Nelson The Newsboy. Stratemeyer Edward

fifty cents left, and a stock of papers worth half a dollar more, if sold. With a heavy heart he walked away from the ferryhouse in the direction from whence he had come.

      Nelson had scarcely taken his stand at the corner again when a young lady, very stylishly dressed, came out of a neighboring store, looked at him, and smiled.

      "Did you catch him?" she asked sweetly.

      "Who, miss; the big boy who stole my money?" questioned Nelson quickly.

      "Yes."

      "No, ma'am; he got away, on a Brooklyn ferryboat."

      "And how much did he steal from you?"

      "Five dollars."

      "Why, I didn't think—that is, five dollars is a nice sum for a newsboy, isn't it?"

      "Yes, ma'am; but I was saving up for a new suit of clothes."

      "And he got away from you? Too bad! I wish I could help you, but unfortunately I have spent all of my money but this." She held out a quarter. "Will you accept it?"

      Nelson looked at her, and something compelled him to draw back.

      "Excuse me—but I'd rather not," he stammered. "Much obliged, just the same."

      "You had better take the money," went on the young lady, whose name was Gertrude Horton. But Nelson would not listen to it, and so she had to place the piece in her purse again. Then she entered the coach standing near and was driven rapidly away. The newsboy gazed after the coach curiously.

      "What a lot of money it must take to keep up such style!" he thought. "Those folks spend more in a week, I guess, than some folks on the East Side spend in a year. I don't wonder Sam is always growling about not being rich—after he's been out among the wealthy people he knows. I must say I'd like to be rich myself, just for once, to see how it feels."

      Long before noon Nelson's stock of newspapers was exhausted. Without going to Sam Pepper's restaurant for lunch he stopped at a small stand on a side street, where he obtained several crullers and a cup of coffee for five cents. His scanty meal over he purchased a supply of evening papers and set to work to sell these, with the result, by nightfall, that all were gone, and he was thirty-five cents richer.

      Sam Pepper's place on the East Side was half a dozen steps below the pavement, in a semi-basement, which was narrow and low and suffering greatly for a thorough cleaning. In the front was a small show window, filled with pies and vegetables, and behind this eight or ten tables for diners. To one side was a lunch counter for those who were in a hurry, and at the back was a small bar. The cooking was done in a shed in the rear, and beside this shed were two rooms which Nelson and Sam Pepper called their home.

      The whole place was so uninviting it is a wonder that Sam Pepper had any trade at all. But his prices were low, and this was a large attraction to those whose purses were slim. Besides this Sam never interfered with those who came to patronize him, and it may as well be stated here that many a crime was concocted at those tables, without the police of the metropolis being the wiser. To Sam it made no difference if his customer was the worst criminal on the East Side so long as he paid his way.

      "We've all got to live," he would say. "The world owes every man a living, and if he can't git it one way he must git it in another."

      The secret of Sam Pepper's looseness of morals was the fact that he had seen better days, and his coming down in the world had caused him to become more and more reckless. At the present time money was tight with him, and he was fast approaching that point when, as we shall soon see, he would be fit for any desperate deed.

      CHAPTER III.

      SAM PEPPER'S RESORT

      "Well, how have you done to-day?" asked Sam Pepper, when Nelson entered the lunch-room and came to the rear, where Pepper stood mixing some liquors.

      "Oh, I sold quite a few papers," answered Nelson.

      "How many?"

      "Over a hundred."

      "Then I guess you made over a dollar?"

      "I did."

      "That's more than I've made to-day," growled Pepper. "Business is growing worse and worse."

      Nelson knew that he must have made more than a dollar, but he did not say anything on the point. He saw that Sam Pepper was in an ugly mood.

      "It seems to me you ought to begin paying something for your keep," went on the lunch-room keeper, after he had returned from serving the drinks he had been mixing.

      "All right, I'm willing," said Nelson readily. "But I don't get much from here now, remember."

      "It's not my fault if you are not here at dinner time. Plenty of eating going to waste."

      "I am not going to eat other folks' left-overs," said the newsboy, remembering the offer made to him several days before.

      "Those left-overs are good enough for the likes of you, Nelson. Don't git high-toned before you can afford it."

      "What do you want me to pay?"

      "You ought to pay me at least five dollars a week," growled Sam Pepper, after a crafty look into the boy's face.

      "Five dollars a week!" ejaculated Nelson in surprise. "Why, I don't make it, excepting when business is good."

      "Well, it's got to be five dollars a week after this."

      "I can get board at other places for three."

      "You won't go to no other place. You'll stay here, and if you make a dollar or more a day you'll pay me the five dollars."

      "But who will buy me any clothes?"

      "Aint that suit good enough?"

      "No, it's not. I was saving up to buy another suit, but Billy Darnley stole five dollars of the savings from me this morning," went on Nelson bitterly.

      "Stole five dollars from you? I don't believe you."

      "It's true."

      "Then you ought to lose the money, seeing that you didn't pass it over to me," grumbled Sam Pepper. "After this, you let me save your money for you."

      At this point some customers came in, and Sam had to wait on them. Seeing this, the newsboy passed around the bar and into the two rooms which he and Pepper called home. They were gloomy and foul-smelling, but the newsboy did not mind this, for he was used to the surroundings. Yet his heart was heavy, as he threw himself into a dilapidated chair and gave himself up to his thoughts.

      The new suit of clothes seemed further off than ever, for, if he must pay Sam Pepper five dollars a week for his board, it would be utterly impossible for him to save a cent. The extra money would be needed to buy fresh papers each day.

      "It isn't fair!" he muttered. "It isn't fair, and I won't stand it! I'll run away first; that's what I'll do!"

      Running away was no new idea, but, as before, he thought of the past and of what Sam Pepper might have locked up in his breast. No, it would not do to go away. He must unlock the mystery of the past first.

      "I'll question Sam to-night, and I'll make him tell something," he said.

      The resolve had hardly crossed his mind when Pepper opened the door with a bang, as it flew back against the wall.

      "Come out here and help me," he snarled. "There is plenty of work to do. The kitchen woman has left me in the lurch. Throw off your coat and git into that dishpan, and be lively about it."

      Without a word, Nelson did as bidden. He had washed dishes before, and though the pile beside him was by no means small, he soon made away with them. Then Pepper set him to polishing up the knives, forks, and spoons, and this task took until it was time to close for the night.

      After the lunch-room had been locked up, and most of the lights put out, Sam Pepper went to the bar and mixed himself an extra-large glass of liquor. This was his "nightcap," as he called it, and usually, after drinking it, he would retire.

      To-night, however, after consuming the liquor, he went into one of the back rooms and got out his best coat and his hat.

      "I'm