an," she answered, in a voice that made our hero far from
comfortable.

"I expect to stay in New York a week or two, and I--"

"We don't take transients," she snapped. "Only regular boarders with
first-class references," and she shut the door in Jerry's face.

He was glad enough to escape to the pavement, feeling satisfied that he
would not have cared to have boarded there, even had she been willing to
take him in.

A block further on was another place, a modest brick residence, set back
behind a small plot of green. Thinking this looked inviting, and not
reasoning that the spot of green was as valuable as a brown-stone building
would have been, Jerry entered the garden and made known his wants to the
servant who was dusting the piazza chairs.

She called the lady of the house, who on hearing what Jerry had to say,
smiled in a motherly way.

"I hardly think I can take you in, my boy," she said. "Do you know how
much I charge a week?"

"No, ma'am."

"Twelve to fifteen dollars for a single room and not less than ten
otherwise."

Jerry almost gasped for breath.

"That is twice what I can afford to pay," he returned. "Gracious! I had no
idea rates were so high."

"That is not high, here in New York. But perhaps I can direct you to a
place that will suit. I have a friend three blocks over. Here is her
card," and she handed it over.

Thanking her, the young oarsman got out without delay. He was glad she had
directed him, for now he was certain he would at least strike a place that
would fit his pocket-book.

Jerry went on until he came to an avenue down which the elevated cars were
running. They were a great novelty and he paused on the corner to watch
several of the trains rattle along overhead.

As Jerry was about to move on, he heard a wild cry of alarm from the
second story window of a house opposite. Looking in the direction, he saw
a girl pointing up the street to where a baby-carriage had rolled from the
pavement to the gutter, overturning itself and spilling a little child
into the street.

The youth ran in the direction with the idea of picking the child up. As
he did this an ice-wagon came along at a furious speed, the driver on the
seat trying in vain to stop his horse.

The ice-wagon was heading directly for the child and unless something was
done the little one would be run over and most likely killed. With his
heart in his throat our hero threw down his valise and leaped to the
rescue. In a