hint.

"Smash your carpet-bag?" he asked of a middle-aged lady, imitating as
closely as possible Tim's professional accent.

"What?" asked the lady, startled.

"She don't understand," thought Sam. "Let me carry it for you,
ma'am."

"I do not need it. I am going to take a cab."

"Let me take it to the cab," persisted Sam; but he was forestalled by
a hack-driver who had heard the lady's remark.

"Let me take it, ma'am," he said, thrusting Sam aside. "I've got a
nice carriage just outside. Take you anywhere you want to go."

So the lady was carried away, and Sam had to make a second
application. This time he addressed himself to a gentleman whose
little daughter walked by his side.

"No," said the gentleman; "the carpet-bag is small. I don't need
help."

The smallness of the bag, by the way, was one reason why Sam, who did
not like heavy bundles, wanted to carry it. He felt that it was time
to practise on the stranger's feelings.

"I want to earn some money to buy bread for my mother," he whined, in
a very creditable manner, considering how inexperienced he was.

This attracted the attention of the little girl, who, like most little
girls, had a tender and compassionate heart.

"Is your mother poor?" she asked.

"Very poor," said Sam. "She hasn't got a cent to buy bread for the
children."

"Have you got many brothers and sisters?" asked the little girl, her
voice full of sympathy.

"Five," answered Sam, piteously.

"O papa," said the little girl, "let him take your carpet-bag. Think
of it, his mother hasn't got anything to eat."

"Well, Clara," said her father, indulgently, "I suppose I must gratify
you. Here, boy, take the bag, and carry it carefully."

"All right, sir," said Sam, cheerfully.

"I guess I can get along," he thought, complacently. "That's a good
dodge."

"When we get to Broadway, we'll take the stage," said the gentleman.
"Take hold of my hand, tight, Clara, while we cross the street."

Clara seemed disposed to be sociable, and entered into conversation
with the young baggage-smasher.

"Are your brothers and sisters younger than you?" she inquired.

"Yes," said Sam.

"How many of them are boys?"

"There's two boys besides me, and three girls," said Sam, readily.

"What are their names?" asked Clara.

"Why," answered Sam, hesitating a little, "there's Tom and Jim and
John, and Sam and Maggie."

"I don't see how that can be," said Clara, puzzled. "Just now; you
said the