"Then don't you spend more than you can help, youngster. Do you know what's the cheapest dinner you can get?" "No, sir--no, I mean." "Penny loaf and a pen'orth o' cheese. You come back here and have tea along o' me. I don't go on duty till night. There, no shuffling," he said, grinning. "If you don't come back I'll write and tell old Blakeford." I could see that he did not mean it, and soon after I left my bundle there, and started off to try if I could find Mr Rowle's brother at the great printing-office in Short Street, Fetter Lane. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. "BOYS WANTED." I went over the address in my own mind to make sure, and also repeated the directions given me by Mr Revitts, so as to make no mistake in going into the City. Then I thought over again Mr Rowle's remarks about his brother, his name, Jabez, his age, and his being exactly like himself. That would, I thought, make it easy for me to recognise him; and in this spirit I walked on through the busy streets, feeling a good deal confused at being pushed and hustled about so much, while twice I was nearly run over in crossing the roads. At last, after asking, by Mr Revitts' advice, my way of different policemen when I was at fault, I found myself soon after two in Short Street, Fetter Lane, facing a pile of buildings from the base of which came the hiss and pant of steam, with the whirr, clang, and roar of machinery; while on the doorpost was a bright zinc plate with the legend "Ruddle and Lister, General Printers;" and above that, written on a card in a large legible hand, and tacked against the woodwork, the words "Boys Wanted." This announcement seemed to take away my breath, and I hesitated for a few minutes before I dared approach the place; but I went up at last, and then, seeing a severe-looking man in a glass box reading a newspaper, I shrank back and walked on a little way, forgetting all about Mr Jabez Rowle in my anxiety to try and obtain a situation by whose means I could earn my living. At last, in a fit of desperation, I went up to the glass case, and the man reading the newspaper let it fall upon his knees and opened a little window. "Now then, what is it?" he said in a gruff voice. "If you please, sir, there's a notice about boys wanted--" "Down that passage, upstairs, first floor," said the man gruffly, and banged down the window. I was a little taken aback, but I pushed a swing-door, and went with a beating heart along the passage, on one side of which were rooms fitted up something like Mr Blakeford's office, and on the other side a great open floor stacked with reams of paper, and with laths all over the ceiling, upon which boys with curious pieces of wood, something like long wooden crutches, were hanging up sheets of paper to dry, while at broad tables by the windows I could see women busily folding more sheets of paper, as if making books.