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per Night."

      This was the announcement on a banner strung over the sidewalk, and after reading it, Hal glanced at the building.

      It was rather a dingy affair, but to the youth direct from the Fairham poor-house it appeared quite comfortable. He entered the office, and approached the clerk at the desk.

      "I would like a room for to-night," he said.

      "A room or a bed?" asked the clerk.

      "I mean a twenty-five cent place."

      "Oh, all right. Pay in advance."

      Hal handed out a quarter. Then he was conducted to a long, narrow apartment on the third floor. There were eight beds in the room, six of which were already occupied.

      To a person used to good accommodations this apartment would have almost disgusted him. But quarters at the poor-house had been but little better, and Hal did not complain. He managed to get a bed in one corner, and, as the window was slightly open, he slept very well.

      He was up and dressed at six o'clock and out on the street. The snow was now all of a foot deep, and Hal was much interested in the snow-plows on the car tracks.

      As he passed down the street a snow-ball whizzed past the youth's ear. Another followed, striking him in the head. He turned, and saw a boy slightly taller than himself standing close at hand and laughing heartily.

      Instead of getting angry, Hal laughed in return. Then he picked up some snow, made it into a hard ball, and let fly.

      The snow-ball took the other boy in the chest, and in his effort to dodge he went over head first into a drift near the gutter. Hal burst out laughing, and then ran back and helped the stranger up.

      "Say, wot did yer do dat fer?" demanded the other boy, as soon as he was once more on his feet.

      "Tit for tat, you know," returned Hal. "I guess you're not hurt, are you?"

      The stranger stared at Hal. He had never met with such a kindly answer before.

      "Hurt! o' course I ain't hurt," he returned, slowly.

      "You threw at me first, didn't you?"

      "Wot if I did?"

      "Nothing, only that's why I threw back."

      The stranger stared at Hal for a moment.

      "Who are you?" he asked, abruptly.

      "My name is Hal Carson. What's yours?"

      "Jack McCabe."

      Hal held out his hand.

      "I'm glad to know you. I just came to New York, and I only know one person here."

      "Git out! is dat so?" Jack McCabe shook hands rather gingerly. "Den yer ain't one o' der boys, is yer?"

      "What boys?"

      "Der fellers around town."

      "Hardly."

      "Got work here?"

      "I expect to get work from a man in Wall Street."

      "Goin' ter be a broker, hey?" grinned Jack.

      "Here, get to work there, you lazy dog!" shouted a man from the inside of a near-by store, and Jack dropped his conversation and began to clean off the sidewalk with vigor.

      Hal walked on. He did not know under what exciting circumstances he was to meet Jack McCabe again.

      Promptly at ten o'clock Hal presented himself at the number given him on Wall Street. The sign over the door read Sumner, Allen & Co., Brokers.

      He opened the door and entered. There was a small place in the front partitioned from the rear office by a counter and a brass grating.

      A man sat writing at a desk in the rear. He glanced at Hal, and seeing it was only a boy, went on with his work.

      Five minutes passed. Then the man swung around leisurely, got down from his stool, and came forward.

      As soon as Hal caught sight of the man's face he was astonished.

      It was Hardwick, the fellow whose conversation he had overheard on the ferry boat the evening before.

      CHAPTER III.

      A SERIOUS CHARGE

      "What do you want?" asked Hardwick abruptly.

      "Is Mr. Sumner in?" returned Hal.

      "No."

      "Then I'll wait till he comes."

      Hardwick stared at Hal.

      "Won't I do?" he asked sharply.

      "I'm afraid not, sir."

      "What do you want to see him about?"

      "He asked me to call," replied the youth. He was not particularly pleased with Hardwick's manner.

      "I am the book-keeper here, and I generally transact business during Mr. Sumner's absence."

      "Mr. Sumner asked me to meet him here at ten o'clock."

      "Oh! You know him, then?"

      "Not very well."

      "I thought not." Hardwick glanced at Hal's shabby clothes. "Well, you had better wait outside until he comes. We don't allow loungers about the office."

      "I will," said Hal, and he turned to leave.

      It was bitter cold outside, but he would have preferred being on the sidewalk than being in the way, especially when such a man as Felix Hardwick was around.

      But, as he turned to leave, a coach drove up to the door, and Mr. Sumner alighted. His face lit up with a smile when he caught sight of Hal.

      "Well, my young friend, I see you are on time," he said, catching Hal by the shoulder, and turning him back into the office.

      "Yes, sir."

      "That's right." Mr. Sumner turned to Hardwick. "Where is Dick?" he asked.

      "I don't know, sir," returned the book-keeper.

      "Hasn't he been here this morning?"

      "I think not."

      "The sidewalk ought to be cleaned. That boy evidently doesn't want work."

      "I will clean the walk, if you wish me to," put in Hal.

      "I have an office boy who is expected to do such things," replied Mr. Sumner. "That is, when the janitor of the building doesn't get at it in time. But he is getting more negligent every day. Yes, you might as well do the job, and then come into the back office and have a talk with me."

      "Yes, sir."

      "Mr. Hardwick, just show Carson where the shovel and broom are."

      The book-keeper scowled.

      "This way," he said, and led the boy to a small closet under a stairs.

      Just as Hal was about to leave the office with the broom and the shovel, a tall, well dressed boy entered.

      He was whistling at a lively rate, but stopped short on seeing Mr. Sumner.

      "Well, Ferris, this is a pretty time to come around," said the broker, sharply.

      "I couldn't help it," returned the boy, who was considerably older than Hal, and had coarse features and fiery red hair.

      "Why not?"

      "My aunt forgot to call me."

      "That is a poor excuse."

      Dick Ferris began to drum on the railing with his flat hands.

      "Didn't I tell you to be here every morning at nine o'clock?" went on the broker. "I am sure that is not very early for any one."

      "'Tain't my fault when it snows like this," returned the boy. "My aunt ought to call me."

      "Did you arrange that file of papers yesterday afternoon after I left?" continued Mr. Sumner.

      "I was going to do that this morning."

      "I told you to do it yesterday. You had plenty of time."

      "I

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