The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him. Paul Leicester Ford

dreadfully sorry to lose him," his landlady informed her other boarders, availing herself, perhaps, of the chance to deliver a side hit at some of them. "He never has complained once, since he came here, and he kept his room as neat as if he had to take care of it himself."

      "Well," said the box-office oracle, "I guess he's O.K., if he is a bit stiff; and a fellow who's best man to a big New York swell, and gets his name in all the papers, doesn't belong in a seven-dollar, hash-seven-days-a-week, Bleecker Street boarding-house."

      Peter fitted his room up simply, the sole indulgence (if properly so called) being a bath, which is not a usual fitting of a New York business office, consciences not yet being tubbable. He had made his mother show him how to make coffee, and he adopted the Continental system of meals, having rolls and butter sent in, and making a French breakfast in his own rooms. Then he lunched regularly not far from his office, and dined wherever his afternoon walk, or evening plans carried him. He found that he saved no money by the change, but he saved his feelings, and was far freer to come and go as he chose.

      He did not hear from the honeymoon party. Watts had promised to write to him and send his address "as soon as we decide whether we pass the winter in Italy or on the Nile." But no letter came. Peter called on the Pierces, only to find them out, and as no notice was taken of his pasteboard, he drew his own inference, and did not repeat the visit.

      Such was the first year of Peter's New York life. He studied, he read, he walked, and most of all, he waited. But no client came, and he seemed no nearer one than the day he had first seen his own name on his office door. "How much longer will I have to wait? How long will my patience hold out?" These were the questions he asked himself, when for a moment he allowed himself to lose courage. Then he would take to a bit of wall-gazing, while dreaming of a pair of slate-colored eyes.

CHAPTER XI.

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NEW FRIENDS.

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      Mr. Converse had evidently thought that the only way for Peter to get on was to make friends. But in this first year Peter did not made a single one that could be really called such. His second summer broadened his acquaintance materially, though in a direction which promised him little law practice.

      When the warm weather again closed the courts and galleries, and brought an end to the concerts and theatres, Peter found time harder to kill, the more, because he had pretty well explored the city. Still he walked much to help pass the time, and to get outside of his rooms into the air. For the same reason he often carried his book, after the heat of the day was over, to one of the parks, and did his reading there. Not far from his office, eastwardly, where two streets met at an angle, was a small open space too limited to be called a square, even if its shape had not been a triangle. Here, under the shade of two very sickly trees, surrounded by tall warehouses, were a couple of benches. Peter sat here many evenings smoking his pipe. Though these few square feet made perhaps the largest "open" within half a mile of his office, the angle was confined and dreary. Hence it is obvious there must have been some attraction to Peter, since he was such a walker, to make him prefer spending his time there rather than in the parks not far distant The attraction was the children.

      Only a few hundred feet away was one of the most densely crowded tenement districts of New York. It had no right to be there, for the land was wanted for business purposes, but the hollow on which it was built had been a swamp in the old days, and the soft land, and perhaps the unhealthiness, had prevented the erection of great warehouses and stores, which almost surrounded it. So it had been left to the storage of human souls instead of merchandise, for valuable goods need careful housing, while any place serves to pack humanity. It was not a nice district to go through, for there was a sense of heat and dirt, and smell, and crowd, and toil and sorrow throughout. It was probably no nicer to live in, and nothing proved it better than the overflow of the children therefrom into the little, hot, paved, airless angle. Here they could be found from five in the morning till twelve at night. Here, with guards set, to give notice of the approach of the children's joy-destroying Siva—otherwise the policeman—they played ball. Here "cat" and "one old cat" render bearable many a wilting hour for the little urchins. Here "Sally in our Alley" and "Skip-rope" made the little girls forget that the temperature was far above blood-heat. Here of an evening, Peter smoked and watched them.

      At first he was an object of suspicion, and the sport visibly ceased when he put in an appearance. But he simply sat on one of the benches and puffed his pipe, and after a few evenings they lost all fear of him, and went on as if he were not there. In time, an intercourse sprang up between them. One evening Peter appeared with a stick of wood, and as he smoked, he whittled at it with a real jack-knife! He was scrutinized by the keen-eyed youngsters with interest at once, and before he had whittled long, he had fifty children sitting in the shape of a semicircle on the stone pavement, watching his doings with almost breathless Interest. When the result of his work actually developed into a "cat" of marvellous form and finish, a sigh of intense joy passed through the boy part of his audience. When the "cat" was passed over to their mercies, words could not be found to express their emotions. Another evening, the old clothes-line that served for a jump-rope, after having bravely rubbed against the pavement many thousand times in its endeavor to lighten the joyless life of the little pack, finally succumbed, worn through the centre and quite beyond hope of further knotting. Then Peter rose, and going to one of the little shops that supplied the district, soon returned with a real jump-rope, with wooden handles! So from time to time, real tops, real dolls, real marbles and various other real, if cheap, things, hitherto only enjoyed in dreams, or at most through home-made attempts, found their way into the angle, and were distributed among the little imps. They could not resist such subtle bribery, and soon Peter was on as familiar and friendly a footing as he could wish. He came to know each by name, and was made the umpire in all their disputes and the confidant in all their troubles. They were a dirty, noisy, lawless, and godless little community, but they were interesting to watch, and the lonely fellow grew to like them much, for with all their premature sharpness, they were really natural, and responded warmly to his friendly overtures.

      After a time, Peter tried to help them a little more than by mere small gifts. A cheap box of carpenter's tools was bought, and under his superintendence, evenings were spent in the angle, in making various articles. A small wheel barrow, a knife-and-fork basket, a clock-bracket and other easy things were made, one at a time. All boys, and indeed some girls, were allowed to help. One would saw off the end of a plank; another would rule a pencil line; the next would plane the plank down to that line; the next would bore the holes in it; the next would screw it into position; the next would sandpaper it The work went very slowly, but every one who would, had his share in it, while the rest sat and watched. When the article was completed, lots were drawn for it, and happy was the fortunate one who drew the magnificent prize in life's lottery!

      Occasionally too, Peter brought a book with him, and read it aloud to them. He was rather surprised to find that they did not take to Sunday-school stories or fairy tales. Wild adventures in foreign lands were the most effective; and together they explored the heart of Africa, climbed the Swiss mountains, fought the Western Indians, and attempted to discover the North Pole. They had a curious liking for torture, blood-letting, and death. Nor were they without discrimination.

      "I guess that fellow is only working his jaw," was one little chap's criticism at a certain point of the narrative of a well-known African explorer, rather famous for his success in advertising himself. Again, "that's bully," was the comment uttered by another, when Peter, rather than refuse their request to read aloud, had been compelled to choose something in Macaulay's Essays, and had read the description of the Black Hole of Calcutta, "Say, mister," said another, "I don't believe that fellow wasn't there, for he never could a told it like that, if he wasn't."

      As soon as his influence was secure, Peter began to affect them