to forget that I am her nephew that is, her grandnephew. It
is hardly likely she would keep such a thing secret from me."

"That may be, but I would rather you would ask her."

"Does she pay you more than two dollars a week?"

"Again I must refer you to her."

"It is ridiculous to make a secret of such a trifle," said Harold,
annoyed.

"How much do you make selling papers?" he asked.

"I averaged about seventy-five cents a day before I began to work for
Mrs. Merton. Now I don't make as much."

"Why don't you black boots, too? Many of the newsboys do?"

"I never cared to take up that business."

"If you should go into it, I would give you a job now and then."

"I am not likely to go into that business, but I shall be glad to sell
you a paper whenever you need one."

"You are not too proud to black boots, are you?" persisted Harold.

"I don't think it necessary to answer that question. I have always got
along without it so far."

Harold carried the news home to his mother that Luke was a newsboy,
and Mrs. Tracy found an opportunity to mention it at the supper
table.

"Harold saw your paragon this morning, Aunt Eliza," she commenced.

"Have I a paragon? I really wasn't aware of it," returned the old
lady.

"Your errand boy."

"Oh, Luke. Where did you see him, Harold?"

"He was selling papers near the Sherman House."

"I hope you bought one of him."

"I didn't have any change."

"Did you know he was a newsboy, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy.

"Yes; he told me so. You speak of it as if it were something to his
discredit."

"It is a low business, of course."

"Why is it a low business?"

"Oh, well, of course it is only poor street boys who engage in it."

"I am aware that Luke is poor, and that he has to contribute to the
support of his mother and brother. I hope, if you were poor, that
Harold would be willing to work for you."

"I wouldn't sell papers," put in Harold.

"I don't suppose Luke sells papers from choice."

"Aunt Eliza, I don't see why you should so persistently compare Harold
with that ragged errand boy of yours."

"Is he ragged? I am glad you noticed it. I must help him to a new
suit."

This was far from a welcome suggestion to Mrs. Tracy, and she made
haste to add: "I don't think he's ragged. He dresses well enough for
his position in life."

"Still, I think he needs some new clothes, and I thank you for
suggesting it, Louisa."

The next day, Luke, to his surprise, w