“Very well, then, tell him I’ll be with him at six,” he said, and the young ragamuffin departed, while Bruce resumed his work on the chief’s wagon, amazed and delighted to get an answer in such a short time to his letter. The afternoon seemed to pass very slowly, and at half-past five he obtained the chief’s permission to go out for a little while, and bent his steps immediately to Lyons’s, a restaurant on the Bowery, which Skinny visited once in a while when he was prosperous enough to treat himself to a substantial meal. Bruce found the little newsboy standing in front of the open door. “I got your note yesterday, an’ here I am,” was Skinny’s greeting, as the two boys shook hands. “I cum right on de minute I knowed I wuz wanted here,” he added, “an’ what’s more I’ve got dat mun’ yer let me have de time we cum outter de hospital,” and he handed four dollars and twenty-two cents to his companion, with a distinct look of pride. It pleased Bruce very much to feel that his humble little friend was so honest and so willing to do his bidding, and he said so in a hearty, straightforward manner that Skinny readily understood. Then they entered the restaurant, selected a quiet table, in an obscure corner, and sat down to a nice supper, Skinny acting as host for perhaps the first time in his life. And as they ate they talked, the newsboy describing his experiences on the farm, and Bruce plying him with questions about the different country people he knew. Never before in his life had Bruce felt so much like a character in a story book as he did now, and even Skinny remarked that the situation reminded him of a similar one in his favorite romance “Shorty, the Boy Detective.” It was the first time that the newsboy had ever entertained anyone at a dinner as sumptuous as the one which he now offered to the young lad whom he admired and liked as he liked and admired no other human being. He recommended all the most expensive dishes on the bill of fare, ordered the waiter around in a way that brought a broad smile to that functionary’s face, and “showed off” in so many other ways that Bruce, who was at heart a modest and unobtrusive young chap, finally felt constrained to ask him to attract less attention, and conduct himself with more decorum. The fact was, that Skinny “felt his oats,” as they say in the country. He was very proud to be called in as a sort of advisory counsel in such a delicate and important matter as the one which now occupied Bruce’s mind, and he was ready enough to give his friend the full benefit of his long experience in the city and really remarkable knowledge of the habits of crooked, crafty and dangerous people. Young as he was, the newsboy had long since learned the great lesson of eternal vigilance, and he knew well enough that the man whom he called “Scar-faced Charlie” was not one in whom implicit confidence should be reposed.