"Good morning," responded the latter. "I am glad you came today, Mr.
Woodman, for we have an unusually large supply of stamps on hand."

"The market is very much overstocked at present," replied Woodman,
unslinging his satchel, and resting it on the desk. "I bought a thousand
dollars' worth of stamps yesterday from one party at five per cent off."

"Five per cent," repeated the cashier, arching his eyebrows.

"Yes, five per cent."

"And you expect to buy from us at that rate?"

"I wish I could pay you more, but my money is all tied up now--the
market is glutted, fairly glutted."

"I should think it would be, when you buy them in thousand dollar lots."

"Well, that does seem like a large amount of stamps, but I know of one
lot--a ten thousand dollar lot--that I could buy within an hour, if I
had the money to put into them."

"You could never get rid of so many, Woodman," said the cashier,
surprised at the broker's statement.

"Oh, yes, I could work them off sooner or later, and would get par for
most of them too."

"How do you do it?"

"I put them up in small lots of fifty cents and a dollar, and upwards,
and sell them to my customers. Of course, when I buy big lots I do a
little wholesaling, but I put away all I cannot sell at the time."

"They are sure to go sooner or later, I suppose," said the cashier.

"Oh, yes, sure to sell. During the summer months very few stamps come
into the market."

"And this gives you an opportunity to work off your surplus stock?"

"Yes."

"I presume you sell as a rule to stores and business offices."

"Yes; I have a regular line of customers who buy all of their stamps off
me--customers that I worked up myself."

"And they prefer buying of you to going to the post office for their
supply?"

"Certainly; for I give them just as good stamps, and by buying of me
they save themselves the trouble of going to the post office for them."

Herbert Randolph was waiting for his money, and overheard this
conversation between the cashier and the stamp broker. He made no effort
to hear it, for it did not relate to him. They spoke so loud, however,
that he caught every word distinctly, and before they had finished
talking the idea flashed across his mind that he would try his hand
at that business. Mr. Woodman, as good fortune willed it for young
Randolph, could take only a portion of the stamps the cashier wished to
dispose of. When the broker had completed his purchase and gone, Herbert
stepped up to the cashier for the money due him for working on the
hoist. Mr. Smith handed it to him cheerfully, with a pleasant remark,
which gave young Randolph an opportunity to talk with him about the
stamp brokerage idea that had set his brain on fire.

"How much capital have you?" asked the cashier, with growing interest.

"With the money you just paid me I have three dollars and seventy five
cents," answered Herbert, his face coloring.

The cashier smiled.

"And you think you could become a broker on that capital?" said he, with
mingled surprise and amusement.

"I think I could try it on that capital if you would sell me the
stamps," replied Herbert, with such intelligent assurance that he
interested the cashier.

"You can certainly have the stamps," answered the latter, "and I will
aid you in every way possible, but----" and there was an ominous pause,
as if thinking how he could best discourage the boy from such an
undertaking.

Herbert divined his thoughts, and said, "I know such an idea must seem
foolish to you, who handle so much money; but to me----"

"Yes, you may be right, young man," interrupted the cashier. "You
certainly interest me. I like ambition and pluck, and you evidently have
both. When would you like the stamps?"

"Thank you," said Herbert, in a tone that lent strength to his words.
"You may give them to me now, if you please--three dollars' worth. I may
need the seventy five cents before I succeed in selling any stamps."

"It is a wise precaution to avoid tying up all your capital in one
thing," laughed the cashier, while counting out the stamps. "They will
cost you two dollars and eighty five cents, at five per cent discount,
the same as I gave Mr. Woodman."

When the transaction had been completed, young Randolph left the office
hurriedly, anxious to learn what the possibilities of his new
undertaking were.

Ten times during that first day did he return to Mr. Smith for stamps,
and ten times was his supply exhausted by customers to whom he sold at
par--resulting in a profit of a dollar and fifty cents--an income that
to him was a small fortune.

That night Herbert Randolph joined Bob Hunter with brighter eyes and
more buoyant spirits than he had known since Mr. Goldwin's failure, now
nearly three months ago.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN BUSINESS FOR HIMSELF.

Only strong characters are able to lift themselves out of poverty and
adversity by sheer force of will, unaided by any one. Such a character
Herbert Randolph proved himself to be. For nearly three months he had
faced the most discouraging prospects. With education, with a knowledge
of accounts, with splendid intelligence, with manly pride and noble
ambition, he went from luxurious banking apartments to the cold wintry
streets, down, down the cheerless and grim descent, till he reached
the bottom, where he found himself in competition with the dregs of
humanity--one of them, as far as his employment went. Imagine this proud
spirited boy humbled to the degree of bidding side by side for work with
a ragged Italian, a broken down and blear eyed drunkard, a cruel faced
refugee from the penitentiary, or a wretched, unkempt tramp. How his
young, brave heart must have ached as he found himself working on
the hoist or in the street with loathsome characters of this
sort--characters that purity and self respect could only shun as
a pestilence.

But this he was forced to do--either this, or to acknowledge his city
career a failure, and return home with crushed spirits and shattered
pride, a disappointment to his father and mother and the butt of rude
rural jokes for his more or less envious neighbors.

