“Six dollars a week.” “That's pretty good, for a boy like you. I wish you'd take a room with me. It would come cheaper.” “I shall stay where I am for the present,” said Grant. He did not care to mention, unless he were asked, that he was making his home at the house of Mr. Reynolds, as it might either lead to a call from Tom, whom he did not particularly care to introduce to his new friends, or might lead to a more pressing request for a loan. “Where are you boarding?” asked Grant, after a pause. “In Clinton Place. I have a room there, and get my meals where I like. There's a chap from your office that lives in the same house.” “Who is it?” asked Grant, anxiously. “It's Willis Ford.” “Is that so?” returned Grant, in surprise. “Do you know him?” “Only a little. I don't like him. He's too stuck up.” Grant made no comment, but in his heart he agreed with Tom. “Are you doing anything?” he asked. “Not just yet,” answered Tom, “I expect a good job soon. You haven't a quarter to spare, have you?” Grant produced the desired sum and handed it to his companion. He didn't fancy Tom, but he was willing to help him in a small way. “Thanks,” said Tom. “That'll buy my supper. I'll give it back to you in a day or two.” Grant did not think there was much likelihood of that, but felt that he could afford to lose this small sum. Four days later he met Tom in Wall Street. But what a change! He was attired in a new suit, wore a fancy necktie, while a chain, that looked like gold, dangled from his watch pocket. Grant stared at him in amazement. “How are you, Grant?” said Tom, patronizingly. “Very well, thank you.” “I hope you are a-doin' well.” “Very well. You seem to be prosperous.” “Yes,” answered Tom, languidly, evidently enjoying his surprise. “I told you I expected to get into something good. By the way, I owe you a quarter--there it is. Much obliged for the accommodation.” Grant pocketed the coin, which he had never expected to receive, and continued to regard Tom with puzzled surprise. He could not understand what business Tom could have found that had so altered his circumstances. He ventured to inquire. “I wouldn't mind tellin' you,” answered Tom, “but, you see, it's kind of confidential. I'm a confidential agent; that's it.” “It seems to be a pretty good business,” remarked Grant. “Yes, it is; I don't work for nothin', I can tell you that.” “I'm glad of your good luck, Tom,” said Grant, and he spoke sincerely. “I hope you'll keep your agency.” “Oh, I guess I will! A feller like me is pretty sure of a good livin', anyway. Hello, Jim!” This last was addressed to a flashily dressed individual--the same one, in fact, that Grant had seen on a former occasion with Tom. “Who's your friend?” asked Jim, with a glance at Grant. “Grant Thornton. He's from my place in the country. He's in the office of Mr. Reynolds, a broker in New Street.” “Introduce me.”