“I will bear it in mind. Now, let me bid you all good night.” Mark was disappointed to find that not one of his companions would join in his sarcasms against the telegraph boy. All thought him very agreeable and very handsome, and Mark was at last obliged to give up his attack, and lapse into sullenness. Paul walked to Sixth Avenue, though that was not the most direct route homewards, and in place of taking a car, walked slowly down the avenue. It was a pleasant night, and he felt broad awake, and by no means fatigued. It seemed to him pleasanter to walk part of the way at least. As he walked he fell into serious thought. He had left an elegant house, crowded with a gay and fashionable company, and he was going--where? To a miserable tenement house, in which he shared a poor and ill furnished room with a squalid and miserly old man, in appearance not above a tramp. Certainly the contrast was a startling one. As he dwelt upon it, Paul felt more and more disgusted with his home and surroundings. “Why can’t I live in a refined house, among refined people?” he asked himself. “I feel much more at home with them than with old Jerry. Must I always live a beggar?” Paul’s mental answer was an emphatic “No!” He was young and hopeful. The world was before him. He was poor, but other poor boys had raised themselves from poverty as great, and he felt that there was an equal chance for him. His reflections were interrupted by the sight of a tall young man, not far in advance, whose unsteady gait showed that he was under the influence of liquor. CHAPTER XXIII. THE PICKPOCKET. Such a sight as this is by no means uncommon in a large city, and of course Paul had witnessed it many times. But for one circumstance, he would have given the young man a passing glance, and gone on. But he observed that the young man was followed. The person following was also a young man, rather flashily attired, and, as Paul thought, of suspicious appearance. It seemed to him clear that he had designs upon the first young man, whose condition was likely to make him an easy prey to an unscrupulous acquaintance. “Where have I seen that man before?” thought Paul. He was puzzled for a moment, and then he remembered that he had strayed one day into a court room, and seen him as a prisoner at the bar, charged with picking a pocket. “That’s what he’s after now,” thought Paul. “I will prevent him if I can.” The telegraph boy moderated his pace, so as not to attract the attention of the man in the rear, but kept a close watch over him. Finally the pickpocket came to a sudden resolution, and quickening his pace came up with the man he was following. “Excuse me, my friend,” he said, smoothly, “but I see you are in need of assistance. Won’t you take my arm? I’ll take you home, if you wish.” “You’re very good,” said the stranger. “I’ve been drinking more than is good for me, I’m afraid.”