The Missing Tin Box: or, The Stolen Railroad Bonds. Stratemeyer Edward

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      "I can read and write, and figure pretty well, and I've read all the books I could get hold of."

      "The reason I ask is because I think I may be able to help you to obtain employment. I won't offer you money as a reward – I don't believe in such things."

      "I would not accept your money. But I would like work."

      Horace Sumner meditated for a moment.

      "Supposing you stop at my office to-morrow morning," he said.

      "I will, sir. What time?"

      "Ten o'clock."

      "And what number, please?"

      "Here is my card." Horace Sumner handed it to him. "Do you know where you are going to stop over night?"

      "I shall hunt up some cheap hotel."

      Mr. Sumner was about to say something to the effect that Hal could accompany him to his house and sleep in one of the rooms over the barn, but he changed his mind.

      "Let the boy hoe his own row. It will do him good," he thought to himself.

      Horace Sumner was a self-made man, and he knew that self reliance is one of the best traits a boy can cultivate.

      "I am going over to the Third Avenue elevated now," he said. "Remember, I expect to see you at ten sharp."

      "I will be on hand, sir," returned Hal.

      "Then good-night."

      "Good-night, Mr. Sumner, and much obliged."

      Hal watched the gentleman cross City Hall Park, and then started up Broadway.

      The brilliant holiday display in the show windows charmed him, and he spent fully two hours in looking at all that was to be seen.

      "Who knows but what I may go to work to-morrow, and then I won't get much chance to look around," he reasoned to himself.

      He was accustomed to work at the poor-house from six in the morning until eight or nine at night, and he did not know but what he would have to do more in such a bustling city as New York.

      By ten o'clock Hal found himself tired out. The snow was now six inches deep and was still coming down.

      He turned from Broadway through Grand Street and presently found himself well over on the east side.

      "Good Beds for 25 Cents per Night."

      This was the announcement on a banner strung over the sidewalk, and after reading it, Hal glanced at the building.

      It was rather a dingy affair, but to the youth direct from the Fairham poor-house it appeared quite comfortable. He entered the office, and approached the clerk at the desk.

      "I would like a room for to-night," he said.

      "A room or a bed?" asked the clerk.

      "I mean a twenty-five cent place."

      "Oh, all right. Pay in advance."

      Hal handed out a quarter. Then he was conducted to a long, narrow apartment on the third floor. There were eight beds in the room, six of which were already occupied.

      To a person used to good accommodations this apartment would have almost disgusted him. But quarters at the poor-house had been but little better, and Hal did not complain. He managed to get a bed in one corner, and, as the window was slightly open, he slept very well.

      He was up and dressed at six o'clock and out on the street. The snow was now all of a foot deep, and Hal was much interested in the snow-plows on the car tracks.

      As he passed down the street a snow-ball whizzed past the youth's ear. Another followed, striking him in the head. He turned, and saw a boy slightly taller than himself standing close at hand and laughing heartily.

      Instead of getting angry, Hal laughed in return. Then he picked up some snow, made it into a hard ball, and let fly.

      The snow-ball took the other boy in the chest, and in his effort to dodge he went over head first into a drift near the gutter. Hal burst out laughing, and then ran back and helped the stranger up.

      "Say, wot did yer do dat fer?" demanded the other boy, as soon as he was once more on his feet.

      "Tit for tat, you know," returned Hal. "I guess you're not hurt, are you?"

      The stranger stared at Hal. He had never met with such a kindly answer before.

      "Hurt! o' course I ain't hurt," he returned, slowly.

      "You threw at me first, didn't you?"

      "Wot if I did?"

      "Nothing, only that's why I threw back."

      The stranger stared at Hal for a moment.

      "Who are you?" he asked, abruptly.

      "My name is Hal Carson. What's yours?"

      "Jack McCabe."

      Hal held out his hand.

      "I'm glad to know you. I just came to New York, and I only know one person here."

      "Git out! is dat so?" Jack McCabe shook hands rather gingerly. "Den yer ain't one o' der boys, is yer?"

      "What boys?"

      "Der fellers around town."

      "Hardly."

      "Got work here?"

      "I expect to get work from a man in Wall Street."

      "Goin' ter be a broker, hey?" grinned Jack.

      "Here, get to work there, you lazy dog!" shouted a man from the inside of a near-by store, and Jack dropped his conversation and began to clean off the sidewalk with vigor.

      Hal walked on. He did not know under what exciting circumstances he was to meet Jack McCabe again.

      Promptly at ten o'clock Hal presented himself at the number given him on Wall Street. The sign over the door read Sumner, Allen & Co., Brokers.

      He opened the door and entered. There was a small place in the front partitioned from the rear office by a counter and a brass grating.

      A man sat writing at a desk in the rear. He glanced at Hal, and seeing it was only a boy, went on with his work.

      Five minutes passed. Then the man swung around leisurely, got down from his stool, and came forward.

      As soon as Hal caught sight of the man's face he was astonished.

      It was Hardwick, the fellow whose conversation he had overheard on the ferry boat the evening before.

      CHAPTER III.

      A SERIOUS CHARGE

      "What do you want?" asked Hardwick abruptly.

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