' you can't. If so be the cap'n 's there, I'll fetch him out
lickety-cut. If he ain't, why then, 'twas him was killed. See?"

"No, I don't see. Maybe they wouldn't let a boy in, anyhow."

"Pooh! They're sure to. Ain't I on the papers? Don't newsboys go
anywhere they want, same's other press folks? Hey?"

Glory admitted that they did. She had often seen them jumping on and off
of street cars at the risk of their lives and without hindrance from the
officials. Also, the lad's offer to share his breakfast with her was too
tempting to be declined. As he hurried away toward his poor home, she
sat down on the threshold of the warehouse before which they had talked
to wait, calling after him, "Don't forget a bite for Bo'sn, Nick!"

"All right!" he returned, and disappeared within his own cellar doorway.

Already Glory's heart was happier. She would not allow herself to think
it possible that her grandfather was hurt, and Nick's willingness to
help was a comfort. Maybe he would even take her with him, though she
doubted it. However, she put the question to him as he reappeared with
some old scraps in a torn newspaper, but while they were enjoying these
as best they could and sharing the food with Bo'sn, Nick unfolded a
better plan.

"Ye see, Take-a-Stitch, it's this way--no use wastin' eight cents on a
old ferry when four'll do. You look all over Broadway again. Then, if he
ain't anywheres 'round there, go straight to them other crony captains
o' hisn an' see. Bein's he can't tell difference 'twixt night an' day,
how'd he know when to come back to the Lane, anyway?"

"He always come 'fore," answered Glory, sorrowfully.

It was a new thing for Nick to take the lead in anything which concerned
the little girl, who was the recognized leader of all the Lane children,
and it made him both proud and more generous. Yielding to a wild impulse
that now seized him, with a gesture of patronage, he drew from his
pocket Miss Bonnicastle's quarter and dropped it in Glory's lap.

She stared at it, then almost gasped the question, "What--what's it for,
Nick Dodd?"

"Fer--you!" cried the boy. He might have added that it was "conscience
money," and that the unpleasant burning in his pocket had entirely
ceased the instant he had rid himself of the ill-gotten coin, because at
the time he had guided Miss Laura to the littlest house he had not
tarried to learn how fruitless her visit was; else he might have felt
less like a traitor. As it