"The office? Your place? What do you mean?"

"Down to th' _Express_. There's some steam holes in the sidewalk, you
know, and they're as warm as summer. We newsboys lie around 'em,
waiting for our papers, and sleep there till they're ready. Each of us
has his own spot, and mine's an inside one, close to the wall of the
building. You ain't so likely to get trod on if you're inside, and the
whole crew's after my 'bed.' If I shouldn't get there to look out for
it, and another fellow got it, it'd be all day for Towsley. So I'll be
going, ma'am, and much obliged for the stuff."

Poor Miss Lucy's face had grown very white. She had never heard
anything so pitiful as this, yet the lad explained his circumstances
in a cheery, matter-of-fact way that showed he found nothing
depressing in them.

"Do you mean to stand there and tell me that that story is true?"

"What about it? I ain't meaning anything, only telling why I've got to
hurry. Could you, please, ma'am, say the time of night?"

"It's a little after nine."

"That all? Then I can take it easy. Too late for the night papers, and
the mornings ain't out till four o'clock, about."

"To go to such a 'bed,' on such a night, after a supper of ice-cream
and cake! I've always skipped such articles in the newspapers, for
they're so unpleasant, and I've never half believed them. But you mean
it, do you?"

"That I must go? I don't know what you want me to say. I guess I've
slept my wits away, as Molly says."

"Towsley, ring that bell. My! what a name!"

But the lady was pleased to see that he had remembered how to summon
Mary, and as soon as that young woman appeared she was directed to get
a supper ready in the breakfast-room.

"At once. Put on any cold meat there happens to be, and warm up the
soup was left from dinner. I couldn't touch it, you know, I was
feeling so sad. Get plenty of bread and butter, and milk--and, yes, a
piece of mince pie. Mrs. Livingston, across the square, never gives
her children pie. She believes in oatmeal as a staple diet, but their
grandmother indulges them when they visit her. For once, I fancy, it
won't hurt, and in the future I'll--Oh! what a lot I shall have to
learn; and how delightfully exciting it all is! Mary, don't stare at
me like that. It's impertinent. I know you don't mean it so, and you
think I'm a little flighty. Well, I am. Very flighty, indeed!
But--fancy old Madame Satterlee's face!"

"Ma'am?" asked the puzzled servant