The boy, who seemed to be about fifteen years of age, looked as if he had just reached town after a long and weary walk. His clothes were torn and travel-stained, and there was a gaunt, hungry look in his face that spoke unmistakably of want and privation. It was this look and the boy’s dejected attitude which had first attracted the chief’s attention for he feared that he might be waiting for a chance to get into the building, and steal what he could lay his hands on. “There’s something queer about that kid,” he continued, half to himself, as he watched Weyman cross the street and enter into conversation with him. “Hulloa! he’s bringing him over here; he must want to see somebody,” and just then the fireman entered leading the boy with him. “He says he wants to see you, chief,” said Weyman, seating himself in an arm-chair while the boy stood with his hat in his hand waiting respectfully for the other to address him. “Well, my boy,” said the chief of battalion in a kindly voice, “what can I do for you?” “Are you Mr. John Trask, chief of the battalion?” inquired the boy. “I am” was the reply. “Well, did you ever have a man here in the company named Frank Decker?” At the mention of this name a sudden silence fell upon the little group of men who were gathered about the table, newspapers were laid aside, the talking ceased, and every eye was turned on the hungry looking, travel-stained boy who stood with his hat in his hand, looking the chief squarely in the face while he put the question. The chief paused a moment as he adjusted a pair of eye-glasses on his nose, and then answered in a voice that had something of a stern soldierly ring in it: “I knew Frank Decker well, and I wish there were more men on the earth like him. But what have you to do with Frank Decker?” “My name is Bruce Decker and Frank Decker was my father” replied the boy, still looking the chief squarely in the eye and trying to speak steadily, but there was a little break in his voice as he mentioned his father’s name and a faint quiver in his lower lip as he finished. “Frank Decker’s boy!” exclaimed Weyman springing to his feet, “Why I never knew he had a boy!” “Where do you come from, young man?” inquired Chief Trask, regarding him now with a new interest and shifting his position so as to get a clear view of the young lad’s face. “I come from Oswego County way back in the state, where I’ve lived all my life. I got here early this morning and came here because I had no other place to go to. I’ve never been in New York before, but father used to tell me about you and a friend of his named Mr. Weyman and so I thought maybe you’d be willing to give me a lift, if only on his account.”