“It’s the second time I’ve had my boots blacked this morning. If it hadn’t been for that dirty sweep I should have got across safely.” The boy laughed—to himself. He knew Tom well enough, and he had been an interested spectator of her encounter with his present customer, having an eye to business. But he didn’t think it prudent to make known his thoughts. The boots were at length polished, and Mr. Pelham saw with satisfaction that no signs of the street mire remained. “How much do you want, boy?” he asked. “Ten cents.” “I thought five cents was the price.” “Can’t afford to work on no such terms.” Mr. Pelham might have disputed the fee, but he saw an acquaintance approaching, and did not care to be caught chaffering with a boot-black. He therefore reluctantly drew out a dime, and handed it to the boy, who at once deposited it in the pocket of a ragged vest. He stood on the sidewalk on the lookout for another customer, when Tom marched across the street, broom in hand. “I say, Joe, how much did he give you?” “Ten cents.” “How much yer goin’ to give me?” “Nothin’!” “You wouldn’t have got him if I hadn’t muddied his boots.” “Did you do it a-purpose?” Tom nodded. “What for?” “He called me names. That’s one reason. Besides, I wanted to give you a job.” Joe seemed struck by this view, and, being alive to his own interest, did not disregard the application. “Here’s a penny,” he said. “Gi’ me two.” He hesitated a moment, then diving once more into his pocket, brought up another penny, which Tom transferred with satisfaction to the pocket of her dress. “Shall I do it ag’in?” she asked. “Yes,” said Joe. “I say, Tom, you’re a smart un.” “I’d ought to be. Granny makes me smart whenever she gets a chance.” Tom returned to the other end of the crossing, and began to sweep diligently. Her labors did not extend far from the curbstone, as the stream of vehicles now rapidly passing would have made it dangerous. However, it was all one to Tom where she swept. The cleanness of the crossing was to her a matter of comparative indifference. Indeed, considering her own disregard of neatness, it could hardly have been expected that she should feel very solicitous on that point. Like some of her elders who were engaged in municipal labors, she regarded street-sweeping as a “job,” out of which she was to make money, and her interest began and ended with the money she earned. There were not so many to cross Broadway at this point as lower down, and only a few of these seemed impressed by a sense of the pecuniary value of Tom’s services. “Gi’ me a penny, sir,” she said to a stout gentleman. He tossed a coin into the mud. Tom darted upon it, and fished it up, wiping her fingers afterwards upon her dress. “Aint you afraid of soiling your dress?” asked the philanthropist, smiling. “What’s the odds?” said Tom, coolly. “You’re a philosopher,” said the stout gentleman.