Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought, rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber. He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him, and that he had just picked up by the merest chance. “Do I look like a banker?” he asked, humorously. “Why do you want to rob a boy?” “The way you’re togged out, you must have something,” growled the tramp, “and I haven’t got a penny.” “Your business doesn’t seem to pay, then?” “Don’t you make fun of me, or I’ll wring your neck! Just hand over your money and be quick about it! I haven’t time to stand fooling here all day.” A bright idea came to Carl. He couldn’t spare the silver coin, which constituted all his available wealth, but he still had the counterfeit note. “You won’t take all my money, will you?” he said, earnestly. “How much have you got?” asked the tramp, pricking up his ears. Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the ten-dollar bill. The tramp’s face lighted up. “Is your name Vanderbilt?” he asked. “I didn’t expect to make such a haul.” “Can’t you give me back a dollar out of it? I don’t want to lose all I have.” “I haven’t got a cent. You’ll have to wait till we meet again. So long, boy! You’ve helped me out of a scrape.” “Or into one,” thought Carl. The tramp straightened up, buttoned his dilapidated coat, and walked off with the consciousness of being a capitalist. Carl watched him with a smile. “I hope I won’t meet him after he has discovered that the bill is a counterfeit,” he said to himself. He congratulated himself upon being still the possessor of twenty-five cents in silver. It was not much, but it seemed a great deal better than being penniless. A week before he would have thought it impossible that such a paltry sum would have made him feel comfortable, but he had passed through a great deal since then. About the middle of the afternoon he came to a field, in which something appeared to be going on. Some forty or fifty young persons, boys and girls, were walking about the grass, and seemed to be preparing for some interesting event. Carl stopped to rest and look on. “What’s going on here?” he asked of a boy who was sitting on the fence. “It’s a meeting of the athletic association,” said the boy. “What are they doing?” “They try for prizes in jumping, vaulting, archery and so on.” This interested Carl, who excelled in all manly exercises. “I suppose I may stay and look on?” he said, inquiringly. “Why, of course. Jump over the fence and I’ll go round with you.” It seemed pleasant to Carl to associate once more with boys of his own age. Thrown unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had almost forgotten that he was a boy. Face to face with a cold and unsympathizing world, he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.