boarded at the
hotel in the country village where I used to live. He and I went
bathing and fishing together."

"Indeed! Have you seen him since you came to the city?"

"I met him as I was on my way here this afternoon."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes, sir; though at first he pretended he didn't remember me."

"Just like him. He is a very proud and conceited boy. Did you tell him
you were coming to dine with me?"

"Yes, sir. He seemed very much surprised, as I had just told him I was a
newsboy. He said he was surprised that you should invite a newsboy to
dine with you."

"I would much rather have you dine with me than him. What more did he
say?"

"He said he shouldn't think I would like to go out to dinner with such a
shabby suit."

"We have removed that objection," said Mr. Bowen, smiling.

"Yes, sir," said Frank; "I think Victor will treat me more respectfully
now when he meets me."

"The respect of such a boy is of very little importance. He judges only
by the outside."

At an early hour Frank took his leave, promising to call again before
long.

"Where can I send to you if you are wanted for a telegraph boy?" asked
Mr. Bowen.

"A letter to me addressed to the care of Mr. O'Connor at the
lodging-house will reach me," said Frank.

"Write it down for me," said the old gentleman. "You will find writing
materials on yonder desk."

When Frank made his appearance at the lodging-house in his new suit,
with two bundles, one containing his old clothes, and the other his
extra supply of underclothing, his arrival made quite a sensation.

"Have you come into a fortun'?" asked one boy.

"Did you draw a prize in the Havana lottery?" asked another.

"Have you been playing policy?" asked a third.

"You're all wrong," said Dick Rafferty. "Frank's been adopted by a rich
man upon Madison avenue. Aint that so, Frank?"

"Something like it," said Frank. "There's a gentleman up there who has
been very kind to me."

"If he wants to adopt another chap, spake a good word for me," said
Patsy Reagan.

"Whisht, Patsy, he don't want no Irish bog-trotter," said Phil Donovan.

"You're Irish yourself, Phil, now, and you can't deny it."

"What if I am? I aint no bog-trotter--I'm the son of an Irish count. You
can see by my looks that I belong to the gintry."

"Then the gintry must have red hair and freckles, Phil. There aint no
chance for you."

"Tell us all about it, Frank," said Dick. "Shure I'm your best frien