Part 8 (1/2)

All this time the newsboy had been making change for a coa.r.s.e, rough-looking man who sat opposite, who was obliged to squirt a whole mouthful of tobacco juice out of his mouth, before he could say,--

”Give me a Erald,” and then another mouthful to add,--”Don't cheat, now, you young rascal.”

When the right change had been given, and the man was settled to his paper, the newsboy turned back to the boy whose eyes had expressed so much sympathy.

Bertie asked his papa if it would be too much trouble to change seats, and then he asked,--

”Do you sell many papers?”

”Sometimes.”

”What do you do with the money?”

”I give it to mother. It doesn't half support us, though, and now she's going to die.”

As the newsboy said this, a great sob seemed to choke him. Mr. Curtis, whose eyes were fixed full on his face, saw the little fellow resolutely suppress his emotion, and his sympathies were enlisted at once.

”Where does your mother live?” he inquired.

”Close by the depot in the city.”

”Go and sell all the papers you can, and then come back here.”

”Yes, sir,” with a grateful glance at Bertie.

The cars, however, had run into the depot, and the pa.s.sengers were beginning to alight, before they saw anything more of the newsboy.

Bertie was begging his father to wait a little longer, when some one touched his arm; and there was the boy struggling up from behind.

”I've sold 'em all,” he began, eagerly.

”Show me where your mother lives,” Mr. Curtis said, when they stepped to the platform.

”Yes, sir.”

These were all the words spoken, but a beautiful ray of grat.i.tude shot from the poor boy's eyes.

CHAPTER XIV.

BERTIE AND THE NEWSBOY.

A few steps brought them to an old block, where their young guide stopped.

”May I run in and tell mother you're coming. She's so very sick, sir.”

”Yes, but be as quick as you can. I must catch the next train to E----”