The latter is just what most boys would have done, but not so young
Randolph. His eyes were closed to any such escape from his present
wretched condition. Herein he showed his superior strength. But how
little he realized, as he worked with dogged determination at these
cheerless tasks, that this very employment would lead him into the
light, as it ultimately did. Boys see nothing but drudgery in such
employment, or in any humble position. They want to commence work at
something genteel. An easy clerical position like the one young Randolph
had with Mr. Goldwin appeals strongly to their taste. Fine clothes,
white hands, little work and short hours--these are in great demand
among boys. Young Randolph, indeed, was no exception to the rule. He
sought a position in a bank and got it. Fortunately for him, however,
the bank failed, and he was thrown into the streets. But for this he
would have been a clerk still--a little three dollar machine, which
bears no patent, and possesses no especial value over the ten thousand
other machines capable of performing similar work. His dream of wealth
and position would in all probability never have materialized. He would
doubtless have in time become a head clerk at a respectable salary. But
how little this would have satisfied his ambition! His desire to be at
the head of the firm could never have been realized, for he would not
have had the money to place himself there. The result would have been
clerking, clerking, miserable, aimless clerking, and nothing more.
But now, through what seemed to him his misfortune had come good
fortune--through the drudgery of the hoist had come a business of his
own--a growing, paying, business--_a business of great possibilities_.
The suffering he had undergone did him no permanent harm. On the
contrary it enabled him to appreciate more keenly the opportunity he
now had for making money and supplying himself with the necessaries, and
some of the luxuries, of life.

Young Randolph's brokerage business grew day by day as he added new
customers and learned how to manage it more successfully. In a little
time he saw the necessity of having a place where his customers could
reach him by mail or messenger. He therefore arranged with a party on
Nassau Street to allow him desk room. Then followed this card:

 +------------------------------------------------+
 |               HERBERT RANDOLPH,                |
 |                                                |
 |               111 NASSAU STREET,               |
 |                                                |
 |           BUYS AND SELLS             NEW YORK. |
 | ALL KINDS OF FOREIGN COIN AND PAPER.           |
 |                                                |
 |   United States Silver and Postage             |
 |         Stamps a Specialty.                    |
 +------------------------------------------------+

It was with much pleasure that he studied these neatly printed cards.
The first thing he did after receiving them from the printer was to
inclose one in a letter to his mother. He had already written her
glowing accounts of his growing business, and he felt that this card
would give a realism to his pen pictures that he had been unable to
impart. He thought long and with pride how sacredly that little bit of
pasteboard would be treasured by his parents--how proudly they would
show it to their neighbors, and the comments that it would bring forth.

Then he took one over to Bob Hunter, who exhibited no little surprise as
he read it admiringly.

Later in the evening he and the newsboy went as usual to visit Tom
Flannery, who now, poor boy, seemed to be yielding to that dread
disease--consumption. How his face brightened up as he looked at the
card with scarcely less pride than if it had been his own!

"I wish I could get into that business, Herbert, when I get well," said
he, turning the card languidly in his thin, emaciated fingers; "you'n'
me'n' Bob. Yes, I would like that, for we always had such good times
together, didn't we, Bob?"

"Yes, we did, Tom," answered Bob, tenderly. "I guess as good times as
anybody ever had, even if we didn't have much money."

"So I think, Bob. I've thought of it a good many times while I've been
sick here--of the detective business and all, and how grand you managed
the whole thing. But then you always done everything grand, Bob. None er
the boys could do it like you."

"You do some things much better than I could, Tom," said Bob.

"No, Bob. I never could do nothing like you."

"You bear your sickness more patiently than I could, and that is harder
to do than anything I ever did," replied Bob.

"Well, I have to do it, you know, Bob. There ain't no other way, is
there, Herb----"

The last part of the word was lost in violent coughing that racked the
boy's feeble frame terribly.

"I am afraid you are talking too much, Tom," said Herbert. "We must not
allow you to say any more at present."

Ten days later, and Tom had grown too weak to be dressed. Part of the
time he lay bolstered up in bed, but even this taxed his strength too
heavily. He had become very much wasted, and was little more than a
skeleton. All hope of his recovery had been given up, and it was now
simply a question of how long he could be kept alive. Bob and Herbert
brought him choice fruits, and drew liberally from their slender purses,
to buy for him whatever would tend to make him more comfortable or would
gratify his fancy.

Poor Mrs. Flannery was almost overcome with sorrow as she saw her boy
wasting away and sinking lower and lower as each day passed by. He was
her only child, and she loved him with all the force of her great
mother's heart.

At length the end came. Bob and Herbert were present with the
grief-stricken mother, trying to comfort her and struggling to repress
the sorrow each felt at the close approach of death.

For several hours the sick boy had been in a sort of stupor from which
it seemed probable that he would never rally. He lay like one dead,
scarcely breathing. Towards midnight, however, he opened his eyes and
looked upon the three tear stained faces beside his bed. An expression
of deepest pity settled upon his countenance, and he spoke with much
effort, saying:

"Don't cry, mother; don't feel so bad for me. You have Bob and Herbert
left. They will look out for you when I am gone," whispered the dying
boy faintly, and he turned his eyes for confirmation to the friend who
had never failed him.

"Yes," answered Bob, pressing the sufferer's hand warmly. "We will do
everything you could wish us to for your mother--you would have done it
for either of us, Tom."

The latter's eyes moistened and grew bright with a feeling of joy at
this assurance from Bob--this last proof of his true friendship.

"I knew it before, mother," he said, nerving himself for the effort,
"but it makes me happy to hear him say it before you--to hear him say it
before I go."

