His first day of school passed without special incident. Several fellows spoke to him at recess and satisfied their curiosity about the newcomer, but none of them appealed greatly to Joe and he made no effort to pursue the acquaintances. At half-past three he was on hand at the _Recorder_ office, received his bundle of papers, slung them at his side by a strap which he had bought on the way from school, and started out. His route began nearly a mile from the newspaper building and it would have saved time if he had taken a car on Main Street. But to do that every day would cost him thirty cents, and thirty cents taken from three dollars leaves quite a hole! So he tramped the distance instead. He had already studied his route on a map in a copy of the city directory and so had little difficulty. He did, however, manage to leave out a block and had to go back to it, but that wouldn’t happen the next time. The district was one well over on the west side of town and was inhabited for the most part by factory workers, although there were a few blocks of more prosperous patrons. As a general thing the sidewalks were ill paved and held pools of slush or water, and Joe’s “waterproof” boots belied their reputation by the time he had tossed the last of his papers on the final porch. But damp feet didn’t trouble him greatly and he made up his mind to change to a pair of slippers as soon as he got home. It was quite dark by the time he reached the little house in Brewer Street and Aunt Sarah had begun to be concerned, and when he entered the front door, she appeared quickly from the sitting-room. “I was beginning to think one of those automobiles had got you,” she said tartly. “It’s ’most six o’clock.” “I’m sorry to be so late,” replied Joe, “but it took longer today than it will the next time. I missed some houses and had to go back.” “Well, I suppose I don’t need to get anxious about you, but――――” Aunt Sarah paused, her gaze on his feet. “Joseph Faulkner, look at your boots!” “Yes, they’re sort of damp, aren’t they?” “Sort of damp! Land sakes, they’re sopping wet! You go right upstairs this very minute and take them off and change your socks and dry your feet and――and don’t you dare come home tomorrow without those overshoes I told you to get yesterday! First thing I know you’ll be down with pneumonia! Tramping around through the slush with nothing on but a pair of fancy shoes!” “They’re supposed to be waterproof, Aunt,” said Joe meekly. “Supposed to be! Maybe they are supposed to be, but they ain’t. Now, don’t stand there arguing, but do as I say, Joseph. I may not be your mother, but I guess I know wet shoes when I see them! And I don’t see why you didn’t get those overshoes like I told you to yesterday.” “I didn’t feel that I could afford them,” said Joe defensively, “and I didn’t just like to take them as a gift.”