At the moment when he leaned over and picked up a sandwich, a small old woman, behind the counter, reached out her hand toward him; and another small old woman stretched her hand out to a boy who was testing the oranges; and a third small old woman sang out very shrilly: "Here's your sanwiges! Ham sanwiges! Only five cents! Benannies! Oranges! Sanwiges!" Jack put five cents into the woman's hand, and he was surprised to find how much good bread and boiled ham he had bought. "It's all the supper I'll have," he said, as he walked away. "I could eat a loaf of bread and a whole ham, it seems to me!" All the way to the Hotel Dantzic he studied over the loss of his pocket-book. "The policeman was right," he said to himself, at last. "I didn't know when they took it, but it must have been when my hat was jammed down." When Jack met Mr. Keifelheimer in the hotel office, he asked him what he thought about it. An expression of strong indignation, if not of horror, crossed the face of the hotel proprietor. "Dey get you pocket-book?" he exclaimed. "You vas rob choost de same vay I vas; but mine vas a votch und shain. It vas two year ago, und I nefer get him back. Your friend, Mr. Guilderaufenberg, he vas rob dot vay, vonce, but den he vas ashleep in a railvay car und not know ven it vas done!" Jack was glad of so much sympathy, but just then business called Mr. Keifelheimer away. "I won't go upstairs," thought Jack. "I'll sit in the reading-room." No letters were awaiting him, but there were plenty of newspapers, and nearly a score of men were reading or talking. Jack did not really care to read, nor to talk, nor even to listen; but two gentlemen near him were discussing a subject that reminded him of the farms around Crofield. "Yes," he heard one of them say, "we must buy every potato we can secure. At the rate they're spoiling now, the price will be doubled before December." "Curious, how little the market knows about it yet," said the other, and they continued discussing letters and reports about potatoes, from place after place, and State after State, and all the while Jack listened, glad to be reminded of Crofield. "It was just so with our potatoes at home," he said to himself. "Some farmers didn't get back what they planted." This talk helped him to forget his pocket-book for a while; then, after trying to read the newspapers, he went to bed. A very tired boy can always sleep. Jack Ogden awoke, on Saturday morning, with a clear idea that sleep was all he had had for supper,--excepting one ham sandwich. "It's not enough," he said, as he dressed himself. "I must make some money. Oh, my pocket-book! And I shall have to pay for my room, Monday." He slipped out of the Hotel Dantzic very quietly, and he had a fine sunshiny walk of two and a half miles to the down-town restaurant where he ate his ten cents' worth of bread and milk.