"And you may rely upon me also, Tom, to join Bob in doing for your
mother whatever would please you most," said Herbert, unable to keep
back the hot tears.

"Yes, I am sure of that, Herbert. You and Bob are just alike, and can do
more than I could if I had lived. I am so glad I knew you, Herbert,"
continued the dying boy, his face flushing with momentary animation as
he recalled the past. "What good times we have had, you and me and Bob!
I thought they would last always, but--but--well I wish I might have
lived to go into business with you. I would have tried my best to please
you, and----"

"What is it?" asked Herbert, noticing the sufferer's hesitation.

"I was going to ask you if the business, your new business, wouldn't get
big enough to take Bob in with you--to make him a partner, so he can
make a lot of money, too. I was almost afraid to ask you, but----"

"That is already fixed," said Bob hoarsely, almost overcome by the
solicitude of his dying friend. "Herbert gave me an interest in the
business today, and I shall commence working with him as soon as I am
needed."

"I am so glad, so glad," responded the sufferer faintly, and with a
smile that told plainly the joy this knowledge gave him. "It's all right
now," he continued slowly, and with greater effort, for the little
strength he had left was fast leaving him. "You will be taken care of,
mother, and Bob will be taken care of by Herbert," he went on, sinking
into a half unconscious state. "I know they will do well and will make
rich men and have everything in the world that they want. I wish I
could see them then with a big banking house and clerks and private
offices and errand boys and electric bells and fine carriages and horses
and a brown stone house in the avenue, may be."

[Illustration: TOM FLANNERY'S DEATHBED.]

In a little while he regained full consciousness as if by a powerful
effort, and said in a faint whisper:

"There is one thing more, mother--my knife, my little brass knife."

Mrs. Flannery brought it and placed it in his thin hands.

He looked at it with such a strange expression of affection--a little
well worn knife of inexpensive make. How long he had carried it in his
pocket, how many times he had held it in his hand, and now--yes, now, he
held it for the last time--only this little knife, yet his all, his only
legacy.

"You won't want it, will you, mother?" said he, with moist eyes and
struggling with emotion.

"No, no, Tommy," sobbed the broken hearted mother.

"I knew you wouldn't," said he, "for I want to give it to Bob. It ain't
much, I know, Bob," he continued, addressing the latter; "but it's all I
have. You will keep it, won't you, to remember me by? When you get to be
a man--a rich business man with fine offices and a house of your own,
look at this knife sometimes--my knife, and think of me, and how we used
to work together. Yes, you will do so, won't you, Bob?"

"I will, Tom, I will," answered Bob, as he took the little knife into
his own hands. "I will keep it always to remind me of you," and he bowed
his head upon the bed beside his dying friend and cried with sincere
grief.

"It's all right now," responded the sufferer. "All right," he repeated,
as his mother pressed her lips to his forehead.

"All right," again, so feebly that the last word fainted half spoken by
his dying lips.

In a few moments the last death struggle was over. He was gone,
poor Tom, the honest, trustful boy with a pure heart and noble
friendship--cut off in the morning of his life by a sickness brought on
by exposure, and an exposure made necessary that he might earn the means
to supply his humble wants. A cruel world this seems sometimes, when one
reflects how unevenly the joys and sorrows, and luxuries and misery are
distributed among brothers and sisters, neighbors and countrymen.

CHAPTER XXIX.

TOM FLANNERY'S FUNERAL.

The grief of the broken hearted mother and the two faithful friends can
better be imagined than described. Words, however ably chosen, fail
utterly to picture the sufferings of the human heart. In imagination
we can see the three bending over the still form of him to whose heart
each was attached so firmly. One, a well aged woman, still clinging
passionately to the cold hands and moaning with almost frantic grief.
Now she presses the lifeless figure to her breast, appealing wildly to
it to speak to her, to call her "mother" just once more. Again she falls
upon her knees and prays as only one prays with bursting heart, that her
boy, her Tom, her only child, her very life, may be restored to her.
With her tears are mingled those of Herbert and Bob, whose young spirits
overflow with sorrow, not alone for their own loss at the hands of death
but at the wild, tumultuous grief of the bereaved mother.

A little later we see the undertaker arrive with all his dread
paraphernalia, then the casket, a plain, neat one purchased by Herbert
and Bob, in due time receives the dead body.

The funeral follows speedily, and is held in Mrs. Flannery's rooms.
In one of them she lies in bed helplessly ill from grief and utter
prostration. All preparations for the burial have been made by Herbert
and Bob. The minister arrives, and after a hurried talk with Herbert
devotes himself to Mrs. Flannery, trying to lessen her sorrow by such
words of consolation and assurance as his calling enables him to speak
with something like holy authority.

A tall, fine looking man with a young, sweet faced girl now knocks at
the door. They are Mr. Goldwin and his daughter, and the latter brings a
cross of flowers for a burial offering. How strangely out of place they
seem in these small, barely furnished attic rooms, yet they have come
with honest purpose to pay honor to the humble dead. Mr. Goldwin had
known of Tom's brave part in rescuing Herbert from the villains by whom
he had been imprisoned. He had at that time sent him a reward, and now
he came sorrowfully to mingle his tears with those of the lowly friends
of the dead. Ray had begged to come with him, and he was glad to grant
her the request, for he felt that she would receive a lesson from this
simple funeral such as could not be learned elsewhere.

