the street
without difficulty. The halls and staircases looked even more dingy
and shabby in the daytime than they had done in the evening. "It isn't
a very nice place to live," thought Sam. "However, I suppose Mr. Brown
will be rich when his uncle dies. I wish he was rich now; he might
give me a place."

"Shine yer boots?" asked a small knight of the brush.

"No," said Sam, who had grown economical; "they don't need it."

He walked on for five minutes or more. Presently he came to an
eating-house. He knew it by the printed bills of fare which were
placarded outside.

"Now, I'll have some breakfast," he thought, with satisfaction, and he
entered confidently.

CHAPTER XIV.

BOUNCED!

Sam sat down at a table, and took up the bill of fare. A colored
waiter stood by, and awaited his orders.

"Bring me a plate of beefsteak, a cup of coffee, and some
tea-biscuit," said Sam, with the air of a man of fortune.

"All right, sir," said the waiter.

"After all, it's pleasant living in New York," thought Sam, as he
leaned back in his chair, and awaited in pleasant anticipation the
fulfilment of his order. "It's different from livin' at the deacon's.
Here a feller can be independent."

"As long as he has money," Sam should have added; but, like some
business men, he was not aware of his present insolvency. Ignorance is
bliss, sometimes; and it is doubtful whether our hero would have eaten
his breakfast with as good a relish when it came, if he had known that
he had not a cent in his pocket.

Sam was soon served, and he soon made way with the articles he had
ordered. You can't get a very liberal supply of beefsteak for fifteen
cents, which was what Sam was charged for his meat. He felt hungry
still, after he had eaten what was set before him. So he took the bill
of fare once more, and pored over its well-filled columns.

"They must have a tremendous big kitchen to cook so many things," he
thought. "Why, there are as many as a hundred. Let me see--here's
buckwheat cakes, ten cents. I guess I'll have some."

"Anything more, sir?" asked the waiter, approaching to clear away the
dirty dishes.

"Buckwheat cakes, and another cup of coffee," ordered Sam.

"All right, sir."

"They treat me respectful, here," thought Sam. "What would the deacon
say to hear me called sir? I like it. Folks have better manners in the
city than in the country."

This was rather a hasty conclusion on the part of Sam, and it was not