"Yes, in ordinary times, but you know business is dull elsewhere as well as with us. It isn't a good time to change places." "Well, you'll get something else. All branches of business may not be as dull as ours." Harry Bacon had a sanguine disposition, and always looked on the bright side. His assurances encouraged Rupert a little, and he determined to do his best to find something to do, no matter what. At five o'clock the store closed. Retail stores kept open later, but early hours are one of the advantages of a wholesale establishment. Rupert bent his steps towards Elizabeth Street. In an upper apartment in one of the shabby houses fronting on this thoroughfare lived his mother and sister. It was only a three-story house, and there were but two flights of stairs to ascend. Entering the principal room, Rupert saw his mother with her head bent in an attitude of despondency over the table. Through a door he could see his sister lying uneasily on a bed in a small inner room, her face showing that she was suffering pain. Rupert stepped forward and with tender sympathy strove to raise his poor mother from her position of despondency. "What is the matter, mother?" he asked. "Are you not well?" "Yes, Rupert," she answered, raising her head, "but for the moment I felt discouraged. Grace has been suffering more than usual to-day. Sickness and poverty, too, are hard to bear." "That is true, mother," and Rupert's heart sank as he remembered that by the end of the week the poverty would become destitution. "Grace has been unable to eat anything to-day. She thought she could eat an orange, but I absolutely didn't have money enough to buy one." "She shall have an orange," said Rupert, in a low voice. The sick girl heard, and her face brightened. It was an instinctive craving, such as a sick person sometimes has. "I should enjoy an orange," she said, faintly. "I think I could sleep after eating one." "I will go right out and get one." Rupert put on his hat and went down stairs. "You may buy a loaf of bread, Rupert," said his mother, as he was starting, "that is, if you have money enough." "Yes, mother." There was an Italian fruit vender's stall at the next corner. As he stepped out on the sidewalk Rupert took out his slender purse and examined its contents. It held but thirty-five cents, and this must last till Saturday night, when he would receive his weekly wages. Going to the stand, he examined the Italian's stock. He saw some large, attractive oranges marked "five cents." There were some smaller ones marked three cents, but Rupert judged that they were sour, and would not please his sister. Yet five cents was considerable for him to pay under the circumstances. It represented one-seventh of his scanty stock of money. "Won't you let me have one of these oranges for four cents?" he asked. Nicolo, the Italian, shook his head. "No," he answered. "It is good-a orange. It is worth more than I ask." Rupert sighed and hesitated.