A delegation of newsboys about the age of the dead now arrived. They
had known him well as a rival trader, as a true friend and agreeable
companion. They had often asked after him during his illness, and now
they came, their bright young faces heavy with sorrow, to follow his
remains to the tomb. They brought with them a handsome wreath of flowers
bearing the simple word "Tom."

The casket was carried into the sick room and placed on a table not
far from the bed on which Mrs. Flannery lay sobbing. When all had
been seated, the minister rose and prayed, such a prayer as is seldom
offered. The occasion was an inspiration to the holy man. In all his
years of ministry he had never been called upon to attend such a funeral
as this--so simple, so strange, and yet so genuinely sad. It was a boy's
funeral, and the audience was composed almost wholly of boys. The
casket had been bought by boys, the details of the funeral had been
arranged by boys, and boys--nearly a score of them--were there to mourn
the loss of their friend. And they were no ordinary boys, with careless,
thoughtless manners, but sturdy lads who were almost men in thought, for
long, long months had they, like the deceased, had to think and act for
themselves.

Mr. Goldwin and Ray, aided to some extent by a few of the boys, sang a
hymn, and then the minister, after reading the Bible, gave a feeling and
impressive talk that went home to the hearts of every one present. Bob
and Herbert could not have felt greater sorrow had the dead been their
own brother. They tried, however, to restrain their grief, as everything
depended upon them, since Mrs. Flannery was now helpless.

At the close of the service all except Mrs. Flannery passed by the
casket, looking for the last time upon the features of the dead boy
before the lid was closed. The mother was bolstered up in bed, and the
casket was lowered beside her, where she too could view the remains. The
pall bearers were selected from the delegation of newsboys, as I think
Tom would have wished had he expressed himself upon this point.

In a little time the casket had been placed within the hearse, and this
strange funeral party started on its solemn journey to the tomb. Mr.
Goldwin and Ray and Herbert and Bob occupied the carriage of chief
mourners--not that the two former could strictly be called mourners, but
their object in going to the tomb was to comfort the two boys, for whose
conduct Mr. Goldwin had the greatest admiration.

The newsboys followed in other carriages, which had been secured by Bob
Hunter without cost, when it was known for what purpose they were
wanted.

The remains of the dead boy were buried beside those of his father and
sister in Greenwood Cemetery, where his mother had bought a plot at the
death of her husband.

[Illustration: TOM FLANNERY'S FUNERAL.]

"We must buy a stone, Herbert, for Tom's grave when we can get the
money," said Bob, as they came slowly away from the cemetery.

"Yes, we will do that some time, Bob," answered Herbert, with swollen
eyes. "But our first duty is to take care of his mother."

"Yes, we promised him that we would look after her, and we must do
it--he would have done it for either of us," answered Bob, choking with
emotion as his mind went back to the death scene.

"I wish I could help do something for Mrs. Flannery, poor woman," said
Ray, addressing her father.

"I shall be very glad to have you do anything in reason, my dear,"
replied Mr. Goldwin with pleasure. "Nothing would make me more proud of
my daughter than to see her helping others who need encouragement and
assistance."

"You shall be proud of me then, father," replied Ray with enthusiasm. "I
am so glad you took me with you today. It has given me a new idea of
life. Now I feel as if I could be of some use in the world."

"You certainly can if you wish to do good, for the competition in that
line is not so great as it should be," answered Mr. Goldwin
thoughtfully.

[Illustration: RAY READING TO MRS. FLANNERY.]

"It looks so in Mrs. Flannery's case surely," remarked Herbert; "there
were few to help her in her terrible trouble."

"Did she have no friends but you and Mr. Hunter?" asked Ray.

"No, I think not," answered young Randolph, "at least none that I know
of."

"What would she have done, poor woman, but for your kindness?"

"I do not like to think about it," replied Herbert with a shudder.

"I think I know of a good woman who would go down and take care of Mrs.
Flannery while she is sick," said Mr. Goldwin. "She certainly needs good
nursing for the present."

"I wish such a woman could be had," said Herbert, "for both Bob and
myself are anxious to get to work."

CHAPTER XXX.

IN A NEW HOME.

Three weeks after the funeral Mrs. Flannery had sufficiently recovered
her strength so that she could safely be moved from the rooms she had
occupied so long. Ray Goldwin had done much towards bringing about this
satisfactory result by her frequent visits and cheerful manner--always
saying and doing the right thing with admirable tact. She became much
interested in the childless woman whose heart still bled unceasingly for
her "poor Tom, poor Tom," as she murmured often to herself.

At the funeral Ray had contrasted her own life with that of Herbert and
Bob. As she pondered over what these two humble boys, with so slender
means, had done for the dying lad and his grief-stricken mother, she
felt how much she suffered by the comparison.

The solemnity of the occasion and the glowing words of praise for
the two friends of the dead, spoken with such peculiar force by the
minister, led her, as was natural, to overestimate their worth and
to undervalue her own. With the same spirit, therefore, with which
she admired Herbert and Bob for their acts, she condemned her own
inactivity, and there in that little room beside the remains of the
humble newsboy she resolved that she would be something more than a
society girl as her life had hitherto been tending. She had learned a
valuable lesson and given place to a purpose as noble as it was humane.

[Illustration: MRS. FLANNERY AND THE TWO BOYS IN THEIR NEW HOME.]

