pt five dollars from me, as a reward for
your honesty," said Marcus, acting upon another of his impulses.

"No, thank you, sir. No, thank you," returned Bog, quickly, to prevent
Marcus from pulling the money out of his pocket. "I sha'n't take it,
sir; I won't have it anyway. I'm goin' into the reg'lar bill-postin'
business, as Jack Fink's assistant, to-morrow, and can earn all I want."
Bog blushed, but this time with honest pride, though he was flustered to
look up and see that Miss Minford nodded in approval of his
independent spirit.

Bog then slapped each knee about a dozen times with his cap, and
betrayed many symptoms of fever heat and great mental distress. After
which, he said that he had only called to see if he could do
anything for them.

"Now do you mean to tell us that it is not a regular New Year's call,"
said Mr. Minford, playfully, "and that you have not a dozen more
to make?"

Bog looked guilty of an enormous fraud, dropped his cap, in his
confusion, twice, murmured something inaudible, rose to his feet, and
backed out of the room, making one comprehensive bow to everybody, and
saying "Good-night" before it was two P.M.

As Bog shut the door, everybody laughed, but not so loud as to be heard
by the boy; and, under the cover of the general good humor, Marcus rose,
and said that he must go. He was afraid he had made his visit too long
for a first one. He would call again on the following day, if agreeable,
and complete the proposed arrangement. In conclusion, he placed his card
in Mr. Minford's hand, with the names of a few references pencilled on
the margin.

Mr. Minford was very sorry that their pleasant acquaintance should take
his leave so abruptly, and hoped that they would enjoy many visits from
him, not merely as a business partner (Mr. Minford laid emphasis on
this), but as a friend.

Pet repeated her father's regrets and hopes in the more impressive
language of her sweet eyes, and, for the twentieth time that day,
conjured up, in the memory of Marcus Wilkeson, a vague reminiscence of
the distant past.

CHAPTER VIII.

MALTBOY'S TWENTIETH AFFAIR.

The house which had elicited Quigg's last sagacious remark, was a
three-story brownstone front, and was one of the finest looking on the
south side. The heavy mahogany door was opened by a slovenly girl, who
ushered the callers into the front parlor, which was carefully darkened,
according to the custom of the day. The only objects plainl