Tom descended the stairs and welcomed Maurice. "I'm glad you're come, Mr. Walton," he said. "Come up stairs to my room." Finding that he did, after all, live in this handsome house, Maurice expected that it was on the upper floor, and was surprised when Tom led the way into a handsome parlor on the second floor. "My roommate, Mr. Mordaunt, Mr. Walton," said Tom, introducing the visitor. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walton," said Mordaunt. "Take a seat," and he indicated a luxurious armchair. Maurice sank into its depths, and looked around him with wonder. How in the world could a fellow like Tom, earning a salary of five dollars a week, afford to board so luxuriously? Why, it quite eclipsed even his uncle's rooms. Handsome pictures, books, statuary, and choice furniture, under the brilliant blaze of an argand burner, made a beautiful apartment. "You've got a nice room," he could not help saying. "Won't you look at the bedroom?" said Mordaunt, politely. Maurice looked in, and found it in proportion to the parlor. "Gilbert and I manage to make ourselves comfortable," said Mordaunt. "We enjoy it ourselves, and are glad to have a pleasant place to invite our friends to." Maurice was astonished; but such is the influence of wealth, or apparent wealth, upon a disposition like his, that he thawed, and made up his mind that he had better change his manner toward one who was able to afford living in such a style. "He must have money," he thought. "Perhaps it's his rich uncle. I thought he was lying, but I guess it's true, after all." Tom saw the change in his manner, and it amused him. "He thinks I'm somebody, after all," he said to himself. "What would he say if he knowed what I used to be?--how I went round the streets of New York calling out: 'Shine yer boots!' and was glad if I could earn a dollar a day that way? I don't believe Mordaunt would mind. I'm going to tell him some time, and see." "Do you ever play checkers, Mr. Walton?" asked Mordaunt. "Sometimes." "Then suppose we try a game, or perhaps you will play with him, Gilbert?" "I'd rather look on," said Tom. "I don't know how to play, but maybe I'll learn lookin' at you." "Very well." Two games were played, and then a waiter appeared from a neighboring restaurant with some cake and ice-cream, of which Maurice partook with evident enjoyment. His ideas with regard to our hero were quite revolutionized. He was a good fellow, after all. So when he took leave, at the close of the evening, he readily promised to come again, and did not forget to do so. "He'll take more notice of me now," said Tom, laughing. "He'll think I'm somebody." "It's the way of the world, Gilbert," said Mordaunt. "We must take it as it comes." "Maybe," said Tom, looking at his companion earnestly, "you wouldn't like to have me room with you if you knew what I used to be." "What did you used to be?" asked Mordaunt, not without curiosity. "A New York bootblack." "Is it possible?"