The next day luck turned. Wayne went to work for Callahan’s Livery Stable, and June, happening into the Union Hotel with a drummer’s sample cases, witnessed the discharge of a bell boy, applied for the position, got it, was thrust into a dark-blue uniform and, half an hour later, was climbing stairs and answering calls as though he had done nothing else all his life. The wage was only three dollars a week, and out of that he was required to deposit ten dollars as security for the uniform, which meant that for three weeks he would get nothing from his employer. Ordinarily he would have had to deposit that ten dollars before starting to work, but the fact that his services were badly needed at the moment and the fact that he neither had ten dollars nor could get it, caused the proprietor to waive the rule. But June didn’t bother about that ten dollars, for he knew that it was tips and not wages that counted in his job, and he believed in his ability to get the tips. He didn’t return to the new home very rich that night, to be sure, for he hadn’t yet learned the ropes and his chances had been few, but it didn’t take him long to put his new position on a paying basis. At the end of three days everyone in the hotel knew June and liked him. He was always willing, always ready, and always cheerful. And he was always polite, a fact which made him a favourite with the guests, accustomed as they were to the half-sullen services of the other boys. Dimes and even quarters dropped into June’s pocket at a rate that astonished him. When, at the end of his second week of service, he counted up his wealth and discovered that it totalled the stupendous sum of nine dollars and eighty cents he rolled his eyes and confided to Wayne that he “didn’ know there was so much money in the whole world!” The main drawback to June’s work was that his period of duty began at six o’clock in the morning and lasted until four in the afternoon, necessitating a very early rising hour in the car. Wayne’s own duties didn’t begin until eight, and in consequence he had two hours on his hands that he didn’t know what to do with. Breakfast was always over by half-past five and a minute or two later June was streaking across the field to the railroad track. At about twenty-five minutes to six there was a milk train due and June had become an adept at swinging himself to a platform as it slowed down at the yard entrance. Just at first his presence, when discovered, was resented, but presently the train hands good-naturedly failed to see him and he rode into town huddled up on a car step. When, as infrequently happened, the train was late June was put to it to reach the hotel on time, but he always did it by hook or by crook even if he had to run most of the way over the uneven ties.