"Then I will be liberal. Now, suppose you tell me something about yourself. How long have you been a 'baggage-smasher,' as you call it?" "Six years," said Ben. "You must have begun young. How old are you now?" "Sixteen." "You'll soon be a man. What do you intend to do then?" "I haven't thought much about it," said Ben, with truth. "You don't mean to carry baggage all your life, do you?" "I guess not," answered Ben. "When I get to be old and infirm, I'm goin' into some light, genteel employment, such as keepin' a street stand." "So that is your highest ambition, is it?" asked the stranger. "I don't think I've got any ambition," said Ben. "As long as I make a livin', I don't mind." "When you see well-dressed gentlemen walking down Broadway, or riding in their carriages, don't you sometimes think it would be agreeable if you could be in their place?" "I should like to have a lot of money," said Ben. "I wouldn't mind bein' the president of a bank, or a railway-director, or somethin' of that kind." "I am afraid you have never thought seriously upon the subject of your future," said Ben's companion, "or you wouldn't be satisfied with your present business." "What else can I do? I'd rather smash baggage than sell papers or black boots." "I would not advise either. I'll tell you what you ought to do, my young friend. You should leave the city, and come out West. I'll give you something to do on one of my farms, and promote you as you are fit for it." "You're very kind," said Ben, more seriously; "but I shouldn't like it." "Why not?" "I don't want to leave the city. Here there's somethin' goin' on. I'd miss the streets and the crowds. I'd get awful lonesome in the country." "Isn't it better to have a good home in the country than to live as you do in the city?" "I like it well enough," said Ben. "We're a jolly crowd, and we do as we please. There aint nobody to order us round 'cept the copps, and they let us alone unless we steal, or something of that kind." "So you are wedded to your city life?" "Yes, I guess so; though I don't remember when the weddin' took place." "And you prefer to live on in your old way?" "Yes, sir; thank you all the same." "You may change your mind some time, my lad. If you ever do, and will write to me at B----, Ohio, I will send for you to come out. Here is my card." "Thank you, sir," said Ben. "I'll keep the card, and if ever I change my mind, I'll let you know." They had been walking slowly, or they would have reached Broadway sooner. They had now arrived there, and the stranger bade Ben good-by, handing him at the same time the fifty cents agreed upon. "He's a brick," Ben soliloquized, "even if he did say he'd smash my head. I hope I'll meet some more like him."