Sam was not particularly bashful; but he certainly felt something like it, as he walked up to the cashier's desk. A man stood behind it, rather stout, and on the whole not benevolent in his looks. There was no softness about his keen business face. Sam inferred with a sinking heart that he was not a man likely to sympathize with him in his misfortunes, or seem to give credence to them. Sam stood at the counter waiting while the proprietor was making change for another customer. He was considering what he could best say to propitiate his creditor. "Now, then," said the man behind the counter, a little impatiently, for another had come up behind Sam, "where's your ticket?" "Here, sir," said Sam, laying it on the counter. "Fifty cents. Pay quick, and don't keep me waiting." "I am very sorry, sir," Sam began, faltering, "but--" "But what!" exclaimed the proprietor, with an ominous scowl. "I can't pay you now." "Can't pay me now!" repeated the other, angrily; "what do you mean?" "I've lost my money," said Sam, feeling more and more uncomfortable. By this time the patience of the restaurant-keeper was quite gone. "What business had you to come in here and order an expensive breakfast when you had no money?" he demanded, furiously. "I thought I had some money," said Sam, fervently wishing himself back at the deacon's for the first time since his arrival in the city. "How could you think you had some when you hadn't any?" "I had some last night," said Sam, eagerly; "but I slept in Mr. Brown's room, and he must have robbed me in the night." "That's a likely story!" sneered the proprietor. "What do you think of it, Mr. Jones?" he asked, turning to a customer, whom he knew by name. Mr. Jones shrugged his shoulders. "Too thin!" he replied, briefly. "Of course it is," said the proprietor, angrily. "This boy's evidently a beat." "A what?" inquired Sam, who had not been in the city long enough to understand the meaning of the term. "A dead beat; but you don't play any of your games on me, young man. I've cut my eye-teeth, I have. You don't swindle me out of a fifty-cent breakfast quite so easily. Here, John, call a policeman." "Oh, don't call a policeman!" exclaimed Sam, terror-stricken. "It's true, every word I've told you. I'm from the country. I only got to the city yesterday, and I've been robbed of all my money, over six dollars. I hope you'll believe me." "I don't believe a word you say," said the restaurant-keeper, harshly. "You are trying to come it over me. I dare say you've been round the streets half your life." "I think you are wrong, Mr. Chucks," said another customer, who was waiting to pay his bill. "He's got a country look about him. He don't look like one of the regular street boys. Better let him go. I wouldn't call a policeman." "I ought to," grumbled the proprietor. "Fancy his impudence in ordering a fifty-cent breakfast, when he hadn't a cent to pay his bill." "I wouldn't have come in, if I had known," said Sam.