That she was carrying out this purpose her kind acts and words of
comfort to Mrs. Flannery amply attested. She, however, was not alone
the source of comfort while on these missions of noble charity, for the
sick woman gave her, unconsciously, to be sure, as she talked of Herbert
Randolph, a taste of happiness of a finer and sweeter character than she
herself, poor woman, could ever hope again to feel. It was born of hero
worship--a worship ripening into simple, childlike sentiment. I say hero
worship, for such her thoughts of young Randolph and Bob Hunter were
when she first realized how kind and generous they had been to him who
now lay dead, and to his helpless and heart broken mother.

Such thoughts, however, to a young girl just verging upon the age of
woman, and when the hero is a noble, manly boy like Randolph, are but
the buds of the more beautiful and fragrant flower which time is sure to
bring forth.

And this is the way that Ray came to find such pleasure in the simple
talk of Mrs. Flannery--talk that but for this magnetic interest must
have been unbearably dull to her young ears.

Herbert and Bob, feeling that it would be better for the bereaved mother
to get away from her present rooms where she was constantly reminded of
the dead, leased a neat little flat in Harlem, to which she was moved,
together with her furniture. Here they designed making a home for
themselves, inaugurating Mrs. Flannery as housekeeper. It seemed to them
that they could in no other way carry out so fully the wishes of their
dead friend. The housework would occupy her mind and keep her busy, and
by their living thus together she would have with her the two friends in
whose care the deceased had placed her. Moreover each desired a better
home than their cheerless attic room had been to them, and they felt
that they could now afford to spend more upon themselves.

Thus the flat was taken and with Mrs. Flannery's furniture, a few new
things from the store and little fancy articles made and contributed by
Ray and her mother, the boys found themselves very happily situated in
their new home. Mrs. Flannery, too, while at her new duties, recovered
more quickly than would seem possible from the terrible shock she had
sustained. In young Randolph and Bob Hunter she found all she could have
desired in sons of her own--found, as her poor dying boy had said, that
they would look out for her, and could do more for her than he. And she
proved a good mother to them, studying their every want with gratitude
and affection.

To Bob especially the comforts of his present life gave great happiness,
and as the weeks rolled by he became more and more attached to his new
home, and spent all the spare time possible in study, being taught by
Herbert.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE BOY BROKER.

While young Randolph was away from his business during the few days of
the death and burial of his friend, the proprietor of a house from whom
Herbert bought a great many stamps complained to his bookkeeper about
the large supply on hand.

"But we cannot get rid of them if no one calls for them," replied the
latter.

"Hasn't Littlewood been in for any?"

"No, he has not been here for ten days."

"Ten days," repeated the merchant thoughtfully. "What has become of the
boy broker? I have not seen him here lately."

"The boy broker," said the bookkeeper, taking Herbert's card from a
drawer to find his address. "He is at 111 Nassau Street. Shall I send
for him?"

"Yes, do so," said the proprietor as he walked away.

"The boy broker," repeated the bookkeeper to himself, catching at his
employer's words. "That has a good ring to it and would sound well on
young Randolph's cards."

Having a pen in his hand he dipped it in red ink and printed diagonally
across Herbert's card the words THE BOY BROKER. "That looks well," said
he to himself, holding it off and eying it critically. "It is catchy. I
will suggest to young Randolph that he adds it to his cards and prints
it in red ink as I have done. There's nothing like advertising," he went
on, talking to himself. "It pays, and this will pay Randolph--I know it
will."

The suggestion was accordingly made to Herbert and he adopted it, having
his cards printed precisely as the one the bookkeeper had shown him.

And this is the way he became known as THE BOY BROKER. The name proved
"catchy," as the bookkeeper had predicted, and after adopting it Herbert
found his business growing more rapidly than ever. But just now a most
unexpected bit of good luck came to the young Vermonter and at a time
too when he felt sorely the need of money. The cause brought by Mr.
Goldwin's lawyer against Christopher Gunwagner for false imprisonment of
Herbert Randolph had come up for trial. Herbert and Bob were summoned to
court to testify against the old fence.

The trial was ably conducted on both sides, but the fact that young
Randolph had been restrained from his liberty by one Christopher
Gunwagner, a notorious fence, was quickly established. It only remained
then for the jury to find the damages.

Herbert had sued for one thousand dollars, and his lawyer made an able
argument to recover the full amount.

He dwelt at length upon our hero's sufferings in that damp, musty
cellar, infested as it was by rats to such a degree as to threaten
his reason; all of which was only too true. Graphically did the lawyer
picture this scene, so graphically that the hearts of the jurymen were
noticeably touched.

Then the lawyer argued that outside and beyond the actual injury
suffered, there should be an exemplary damage awarded. The worst traits
of the old fence were shown up, and contrasted with the spotless
character of Herbert Randolph.

The judge in his charge sustained the idea of exemplary damage, and then
the case went to the jury.

They had remained out about three quarters of an hour, when they came in
and announced a verdict in favor of Herbert Randolph of _five hundred
and seventy five dollars_!

Young Randolph was never more surprised in his life, or only once; and
that was when he found Bob Hunter at old Gunwagner's on the night of his
escape.

"Five hundred and seventy five dollars!" said he to himself, unable to
realize that he had been awarded such a sum of money.

Bob Hunter congratulated him, his lawyer congratulated him, and the
court even did likewise.

But none were more hearty and genuine in their congratulations than Mr.
Goldwin and his pretty daughter Ray.

