But there was another spectator of the scene, whose attention had been drawn to the neat attire and respectable appearance of Ben. He saw that he differed considerably from the ordinary run of street boys. He noticed also the flush on the boy's cheek when he was detected, and judged that this was his first offence. Something out of the common way must have driven him to the act. He felt impelled to follow Ben, and learn what that something was. I may as well state here that he was a young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, a reporter on one or more of the great morning papers. He, like Ben, had come to the city in search of employment, and before he secured it had suffered more hardships and privations than he liked to remember. He was now earning a modest income, sufficient to provide for his wants, and leave a surplus over. He had seen much of suffering and much of crime in his daily walks about the city, but his heart had not become hardened, nor his sympathies blunted. He gave more in proportion to his means than many rich men who have a reputation for benevolence. Ben had walked but a few steps, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Looking round hastily, he met the gaze of the young man. He had thought at first it might be a policeman, and he felt relieved when he saw his mistake. "You are the boy who just now took a couple of pies from a stall?" said the reporter. "Yes," said Ben, hesitatingly, his face crimsoning as he spoke. "Do you mind telling me why you did so?" There was something in his tone which reassured Ben, and he determined to tell the truth frankly. "I have eaten nothing to-day," he said. "You never took anything before?" "No," said Ben, quickly. "I suppose you had no money to buy with?" "No, I had not." "How does it happen that a boy as well dressed as you are, are in such a position?" "I would rather not tell," said Ben. "Have you run away from home?" "Yes; I had a good reason," he added, quickly. "What do you propose to do? You must earn your living in some way, or starve." "I thought I might get a place in a store; but I have tried half a dozen, and they won't take me." "No, your chance will be small, unless you can bring good references. But you must be hungry." "I am," Ben admitted. "That can be remedied, at all events. I am just going to get some dinner; will you go with me?" "I have no money." "I have, and that will answer the purpose for this time. We will go back to Fulton Street." Ben turned back thankfully, and with his companion entered the very restaurant in which he had dined the day before. "If you are faint, soup will be the best thing for you to begin on," said the young man; and he gave an order to the waiter. Nothing had ever seemed more delicious to Ben than that soup. When he had done justice to it, a plate of beefsteak awaited him, which also received his attention. Then he was asked to select some dessert. "I am afraid you are spending too much for me," he said.