s, as it waited for one of the numerous small fires
which were always starting to consume it.

Shultz was playing on the walk in front of the grimy main entrance. It
was John's purpose to learn the hour of arrival for the newspaper wagon,
and whatever other information on news vending the boy might be willing
to give. His erstwhile enemy doubled both fists as he crossed the road.

"Want another bloody nose?"

John raised an open palm as a token of peace. "When's the wagon drive
up?"

The ex-captain of the "Jefferson's" looked at him suspiciously. "What do
you want to know for?"

"Sell papers. What do you s'pose?"

"Old man lost his job?" There could be but one motive for engaging in
the paper business according to his simple mind.

John thought a moment. It was all very well to tell his chum of the
cause for the sudden desire for money, but not this boy. The love affair
would be all over school by morning recess. He nodded, taking the
easiest way out of the dilemma.

"Had a fight with his boss," the would-be merchant invented boldly,
throwing plausibility to the winds. "Came home last night, crying like
everything. There isn't enough to eat, and we have to pay the gas bill,
so I'm going to work."

All enmity vanished instantly. The pair were comrades in misfortune, and
as such John was to be aided in every possible way.

"Joe'll be around in half an hour," Shultz explained generously. "Stay
here with me and I'll tell him you're a new kid, and fix things up. How
many are you going to buy?"

"Dime's worth."

"Think you can sell 'em all?"

"Easy."

Shultz studied him for a moment and decided that the novice had better
learn the vicissitudes of the business through bitter experience. John
wasn't the kind to take advice, anyway.

At last the green, one-horse cart pulled up by the delicatessen at the
side of the old apartments. The boys crowded up to the wagon step.
Shultz surrendered a nickel for his nightly quota of eight papers and
pointed to his pupil.

"New kid, Joe."

"What's his name?"

"John."

"All right, John, how many?"

He reached up the dime and received a neat bundle of papers in return.
The other boy left to make deliveries to established customers, while
John dashed exultantly over to the railroad station. He was a real paper
boy now. The news sheets under his arm proved that.

An incoming suburban train pulled in at the platform overhead. Steam
hissed from the pistons, and the fi