It took a little time, of course, to get accustomed to their new quarters. When, however, they had got to feel at home, they enjoyed them. It was no longer possible, of course, for Paul to come home to the noonday meal, since the distance between his place of business and the house on Madison avenue was two miles and a half. He therefore was accustomed to take his lunch at a restaurant, for his mother had adopted the common New York custom of having dinner at the end of the day. It was about six weeks after Paul's removal to Madison avenue that one day, on approaching the restaurant on Fulton street where he proposed to lunch, his attention was drawn to a famished-looking boy who was looking in at the window at the viands within. It was impossible to misinterpret his hungry look. Paul understood it at once, and his heart was stirred with compassion. His own prosperity had not hardened him, but rendered him more disposed to lend a helping hand to those more needy. "Are you hungry, Johnny?" he asked. The boy turned at the sound of the words. "Ain't I just?" he said. "Didn't you have any breakfast?" "I had a piece of bread." "Was that all?" "Yes," "Could you eat a plate of meat if I gave you some?" "Try me and see," was the reply. "Come in, then," said Paul. "Will you pay for it?" asked the young Arab, almost incredulous. "Yes, I will pay for it." The boy waited for no further assurance. He was not in a position to refuse so advantageous a proposal. He shuffled in, therefore, directly behind Paul. It was not an aristocratic eating-house, but its guests were well-dressed, and the ragged boy at once attracted unfavorable attention. "Get out of here!" said a waiter. "He told me to come in," said the boy, beginning to tremble at the thought of losing the proffered dinner. Paul, at whom he pointed, was known at the restaurant. "Did this boy come in with you?" asked the waiter. "Yes," said Paul; "he's going to dine with me." "All right." The waiter was rather surprised at Paul's selection of a table companion, but payment being thus guaranteed, could interpose no further objections. "Sit down there, Johnny," said Paul, indicating a seat at one of the side tables and taking the seat opposite himself. "Now what'll you have?" he asked, handing his young guest the bill of fare. The young Arab took it, and holding it upside down, looked at it in perplexity. "I can't read," said he, handing it back. "I suppose you can eat, though," said Paul. "What'll you have?" "Anything that's good; I ain't pertikler," said the boy. "Do you like stewed oysters?" The boy eagerly replied in the affirmative. "Stewed oysters for two," ordered Paul. "That'll do to begin on, Johnny. What's your real name?" "Julius." "Anything else?" "That's all the name I know." "You can take another when you need it. Did you ever hear of Julius Caesar?" "Yes," said the boy. Paul was a little surprised to discover the boy's range of historical information.