d been
a newsboy, a baggage-smasher, and in fact had pretty much gone the round
of the street trades, but now he felt that he had advanced one step
higher. Some of my readers may not appreciate the difference, but to
Paul it was a great one. He was not a merchant prince, to be sure,
but he had a fixed place of business, and with his experience he felt
confident he could make it pay.

"I am sure I can make from ten to fifteen dollars a week," he said to
himself. "I averaged over a dollar a day when I worked for George Barry,
and then I only got half-profits. Now I shall have the whole."

This consideration was a very agreeable one. He would be able to
maintain his mother and little Jimmy in greater comfort than before, and
this he cared more for than for any extra indulgences for himself.
In fact, he could relieve his mother entirely from the necessity of
working, and yet live better than at present. When Paul thought of this,
it gave him a thrill of satisfaction, and made him feel almost like a
man.

He set to work soliciting custom, and soon had sold three neckties at
twenty-five cents each.

"All that money is mine," he thought, proudly. "I haven't got to hand
any of it over to George Barry. That's a comfort."

As this thought occurred to him he recognized an old acquaintance
strolling along the sidewalk in his direction. It was no other than Jim
Parker, the friend and crony of Mike Donovan, who will be remembered as
figuring in not a very creditable way in the earlier chapters of this
story. It so happened that he and Paul had not met for some time, and
Jim was quite ignorant of Paul's rise in life.

As for Jim himself, no great change had taken place in his appearance or
prospects. His suit was rather more ragged and dirty than when we first
made his acquaintance, having been worn night and day in the streets, by
night stretched out in some dirty alley or out-of-the-way corner,
where Jim found cheap lodgings. He strolled along with his hands in his
pockets, not much concerned at the deficiencies in his costume.

"Hallo!" said he, stopping opposite Paul's stand. "What are you up to?"

"You can see for yourself," answered Paul. "I am selling neckties."

"How long you've been at it?"

"Just begun."

"Who's your boss?"

"I haven't any."

"You ain't runnin' the stand yourself, be you?" asked Jim, in surprise.

"Yes."

"Where'd you borrow the stamps?"

"Of my mother," said Paul. "Can't I sell you a ne