There was a boot-black on the opposite side of the street. It struck Sam, who did not like to deceive so generous a patron, that he could obtain the information he needed of this boy. "Can you tell me where the 'Tribune' office is?" he asked hurriedly. The boot-black had no more scruples about lying than Sam, and answered, glibly, pointing to the Tombs prison, a little farther on, "Do you see that big stone buildin'?" "Yes," said Sam. "That's it." "Thank you," said Sam, feeling relieved, and never doubting the correctness of this statement. He returned to the stranger, and said, cheerfully, "We're almost there." "Is that boy your cousin?" asked his acquaintance. "Yes," said Sam. "He blacks boots for a living." "Yes, sir." "Does he do well at it?" "Pretty well." "Did you ever black boots?" "No, sir," answered Sam, telling the truth by way of variety. "That's the Tribune office," said Sam, a moment later, pointing to the gloomy-looking prison. "Is it?" echoed the stranger, in surprise. "Really, it's a very massive structure." "Yes," said Sam, mistaking the word employed, "it's very _massy._" "It doesn't look much like a newspaper office." For the first time Sam began to suspect that he had been deceived, and he naturally felt in a hurry to get away. "You go right in," he said, confidently, "and they'll attend to you inside. Now I'll go and get some breakfast." "To be sure. You must be hungry." The stranger walked up the massive steps, and Sam hurried away. "I wonder what place that is, anyhow," he said to himself. "Now I've got money enough for dinner." For a country boy Sam was getting along fast. CHAPTER XVI. SAM MEETS BROWN AND IS UNHAPPY, Never doubting Sam's assurance, the stranger entered the gloomy building, the lower part of which is divided into court-rooms. Out of one of these a man came, to whom he addressed this question: "Where is the counting-room?" "The counting-room!" repeated the man, staring. "There isn't any here, that I know of." "I want to subscribe for the weekly edition," explained the man from Illinois. "It strikes me you're a weakly edition of a man yourself," thought the other. "He must be a lunatic," was the next thought. "I may as well humor him." "Go in at that door," he said. The stranger entered as directed, and at once recognized it as a court-room. "It is very singular that there should be a courtroom in the 'Tribune' office," he thought. He took a seat, and whispered to a man at his side: "Can you tell me where the 'Tribune' office is?" "Printing-house Square," was the whispered reply. "Where's that?" "Not much over a quarter of a mile from here." "The boy deceived me," thought the stranger indignantly, "and I gave him fifty cents for doing it. He must be a young rascal." "What building is this?" he asked, still in a whisper. "The Tombs." "What, the prison!" "Yes; didn't you know it?" asked the informant, in surprise.