Johnny an' I'll answer you back, for we're goin' to study awful hard,
now that we've got a store of our own, an' it won't be long before we
can write an' figger an' do all them things."

Paul promised that he would send letters regularly to his friends; and
when he left the store with Dickey to be sure that he did not miss the
way, Ben felt more sad at parting with him than he would have thought
it possible for a boy to feel who was half owner of such a beautiful
store.

The business of selling newspapers seemed to have been nearly forsaken
the next morning, for fully forty newsboys and at least a dozen
boot-blacks were at the pier to say good-bye to Polly Weston, the boy
who had once seemed so forlorn, and who had played Hamlet so
successfully. Paul was highly pleased at such attention on the part of
his acquaintances, and he presented nearly all of them to his father,
who was not a little surprised at the number of friends his son had
made in so short a time.

After Paul had said good-bye to each one individually, and was just
about going on board the steamer, Mopsey stopped him, taking him aside
with a great show of secrecy.

"I own all the theatre now, Polly," he whispered, "an' when you come
back I'll let you be one of the actors, if you want to, an' I'll fix
up a play where you'll have all the best chances."

Paul thanked Mopsey for his kindness; but before he could say whether
he accepted the generous offer or not, his father called him, and he
was obliged to go on board, leaving the sole proprietor (and author)
of the theatre at a loss to know whether he should write a play
especially for Paul or not.

Then the huge steamer slowly started from the dock, and Paul stood
near the stern, where he could see his army of small acquaintances,
the greater portion of whom had been so kind to him when he most
needed friends. The ragged crowd were all swinging their hats, and
Paul had just begun to wave his handkerchief when Mopsey saw the
chance to bestow a very delicate compliment. Jumping on a pile of
merchandise, where he could better see and be seen, he waved his hat
furiously and shouted, in his shrillest dramatic key,

"Three cheers for Polly, an' three more for Polly's father!"

Then that crowd of boys swarmed up over everything that would raise
them more prominently into view, pushing aside any one in their way,
and both looking and acting like a hive of bees getting ready to
swarm, until they stood high