rooms before the middle of the forenoon. I think I will open my stand as usual, and return at ten, and then we can go out together."
"Very well, Paul. I will help Mrs. Norton, if she will let me, till then."
"There is no need of that, Mrs. Hoffman."
"I would rather do it. I want to make some return for your kindness."
So the two women cleared away the breakfast dishes and washed them, and then Mrs. Hoffman sewed for two hours upon a shirt which his mother had commenced for Sam. Jimmy amused himself by copying another picture from the comic paper before mentioned.
Meantime Paul got out his stock in trade, and began to be on the watch for customers. He bought a copy of the _Herald_ of his friend Sam, and began to pore over the advertisements headed "FURNISHED ROOMS AND APARTMENTS TO LET."
"Let me see," soliloquized Paul; "here are four elegantly furnished rooms on Fifth avenue, only fifty dollars a week, without board. Cheap enough! But I'm afraid it would be rather too far away from my business."
"I suppose that's the only objection," said Sam slyly.
"There might be one or two others, Sam. Suppose you pick out something for me."
"What do you say to this, Paul?" said Sam, pointing out the following advertisement:
"FURNISHED NEATLY FOR HOUSEKEEPING. Front parlor, including piano, with front and back bedrooms on second floor; front basement; gas, bath, hot and cold water, stationary tubs; rent reasonable. West Twenty-seventh street."
"That would be very convenient, especially the piano and the stationary tubs," observed Paul. "If I decide to take the rooms, you can come round any time and practice on the tubs."
"Thank you, Paul, I think I'd rather try the piano."
"I thought you might be more used to the tubs. However, that's too far up town for me."
"Are you going to get furnished rooms?"
"I haven't spoken to mother about it, but as we have had all our furniture burned up, we shall probably get furnished rooms at first."
"Perhaps this might suit you, then," said Sam, reading from the paper:
"TO LET--FOR HOUSEKEEPING, several nicely furnished rooms; terms moderate. Apply at -- Bleecker street."
"That must be near where Barry used to live."
"Would it be too far?"
"No, I don't think it would. It isn't far to walk from Bleecker street. But it will depend a little on the terms."
"Terms moderate," read off Sam.
"They might call them so, even if they were high."
"I wish there were some rooms to let in our building."
"I shouldn't mind taking them if they were as nice as yours. How long have you lived there?"
"We only moved on the first day of May."
"How much do you charge for your neckties, boy?" asked a female voice.
Looking up, Paul beheld a tall, hard-visaged female, who had stopped in front of his stand.
"Twenty-five cents," answered Paul.
"Seems to me they're rather high," returned the would-be customer.
"Can't you sell me one for twenty cents?"
"I never take less than twenty-five, madam."
"I am looking for a nice birthday present for my nephew," said the hard-visaged lady, "but I don't want to spend too much. If you'll say twenty cents, I'll take two."
"I'm sorry, but I have only one price," said the young merchant.
"I'll give you twenty-two cents."
"I shall have to charge twenty-five."
"I suppose I must pay it then," said the lady in a dissatisfied tone.
"Here, give me that blue one."
The necktie was wrapped up, and the money reluctantly paid.
"How would you like to be her nephew, Sam?" asked Paul, as soon as she was out of hearing. "You might get a nice birthday present now and then."
"Shouldn't wonder if that twenty-five cents bust the old woman! Do you often have customers like that?"
"Not very often. The other day a young man, after wearing a necktie for a week, came back, and wanted to exchange it for one of a different color."
"Did you exchange it?"