On the strength of his good luck, Sam provided himself with a good breakfast, which cost him forty cents. He felt pretty sure of earning something more during the day to add to the remaining thirty-five. But Fortune is capricious, and our hero found all his offers of service firmly refused. He tried again to excite compassion by his fictitious story of a starving family at home; but his appeals were made to the flinty-hearted or the incredulous. So, about two o'clock, he went to dinner, and spent the remainder of his money. Again he spent the night with Tim in the wagon, and again in the morning he set out to earn his breakfast. But luck was against him. People insisted on carrying their own carpet-bags, to the great detriment of the baggage-smashing business. Tim was no luckier than Sam. About ten o'clock they were walking despondently through a side street, discussing ways and means. "I'm awful hungry, Tim," said Sam, mournfully. "So am I, you bet!" "I wouldn't mind if I had a couple of apples," said Sam, fixing his eyes upon an old woman's apple-stand. "Wouldn't she trust?" "Not much," said Tim. "You try her, if you want to." "I will," said Sam, desperately. The two boys approached the apple-stand. "I say," said Sam to the wrinkled old woman who presided over it, "how do you sell your apples?" "A penny a piece," she answered, in a cracked voice. "Is that cheap enough for ye?" "I'll take five," said Sam. The old woman began eagerly to pick out the required number, but stopped short when he finished the sentence,--"if you'll trust me till afternoon." "Is it trust ye?" she ejaculated suspiciously. "No farther than I can see yer. I'm up to your tricks, you young spalpeen, thryin' to chate a poor widder out of her money." "I'll pay you sure," said Sam, "but I haven't earned anything yet to-day." "Then it's I that can't be supportin' a big, strong boy like you. Go away and come back, whin you've got money." Here Tim broke in. "My friend always pays his bills," he said. "You needn't be afraid to trust him." "And who are you?" asked the old woman. "I don't know you, and I can't take your word. You're tryin' the two of you to swindle a poor widder." "My father's an alderman," said Tim, giving the wink to Sam. "Is he now? Thin, let him lind your friend money, and don't ask a poor woman to trust." "Well, I would, but he's gone to Washington on business." "Thin, go after him, and lave me alone. I don't want no spalpeens like you round my apple-stand." "Look here, old woman, I'll have you arrested for callin' me names. Come away, Sam; her apples are rotten anyhow." The old woman began to berate them soundly, indignant at this attack upon her wares; and in the midst of it the two boys walked off. "We didn't make much," said Sam. "I'm awful hungry." "Take that, then," said Tim, pulling an apple out of his pocket, Sam opened his eyes. "How did you get it?" he asked in astonishment. Tim put his tongue in his cheek.