"Leave it here," he said, "for the present. Blodgett won't be back for three or four days, and you can stay here till he returns. You won't want to be lugging that bundle all over town." "You are very kind," said Ben, gratefully. "Why shouldn't I be? I came to the city myself a poor country youth, and I had a hard struggle as first till I reached my present pinnacle of wealth," he concluded, with a smile. "Are reporters well paid?" asked Ben, innocently. "That depends! Whatever they earn, it is seldom that one gets fifty dollars ahead. That is because, as a rule, they are improvident, and sometimes dissipated. I am not as well paid as some, but I make a little writing sketches for the weekly story papers. I pick up two or three hundred a year that way. Then I take better care of my money than some. I laid up five hundred dollars last year, and nearly as much the year before." "You will soon be rich," said Ben, to whom five hundred dollars seemed a large sum of money. The reporter smiled. "It takes considerable money to make a man rich in New York," he said. "However, I know it makes me feel very comfortable to think I have a thousand dollars in the bank." "I should think it would," said Ben, seriously. "Here we are!" said the reporter, pausing in front of a restaurant on Ninth street, facing the side of the great retail store established by the late A. T. Stewart. "We can get a comfortable breakfast inside for a low price." They entered, and sat down at one of the small tables. Hugh Manton ordered a beefsteak and a cup of coffee. This, with bread and butter, cost twenty cents. Ben duplicated the order. The meat was not of the best quality, but it was as good as could be afforded at the price, and Ben ate with the zest of a healthy boy of his age. "By the way, Ben," said the reporter, with apparent carelessness, though he scanned the face of his young companion attentively as he spoke, "are you acquainted with a clothing merchant of this city named Nicholas Walton?" Ben started in irrepressible astonishment. "What makes you ask?" he said. "Did you know he was my uncle?" It was Hugh Manton's turn to be astonished. "Your uncle!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean to say Nicholas Walton is your uncle?" "Yes, I do. My mother is his sister." "Is it possible? He has the reputation of being very rich, while you----" "While I am very poor. Yes, that is true." "Are you going to call upon him?" "Yes. I thought, being my uncle, he might give me a place in his store." "Did you write him that you were coming?" "No--that is, not lately. I wrote three months ago, and he wrote back that I had better stay where I was." "What were you doing?" "I was working on a farm. I was paid three dollars a week." "Did you live on the farm?" "No; I lived with my mother." "She is living, then?" "Yes," said Ben, and his face lighted up with love for his absent mother. "I should think Mr. Walton would do something for his own sister."