Thus far nothing had been said about the compensation Grant was to receive for his work in the broker's office. He did not like to ask, especially as he knew that at the end of the first week the matter would be settled. When he found that he was to remain for the present at the house of his employer he concluded that his cash pay would be very small, perhaps a dollar a week. However, that would be doing quite as well as if he paid his own board elsewhere, while he enjoyed a much more agreeable and luxurious home. He would be unable to assist his father for a year or two; but that was only what he had a right to expect. When Saturday afternoon came, Mr. Reynolds said: “By the way, Grant, I must pay you your week's wages. I believe no sum was agreed upon.” “No, sir.” “We will call it six dollars. Will that be satisfactory?” “Very much so, Mr. Reynolds; but there will be a deduction for board.” Mr. Reynolds smiled. “That is a different matter,” he said. “That comes to you as Herbert's companion. It is worth that to me to have my boy's happiness increased.” Grant was overjoyed at the bright prospect opened before him, and he said, with glowing face: “You are very kind, Mr. Reynolds. Now I shall be able to help my father.” “That is very creditable to you, my boy. Willis, you may pay Grant six dollars.” Willis Ford did so, but he looked very glum. He estimated that, including his board, Grant would be in receipt of twelve dollars a week, or its equivalent, and this was only three dollars less than he himself received, who had been in the office five years and was a connection of the broker. “It's a shame,” he thought, “that this green, country boy should be paid nearly as much as I--I must call and tell mother.” Grant was a very happy boy that evening. He resolved to lay aside three dollars a week to send to his mother, to save up a dollar a week and deposit it in some savings bank, and make the other two dollars answer for his clothing and miscellaneous expenses. On the next Monday afternoon Grant walked home alone, Mr. Reynolds having some business which delayed him. He thought he would walk up Broadway, as there was much in that crowded thoroughfare to amuse and interest him. Just at the corner of Canal Street he came across Tom Calder. Tom was standing in a listless attitude with his hands in his pockets, with apparently no business cares weighing upon his mind. “Hello, Grant!” he said, with sudden recognition. “How are you, Tom?” “I'm all right, but I'm rather hard up.” Grant was not surprised to hear that. “You see, there's a feller owes me seven dollars, and I can't get it till next week,” continued Tom, watching Grant's face to see if he believed it. Grant did not believe it, but did not think it necessary to say so. “That's inconvenient,” he remarked. “I should say it was. You couldn't lend me a couple of dollars, could you?” “I don't think I could.” Tom looked disappointed. “How much do you get?” he asked.