"I owe it all to you, Mr. Goldwin," said Herbert, gratefully. "I should
never have thought to commence action against old Gunwagner but for your
advice."

The odd seventy five dollars paid the lawyer and all the court expenses.
This left a clear five hundred dollars for young Randolph--what a lot of
money, five hundred dollars in new, crisp bank notes!

"And it shall all go into our business, Bob," said he, proudly, "and as
you are now an equal partner with me half of the money will be yours."

"Oh, no, Herbert, that would not be right," protested Bob.

"Yes, I am sure it would," replied The Boy Broker. "My being imprisoned
was due to no effort of my own, but rather to my simplicity, my lack of
keenness. My release, on the other hand, was due to your brave efforts
to rescue me. I walked into the trap unconsciously, you walked into it
with your eyes open, risking your very life to save me. To you therefore
the greater reward is due--you earned your portion, I helplessly endured
the misery that has brought me mine."

"But I did not suffer any and you did," returned Bob, feeling keenly his
helplessness when in an argument with young Randolph.

"You, however, took the chances of suffering, and those who take great
chances in business, in war and in dangerous enterprises, of whatever
character, if successful are well rewarded for the part they have borne.
No, Bob, I would not think of keeping all this money," continued
Herbert, impressively. "We are partners in business together. Let us
start with equal interest, then we should feel no jealousy toward each
other. This five hundred dollars will enable us to do five times the
business we are now doing, and if we save the profits we make we can
still further increase it month by month."

"Do you remember, Herbert," said Bob, with grateful expression, "that
when Mr. Goldwin failed and you were thrown out of work I urged you to
take some money--only eight dollars--and you refused it?"

"Yes, I remember it well, Bob," replied young Randolph.

"And now you ask me to take two hundred and fifty dollars from you. Why
should I not refuse your offer as you refused mine?"

"Bob," said Herbert, taking him by the hand, "that eight dollars was a
reserve fund, it was all that stood between you and me and starvation
or what is almost as bad--public charity. I appreciated as you little
knew your generous offer, and it cut me to see how hurt you felt at my
refusal to take the money. But I thought of the possibility of sickness
or accident, and realized how much help those few dollars would prove in
such a time. Again I felt that the money would do me no good. I know now
that it would not have, for I should simply have used it up and would
then have been no nearer, if so near, solving the problem that pressed
me for an answer--namely, how to earn sufficient means with which to buy
bread and procure a shelter for myself."

"I think you were right, Herbert," replied Bob, thoughtfully. "I
couldn't think so then, however, but it is plain to me now."

"I know I was right. It was the suffering I went through in those dreary
winter months and the miserable drudgery I was forced to perform that at
last gave me a knowledge of this business. It was an education to me,
Bob, of a most practical character, and now that it is all over I can
only feel glad that I was forced out of my comfortable clerkship into
the cold wintry street that had so sunny an ending."

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE CONSPIRATORS' FATE.

A few weeks after the trial of Gunwagner for false imprisonment he was
again brought before the bar of justice to answer with Felix Mortimer to
the charge of conspiring to kidnap Herbert Randolph. Able counsel were
employed by the old villain, and a hard fight was made for liberty. But
the charges were so well sustained by the evidence of Herbert and Bob,
and that of the small boy who aided the latter in gaining admittance to
the fence's den, that the jury brought in a verdict of guilty.

Gunwagner was, accordingly, sentenced to serve a long term of
imprisonment at Sing Sing as a penalty for his villainous acts. He had
accumulated much money by crooked means, and now towards the end of his
life his own freedom was the price paid for the gold which now was
valueless to him.

Then came Felix Mortimer's turn. But for him Herbert Randolph would
never have fallen into the trouble that seemed to await him on his
arrival in New York. Young Mortimer, however, overreached himself. He
was not a match for Herbert Randolph and Bob Hunter together--neither he
nor all of his disreputable cronies.

His plans miscarried wofully, and now, after many long weary days of
confinement in the Tombs, he found himself sentenced to the House of
Correction for nearly four years, or until he reached the age of his
majority.

Felix Mortimer was splendidly endowed by nature for a brilliant man. He
had great ability, and was unusually bright and prepossessing. But
unfortunately for him, and for the community in which he lived, he
commenced life in the wrong way. He failed to recognize the fact that no
true success can be attained except by operating on the solid principles
of truth and honesty. His envy of Herbert Randolph had at last brought
him disgrace and humiliation, while the young Vermonter now had a well
paying and fast growing business of his own. How bitterly he must have
regretted his own foolish and evil acts, when he realized fully to what
they had brought him!

[Illustration: GUNWAGNER IN PRISON.]

He could look now upon Herbert Randolph and say to himself, truthfully,
"I had the ability to succeed as well as you have and to be as much
respected as you now are. My advantages, too, were superior to yours,
and yet here am I a prisoner in the House of Correction, deprived of my
liberty and in disgrace, while you have already entered upon a splendid
business career. And all this difference comes from my having made a
wrong start."

Alas! how many human wrecks scattered all along the pathway of life
could say the same thing, as they compare their present wretched
condition with that of the prosperous and honored citizens--the solid
men of the community--who were once their schoolfellows, and whose
early career was perhaps less promising than their own. And all this
difference, or nearly all, has grown naturally out of the right or wrong
start they took in life.

