Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck. Alger Horatio Jr.

her. I don’t wonder the relatives took a hand.”

      “Perhaps the relatives can help her.”

      “They can’t do much, for they are all as poor as she is, and one of them is just getting over an operation at the hospital.”

      “Where do the Cullums live?”

      “Down on Railroad Alley, not far from the water tower. It’s a mite of a cottage.”

      Joe said no more, but what he had been told him set him to thinking, and that evening, after his work was over, he took a walk through the town and in the direction of Railroad Alley.

      Not far from the water station he found the Cullum homestead, a mite of a cottage, as the man had said, with a tumbled-down chimney and several broken-out windows. He looked in at one of the windows and by the light of a smoking kerosene lamp beheld a woman in a rocking-chair, rocking a baby to sleep. Three other youngsters were standing around, knowing not what to do. On a table were some dishes, all bare of food.

      “Mamma, I want more bread,” one of the little ones was saying.

      “You can have more in the morning, Johnny,” answered the mother.

      “No, I want it now,” whimpered the youngster. “I’m hungry.”

      “I’m hungry, too,” put in another little one.

      “I can’t give you any more to-night, for I haven’t it,” said the mother, with a deep sigh. “Now, be still, or you’ll wake the baby.”

      “Why don’t dad come home?” asked the boy of seven.

      “He can’t come home, Bobby—he—had to go away,” faltered the mother. “Now all be still, and you shall have more bread in the morning.”

      The children began to cry, and unable to stand the sight any longer Joe withdrew. Up the Alley was a grocery store and he almost ran to this.

      “Give me some bread,” he said, “and some cake, and a pound of cheese, and some smoked beef, and a pound of good tea, and some sugar. Be quick, please.”

      The goods were weighed out and wrapped up, and with his arms full he ran back to the cottage and kicked on the door.

      “Who is there?” asked Mrs. Cullum, in alarm.

      “Here are some groceries for you!” cried Joe. “All paid for!”

      “Oh, look!” screamed the boy of seven. “Bread, and cheese!”

      “And sugar!” came from one of the little girls.

      “And tea! Mamma, just what you like!” said another.

      “Where did this come from?” asked Mrs. Cullum.

      “A friend,” answered Joe. “It’s all paid for.”

      “I am very thankful.”

      “Now we can have some bread, can’t we?” queried the boy.