"Yes, money. Don't you know what stamps is?" "No. I spent my last cent for supper." "If you'd got thirty cents we'd go to the theatre." "What theatre?" "The Old Bowery." "Is it good?" "You bet!" "Then I wish I had money enough to go. I never went to the theatre in my life." "You didn't! Where was you raised?" said Tim, contemptuously. "In the country." "I thought so." "They don't have theatres in the country." "Then I wouldn't live there. It must be awful dull there." "So it is," said Sam. "That's why I ran away." "Did you run away?" asked Tim, interested. "Was it from the old man?" "It was from the man I worked for. He wanted me to work all the time, and I got tired of it." "What sort of work was it?" asked Tim. "It was on a farm. I had to hoe potatoes, split wood, and such things." "I wouldn't like it. It's a good deal more jolly bein' in the city." "If you've only got money enough to get along," added Sam. "Oh, you can earn money." "How?" asked Sam, eagerly. "Different ways." "How do you make a livin'?" "Sometimes I black boots, sometimes I sell papers, then again, I smash baggage." "What's that?" asked Sam, bewildered. "Oh, I forgot," exclaimed Tim. "You're from the country. I loaf round the depots and steamboat landin's, and carry carpet-bags and such things for pay." "Is that smashing baggage?" "_To_ be sure." "I could do that," said Sam, thoughtfully. "Can you make much that way?" "'Pends on how many jobs you get, and whether the cove's liberal. Wimmen's the wust. They'll beat a chap down to nothin', if they can." "How much do you get anyway for carrying a bundle?" "I axes fifty cents, and generally gets a quarter. The wimmen don't want to pay more'n ten cents." "I guess I'll try it to-morrow, if you'll tell me where to go." "You can go along of me. I'm goin smashin' myself to-morrer." "Thank you," said Sam. "I'm glad I met you. You see I don't know much about the city." "Didn't you bring no money with you?" "Yes, but it was stolen." "Was your pockets picked?" "I'll tell you about it. I was robbed in my sleep." So Sam told the story of his adventures with Clarence Brown. Tim listened attentively. "He was smart, he was," said Tim, approvingly. "He's a rascal," said Sam, hotly, who did not relish hearing his spoiler praised. "Course he is, but he's smart too. You might a knowed he'd do it." "How should I know? I thought he was a kind man, that wanted to do me a favor." Tim burst out laughing. "Aint you green, though?" he remarked. "Oh my eye, but you're jolly green." "Am I?" said Sam, rather offended. "Is everybody a thief in New York?" "Most everybody, if they gets a chance," said Tim, coolly. "Didn't you ever steal yourself?"