here he
lived, restored him to his anxious parents. For this good deed he was
rewarded by a gift of five dollars and the offer of a position as
errand boy, at five dollars a week.

Sam decided that he must have some new clothes before he could enter
upon his place. At present his costume consisted of a ragged shirt,
and a pair of equally ragged pantaloons. Both were of unknown
antiquity, and had done faithful service, not only to Sam, but to a
former owner. It was quite time they were released from duty.

To buy a complete outfit with five dollars might have puzzled many an
able financier. But Sam knew just where to go. Somewhere in the
neighborhood of Baxter Street there was a second-hand clothing
establishment, which he had patronized on previous occasions, and
where he knew that the prices were low. It was to this place that he
bent his steps.

A wrinkled old man--the proprietor--stood outside, scanning, with
cunning eyes, the passers-by. If any one paused to examine his stock,
he was immediately assailed by voluble recommendations of this or that
article, and urgently entreated to "just step inside."

When Sam approached, the old man's shrewdness was at fault. He did not
suspect that the ragged street boy was likely to become a customer,
and merely suffered his glance to rest upon him casually.

But Sam accosted him with a business-like manner.

"Look here, old man, have you got any tiptop clo'es to sell to-day?"

"Yes, my son," answered the old man, with an air of alacrity.

"Who are you a-takin' to? I ain't your son, and I wouldn't be. My
father's a member of Congress."

"Did he send you here to buy clo'es?" asked the old man, with a grin.

"Yes, he did. He said you'd let me have 'em half price."

"So I will, my--boy. This is the cheapest place in the city."

"Well, old man, trot out your best suits. I want 'em in the style, you
know."

"I know that from your looks," said the old man, a grin illumining his
wrinkled face, as he glanced at the rags Sam wore.

"Oh, you needn't look at these. My best clo'es is to home in the
wardrobe. What have you got for shirts?"

A red-flannel article was displayed; but Sam didn't like the color.

"It ain't fashionable," he said.

"Here's a blue one," said the old man.

"That's more like, how much is it?"

"Fifty cents."

"Fifty cents! Do you want to ruin me? I won't give no fifty cents for
a shirt."

"It's worth more. It cost me forty-five."

"I'll giv