“Do answer me, Haze,” I urged. “_What_ is the matter? You aren’t dismissed, are you?” “Not this time,” returned Haze, unsteadily, “but, from our point of view, it’s all the same as if I were.” And then, in an ashamed and broken voice, the poor boy started in to tell his story. It seems that he was sent by Mr. Bridges this morning to collect a small debt for the firm. Haze got the money without any trouble, and started at a clip down the office stairs, because the elevator was several flights up, and he wanted to break the record, so to speak, and accomplish his errand in such short time that Mr. Bridges, whose special hobby is promptitude, would be forced to notice and commend him. When he reached the curb there was no car in sight, and Hazard happened to remember that he had not counted his money. Of course he knew that it must be all right, for the firm he was dealing with is perfectly trustworthy and reputable. However, to make sure, Haze thrust his hand into his coat pocket, drew out the little wad of bills, and proceeded to verify them.—There were two tens, a two, and three ones, in all twenty-five dollars, which was the correct sum. Haze stood with the money in his hand, thinking how nice it would be to have that amount to spend on Christmas, till presently a down-town car came bowling along, Haze thrust the bills hurriedly into the outside pocket of his overcoat, and swung on. There was a fine-looking, white-bearded old gentleman standing on the back platform. He caught Haze by the arm, and steadied him. “Young blood will have its way,” he remarked, in admiring reproof. “Some forty years ago I swung aboard the cars in just such style myself.” “Thank you, sir. That’s all right,” says Haze, never stopping to think that it must have been stage coaches the old gentleman swung aboard. “Pleasant weather,” remarked Hazard’s new friend, presently. “Crisp, but not too keen. I see you are like myself, and prefer the view from the back platform here, to the stuffy atmosphere within. Oh, the poetry of a great city!” he observed again. “There’s romance here as fine and true as any hid away amid the snowcapped hills and sheltered valleys of my native state. Judging from your physiognomy, my boy, you are of the fibre to appreciate all that. The brow of a scholar, above the ardent eyes of a poet!” “Thank you, sir,” says Hazey again, blushing a bit, and thinking, I haven’t a doubt, what a nice, appreciative old gentleman he had run across. “I do like to watch the city, and listen to its hum. It’s like wheels within a wheel. If you can keep your place, and pace, all right;—otherwise——” “Otherwise,” concluded the old gentleman, his eyes fixed abstractedly upon the guard, who had walked the length of the car, and was fumbling with the door handle,—“Otherwise, it is what one might call—_bum_!”