ackin' spots if you want me to."

"Never mind, Dick. I'll wait till next time for your suit."

CHAPTER IX.

VICTOR DUPONT.

As Frank was walking on Madison avenue, a little before reaching the
house of Mr. Bowen he met a boy of his own age, whom he recognized.
Victor Dupont had spent the previous summer at the hotel in the country
village where Frank had lived until he came to the city. Victor was
proud of his social position, but time hung so heavily upon his hands in
the country that he was glad to keep company with the village boys.
Frank and he had frequently gone fishing together, and had been
associated in other amusements, so that they were for the time quite
intimate. The memories of home and past pleasures thronged upon our hero
as he met Victor, and his face flushed with pleasure.

"Why, Victor," he said, eagerly, extending his hand, "how glad I am to
see you!"

Frank forgot that intimacy in the country does not necessarily lead to
intimacy in the city, and he was considerably surprised when Victor, not
appearing to notice his offered hand, said coldly, "I don't think I
remember you."

"Don't remember me!" exclaimed Frank, amazed. "Why, I am Frank Kavanagh!
Don't you remember how much we were together last summer, and what good
times we had fishing and swimming together?"

"Yes, I believe I do remember you now," drawled Victor, still not
offering his hand, or expressing any pleasure at the meeting. "When did
you come to the city?"

"I have been here two or three weeks," replied Frank.

"Oh, indeed! Are you going to remain?"

"Yes, if I can earn a living."

Victor scanned Frank's clothes with a critical, and evidently rather
contemptuous, glance.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Are you in a store?"

"No; I am selling papers."

"A newsboy!" said Victor, with a curve of the lip.

"Yes," answered Frank, his pleasure quite chilled by Victor's manner.

"Are you doing well?" asked Victor, more from curiosity than interest.

"I am making my expenses."

"How do you happen to be in this neighborhood? I suppose you sell papers
down-town."

"Yes, but I am invited to dinner."

"Not here--on the avenue!" ejaculated Victor.

"Yes," answered Frank, enjoying the other's surprise.

"Where?"

Frank mentioned the number.

"Why, that is next to my house. Mr. Bowen lives there."

"Yes."

"Perhaps you know some of the servants," suggested Victor.

"I know one," said Frank, smiling, for