"Where do you board?" he asked. "Near St. John's Park," answered Henry. "Is it a good place?" "It will do." "I want to find a place to board. Is there room where you are?" "Yes; you can come into my room, if you like." "What'll I have to pay?" "I pay a dollar and seventy-five cents a week for my room, and get my meals out; but the old lady will let the two of us have it for two fifty." "That'll make seventy-five cents for me," said Sam. "How do you make that out?" "You pay just the same as you do now, and I'll make it up to two fifty." "Look here, young fellow, you're smart, but that won't go down," said the other boy. "Why not?" asked Sam, innocently. "You won't have to pay any more, will you?" "I would have to pay more than you, and I don't mean to do it. If we pay two fifty, that will be just one twenty-five apiece. That's better than you can do alone." "Well, I'll try it," said Sam. "When are you goin' round?" "As soon as I get through work--at five o'clock." "I'll wait for you." Sam might have gone back and finished out his afternoon's work, but it did not occur to him as desirable, and he therefore remained with his new friend, till the latter was ready to go with him. "How much wages do you get?" asked Sam, as they were walking along. "Five dollars a week." "So do I." "Haven't you just gone into your place?" "Yes." "I've been in mine two years. I ought to get more than you." "Why don't you ask for more?" "It wouldn't be any use. I have asked, and they told me to wait." "When I've been at work two years I expect to get ten dollars a week," said Sam. "You'll have to take it out in expecting, then." "Will I?" asked Sam, rather crestfallen. "The fact is, we boys don't get paid enough," said Henry. "No, I guess not," said Sam, assenting readily. "Do you have to work pretty hard?" he inquired. "As hard as I want to." "It must be jolly to be a boss, and only have to read letters, and write 'em," said Sam, who had rather an inadequate notion of his employer's cares. "I'd like to be one." "I've got a rich uncle," said Henry Martin. "I wish he'd set me up in business when I'm twenty-one." "How much is he worth?" "About a hundred thousand dollars; I don't know but more." "Do you think he will set you up?" asked Sam, rather impressed. "I don't know." "If he does, you might take me in with you." "So I will, if your rich uncle will give you a lot of money, too." "I haven't got no rich uncle," said Sam. "I only wish I had." "Mine is more ornamental than useful, so far," said Henry. "Well, here we are at my place." They stood before a shabby, brick dwelling, which bore unmistakable marks of being a cheap lodging-house. "It isn't very stylish," said Henry, apologetically. "I ain't used to style," said Sam, with perfect truth. "It'll do for me." "I'll call Mrs. Brownly," said Henry, after opening the front door with a latchkey. "We'll ask her about your coming in."