Peter Smartweed alone among the conspirators remains to be accounted
for, and this is something that the police could not do. They made a
careful search throughout the city for him, but his presence could not
be discovered. It was believed that, fearing arrest, he had suddenly
left his home and the city in which he had spent his life, when he
learned of the fate of Felix Mortimer, his companion in crime.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A GLIMPSE AT THE FUTURE.

It has not seemed to me desirable to dwell upon Mr. Goldwin's business
affairs--to show the legal squabbles that followed his failure, or to
picture in detail the trickery of Breakwell & Co. My aim has been to
introduce only what bore directly upon the career of Herbert Randolph.
I will say, however, that the banker's failure did not leave him
penniless, as young Randolph feared it might. He was badly crippled at
first, but certain securities turned over to him by Breakwell & Co.,
which at the time of the failure possessed but little market value,
began at the end of a few months to advance rapidly. When they had
reached a point at which it seemed to him advisable to sell he closed
them out at a price that enabled him to pay off all his obligations
without drawing upon his personal property for a penny. He was,
therefore, still a wealthy man, and was not forced to reduce his style
of living in the slightest degree.

With this simple statement I leave the past to record a conversation in
which the reader will catch a glimpse of the future, in so far as it
relates to some of those who have been most conspicuous in this story.

Young Randolph had now become a frequent visitor at Mr. Goldwin's
home, where, notwithstanding the many attractions of a great city,
he spent the happiest hours of his life. Bob Hunter, moreover, was not
an entire stranger at this handsome residence. His visits, though, were
few in comparison to those of his partner, and this was due to two
causes--first, a decided reluctance to leave his books, for he had
become a most industrious student, and second, the lack of so delightful
an attraction as that which turned the steps of the young Vermonter so
often towards the Goldwin home.

It was now midwinter. Herbert and Bob had been in business together
nearly nine months, in which time they had by hard work and splendid
ability lifted themselves from poverty and drudgery to a position of
prosperity. In an up town savings bank a snug sum of money was deposited
to their credit, and this was in excess of the amount used in their
business, which had become so large that a good working capital was
necessary.

One day they received a letter from Mr. Goldwin inviting them to dine
with him and his family on the following evening. The letter stated,
moreover, that he wished to talk with them about a matter in which he
thought they would feel an interest.

"What can he wish to talk over with us?" said Bob.

"I have been speculating on that same point," replied Herbert.

"And you came to no conclusion?"

"No, I really cannot imagine his purpose."

"It may be about business," suggested the junior partner.

"You may be right, Bob, but it hardly seems probable that he would want
to talk with us about business."

"But you say he has often talked with you about it when you have been at
his house."

"So he has, in a general way," replied Herbert, "but I supposed that was
just to fill in conversation."

"A mere matter of curiosity to know how we were doing?"

"Yes."

"It's possible, though, that he had other objects in view."

"Possible, well, yes; but not probable."

Thus the boys speculated upon Mr. Goldwin's purpose, as they went about
their work--speculated and wondered till they found themselves at his
table, where all thought of this character was driven from their minds
by the pleasant conversation that followed.

It was only fifteen months before this that two boys met as if by chance
in City Hall Park one brisk October morning--one a country lad fresh
from the rocky hills of old Vermont, the other a keen eyed, bright faced
newsboy of New York. Look at the group around this table, and tell me
if you can see these chance acquaintances--the boy whose every act
proclaimed him a farmer's son, or the other--the shabbily dressed
product of a metropolitan street. And if perchance by voice or feature
you recognize the boy of education and ambition, look again, I urge you,
that you may find his friend. "There is but one boy present beside him
of the farm," I hear you say, "and surely it cannot be he, so well
dressed and grown so tall, whose language bespeaks a well bred lad." But
look yet once more, I pray you, and behold the sparkle of his eyes, the
old time humor playing over his features, and--ah! now he laughs and
shows his dimples once again--the same on either cheek reflecting the
merriment he feels. You yield at last, puzzled though I know you are,
and the question you would put to me--"How came it so, this marvelous
change in these two boys?" I will answer--THEY WORKED AND STUDIED.

[Illustration: BOB HUNTER, THE STUDENT AND YOUNG BUSINESS MAN.]

When dinner was over Mr. Goldwin and the two boys repaired to the
library. After a little preliminary talk the former said,

"I am contemplating going into business again."

"Your old business?" asked Herbert.

"Yes," replied Mr. Goldwin, rather deliberately, resting comfortably in
his easy chair and toying with his eye glasses. "I am better fitted for
that than any other. But my object is not wholly to make money, though
of course there is always pleasure in doing so. My purpose is rather to
provide myself with some light employment that would interest me, but
which would not be too severe a tax upon my strength. I have also a
secondary object in this connection," he continued, addressing Herbert,
"and that is a desire to put you and Bob in the way of entering a first
class brokerage business much sooner than you could hope to if left to
your own efforts. I have watched both of you carefully and with the
keenest interest. The ability you have each shown in conducting your
stamp brokerage convinces me that you are capable of moving up higher,
and therefore it gives me pleasure to offer you an interest in the
business that I am about to start."

"But the money!" exclaimed both boys, speaking at once and almost
doubting their own senses, yet expressing in their looks thanks more
eloquent than words could have conveyed.

"The money question can be arranged all right," replied Mr. Goldwin. "I
can supply the necessary sum in excess of your capital."

"I can hardly realize such an opportunity as open to us," said Herbert,
adding words of warmest thanks.

"Neither can I," remarked Bob, no less expressive in his gratitude to
Mr. Goldwin.

