On a bitter winter night, when the very air seemed congealed into piercing needles, as I was hurrying down Seventeenth Street in the City of Denver--the City Beautiful, the City of Lights and Wealth,--a young man about eighteen years of age stopped me, and asked in a rather hesitating manner for the price of a meal. At a glance I took in his desperate condition. His shoes gaped at the toes and were run down at the heels; his old suit of clothes was full of chinks soiled and threadbare, frazzled at ankle and wrist; his faded blue shirt was open at the neck, where a button was missing, and where the pin had slipped out that had supplied its place. His face and throat were fair, and he was straight and sound in body and limb. [Illustration: _A Familiar Scene in a Western City. The Boy Is "Broke" But Not Willing to Give Up_] "You look strong and well," I said to him, "why must you beg? Can't you work for what you eat? I have to." His big, honest eyes took on a dull, desperate stare, as though all hope was crushed. "This is the first time I have ever asked something for nothing," he said, "and I don't like to do it now, but I have been in Denver two days and I can't find a job. I am hungry." The last words trembled and he turned as though about to leave me. I stopped him. "Wait a moment; I did not intend to turn you down. I am hungry myself; let us go across the street to the restaurant and get our dinner." I had made up my mind to study this strong, able-bodied boy, who was workless, homeless, penniless, and suffering in our city beautiful, which is famous for its spirit of Western hospitality and even displays it as soon as you enter its gate by a great sign, "WELCOME." As we sat at the table he told me that his home was on a farm back East, that he and his stepmother didn't get along very well, that his own mother died when he was ten years old and his stepmother had not been kind to him, but that he and dad were always great friends and had continued so up to the time he went away. "I promised myself," he continued, as his hunger was appeased, "that as soon as I was old enough I would go West. I thought there were great chances for a young fellow like me out here, and so I worked and beat my way, and here I am to-day without a cent in my pocket. I have five dollars to my credit in the bank back in the old town near our farm, and if I knew anybody here I could get that money, pay my employment-office and shipment fee, go down to some works in Nebraska, and be at a job to-morrow," and he looked down in deep dejection. "Well my lad," I said, "cheer up; all life is before you. Meet me to-morrow and we will see what can be done." On the following day I took him to my bank, signed a bit of paper, and the banker gave him the five dollars. As we left the bank and started down the street, he took an old brass watch out of his pocket and offered it to me.