"Doubtless it is a surprise to you," replied the latter; "but the idea
has been growing with me for several months, and now I am ready to make
you this proposition. You of course know that you are not old enough to
become legal partners. It will therefore be necessary to conduct the
business under my own name, and as this was my old business name it will
be better than a new one."

"We certainly shall not object to that," said Herbert; "but how can we
become members of the firm if not legal partners?"

"You can become practically members, though not real members," returned
Mr. Goldwin. "That is to say you can draw a certain percentage of the
profits in return for your capital and services. My proposition then
is this: I will open an office and take both of you boys in with me,
allowing you one half of the profits until you become of age; then we
will organize a partnership, and each own a third of the business. By
that time your profits, if you do not spend too much money, will enable
you to own your interests clear of all incumbrance. Your present
brokerage business can be done from our office, and that I shall want
Bob to attend to at first, while you, Herbert, I shall expect to bear
the brunt of the burden in our regular business. Your experience with me
before my failure taught you what is to be done. We will commence in a
small way at first, and I shall not do very much work myself. I will of
course keep an eye on everything, and may bring many of my old customers
back to us. Now you have heard my proposition," continued Mr. Goldwin,
"how do you like it?"

"I could not possibly like anything better," replied Herbert, "but it
seems too good to be true--more like an air castle than a fact."

"So it seems to me," added Bob.

"But it is a fact," laughed Mr. Goldwin, enjoying the surprise of the
two young partners, "and I am ready to start the ball rolling at once."

"We will certainly accept the proposition, then," said Herbert, speaking
for himself and Bob; "which is, as I understand, that you are to draw
one half of the profits, and that Bob and I will each get one quarter?"

"Yes, that is correct, up to the time you both become of age," replied
Mr. Goldwin.

"After that we are to become equal partners?" said Bob.

"Yes, and of course each draw one third of the profits," returned Mr.
Goldwin. "Whenever our new business," he continued, "becomes large
enough to demand Bob's full time, I should advise selling the stamp
department. Until then, however, we will hold it, as it pays a handsome
little income which will swell our first year's profits considerably."

"Are you not ready for our game of chess, Mr. Randolph?" said Ray
Goldwin, appearing in the library door.

"That depends upon your father's wishes," answered Herbert, all too
anxious to join her.

"What say you, papa?" appealed Ray.

"Your wishes are law with me, my dear," said the father, with a happy
smile. "Go, Herbert, and win if you can."

"But the business," suggested young Randolph, as he quickly joined Ray
in the doorway.

"Ah, never mind that now; the game will suit you better, and besides Bob
and I can arrange the few details yet to be talked over."

THE END.

_Those who have enjoyed reading_ THE BOY BROKER _would probably find_
MR. MUNSEY'S "AFLOAT IN A GREAT CITY" _equally interesting. It covers
388 pages--large, clear type, and is handsomely printed and bound. It
can be had from your book store or from the publishers, by mail. Price
$1.25._

    FRANK A. MUNSEY & CO., PUBLISHERS,
                      _81 Warren Street, New York._

       *       *       *

 _From the New York Daily Sun._
     "Afloat in a Great City" recounts the strange adventures on land
 and sea of a kidnaped boy. The moral of the story is sound.

 _From the Boston Daily Advertiser._
     "Afloat in a Great City" is an excellent book for boys. * * * It
 is well and simply told, and cannot fail to interest those for whom
 it was written.

 _From the Brooklyn Standard-Union._
     "Afloat in a Great City" is a stirring story of the life of a boy
 cast upon his own resources in New York. His adventures are told with
 much spirit, and are worth the telling.

 _From the Boston Beacon._
     "Afloat in a Great City" seems healthy and pleasant reading for a
 boy who does not care particularly about being a pirate or a cowboy,
 but likes to have his blood gently stirred.

 _From the Chicago Times._
     The material is cleverly worked up, and, although the general
 drift of the tale is obvious to the experienced novel reader before
 he has gone very far, the author still has in store for him some
 interesting surprises of detail.

 _From the New York Daily Graphic._
     "Afloat in a Great City" recites the history and thrilling
 adventures of a brave lad whose earliest recollections of life find
 him an orphaned waif in the streets of New York. He has the right sort
 of blood and grit in him. * * * * It is a strong, wholesome and
 dramatic bit of fiction. There are no wearisome homilies in it, yet
 everywhere it incites to truthfulness and manliness. It is well and
 copiously illustrated.

 _From the Evening Telegram, New York._
     It is not specifically stated upon the title page that this is a
 book for boys, but it is evident from subject and treatment that it
 is intended to be so. There has been a great variety in the stories
 published for a _clientele_ of this nature, and the space left for
 evolution between "Sandford and Merton" and "Tom Brown's School Days"
 is very wide indeed. It has been well traversed and greatly improved
 upon. Mr. Munsey, author of "Afloat in a Great City," understands that
 boys like to read of adventure, whether it takes place upon the high
 seas or in the heart of Africa, or whether it is limited by the
 boundaries of the American metropolis. He has chosen to condense
 a good many strange and unusual incidents as happening to a good and
 stout hearted though poor boy within the circumference of New York
 City. Mr. Munsey is a healthy expert at this sort of business. He does
 not work upon morbid sympathies, or seek to become interesting by
 appealing to emotions which had better be left in the background so
 far as the class for whom he writes is concerned.