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      The Princess and Joe Potter

      CHAPTER I.

      A RUINED MERCHANT

      "Hello, Joe Potter! What you doin' up in this part of the town?"

      The boy thus addressed halted suddenly, looked around with what was very like an expression of fear on his face, and then, recognising the speaker, replied, in a tone of relief:

      "Oh, it's you, is it, Plums?"

      "Of course it's me. Who else did you think it was? Say, what you doin' 'round here? Who's tendin' for you now?"

      "Nobody."

      "It don't seem as though this was the time of day when you could afford to shut up shop."

      "But that's what I have done."

      "Got some 'portant business up here at the depot, eh?"

      Joe shook his head mournfully, stepped back a few paces that he might lean against the building, and looked about him with a languid air, much as if there was no longer anything pleasing for him in life.

      Plums, or to give him his full name, George H. Plummer, gazed at his friend in mild surprise.

      Any other boy of Joe Potter's acquaintance would have been astonished at the great change which had come over him; but Plums was not given to excesses of any kind, save in the way of eating. That which would have excited an ordinary lad only served to arouse Plums in a mild degree, and perhaps it was this natural apathy which served to give Master Plummer such an accumulation of flesh. He was what might be called a very fat boy, and was never known to move with sufficient energy to reduce his weight.

      Sim Jepson stated that Plums sold newspapers in the vicinity of the Grand Central Station because he lived only a couple of blocks away, and therefore had sufficient time to walk to his place of business during the forenoon.

      "How he ever earns enough to pay for fillin' hisself up is more'n I can make out," Master Jepson had said, with an air of perplexity. "By the time he's sold ten papers, he's ate the profits off of twenty, an' acts like he was hungrier than when he begun."

      As Plums waited for, rather than solicited, customers, he gazed in an indolent fashion at the dejected-looking friend, who might have served, as he stood leaning against the building on this particular June day, as a statue of misery.

      Joe Potter was as thin as his friend was stout, and, ordinarily, as active as Plums was indolent. His listless bearing now served to arouse Master Plummer's curiosity as nothing else could have done.

      "Business been good down your way?" he finally asked.

      "It's mighty bad. I got stuck on a bunch of bananas, and lost thirty-two cents last week. Then oranges went down till you couldn't hardly see 'em, an' I bought a box when they was worth two dollars. It seems like as if every Italian in the city, what ain't blackin' boots, has started a fruit-stand, an' it's jest knocked the eye out of business."

      "I shouldn't think you could afford to lay 'round up here if it is as bad as all that."

      "It don't make any difference where I am now, 'cause I've busted; Plums, I've busted. Failed up yesterday, an' have got jest sixteen cents to my name."

      "Busted!" Master Plummer exclaimed. "Why, you told me you had more'n seven dollars when you started that fruit-stand down on West Street."

      "Seven dollars an' eighty-three cents was the figger, Plums, an' here's what's left of it."

      Joe took from his pocket a handful of pennies, counting them slowly to assure himself he had made no mistake in the sum total.

      Master Plummer was so overwhelmed by the sad tidings, that two intending purchasers passed him by after waiting several seconds to be served, and Joe reminded him of his inattention to business by saying, sharply:

      "Look here, Plums, you mustn't shut down on business jest 'cause I've busted. Why don't you sell papers when you get the chance?"

      "I didn't see anybody what wanted one. I'm jest knocked silly, Joe, about your hard luck. How did it happen?"

      "That's what I can't seem to make out. I kept on sellin' stuff, an' of course had to buy more; but every night the money was smaller an' smaller, till I didn't have much of any left."

      "I felt kind of 'fraid you was swellin' too big, Joe. When a feller agrees to give five dollars a month rent, an' hires a clerk for a dollar a week, same's you did, he's takin' a pretty good contract on his shoulders. Did you pay Sim Jepson his wages all right?"

      "Yes, I kept square with him, and I guess that's where most of my money went. Sim owns the stand now."

      "He owns it? Why, he was your clerk."

      "Don't you s'pose I know that? But he was gettin' a dollar a week clean money, an' it counted up in time. If things had been the other way, most likely I'd own the place to-day."

      Master Plummer was silent for an instant, and then a smile as of satisfaction overspread his fat face.

      "I'll tell you how to do it, Joe: hire out to Sim, an' after a spell you'll get the stand back ag'in."

      "That won't work; I tried it. You see, when it come yesterday, I owed him a dollar for wages, an' thirty cents I'd borrowed. There wasn't more'n ninety cents' worth of stuff in the stand, an' Sim said he'd got to be paid right sharp. Of course I couldn't raise money when I'd jest the same's failed, an' told him so. He offered to square things if I'd give him the business; an' what else could I do? I left there without a cent to my name; but earned a quarter last night, an' here's what's left of it."

      The ruined merchant mournfully jingled the coins in his hand, while he gazed dreamily at the railway structure overhead, and Master Plummer regarded him sympathetically.

      "What you goin' to do now?" the fat boy asked, after a long pause.

      "That's jest what I don't know, Plums. If I had the money, I reckon I'd take up shinin' for a spell, even if the Italians are knockin' the life out of business."

      "Why don't you sell papers, same's you used to?"

      "Well, you see when I went into the fruit-stand I sold out my rights 'round the City Hall, to Dan Fernald, an' it wouldn't be the square thing for me to jump in down there ag'in."

      "There's plenty of chances up-town."

      "I don't know about that. S'posen I started right here, then I'd be rubbin' against you; an' it's pretty much the same everywhere. I tell you, Plums, there's too many folks in this city. I ain't so certain but I shall go for a sailor; they say there's money in that business."

      "S'posen there was barrels in it, how could you get any out?" and in his astonishment that Joe should have considered such a plan even for a moment, Master Plummer very nearly grew excited. "You ain't big enough to shin up the masts, an' take in sails, an' all that sort of work, same's sailors have to do."

      "I'd grow to it, of course. I don't expect I could go down to the docks an' get a chance right off as a first-class hand on masts an' sails; but I shouldn't go on a vessel, you know, Plums. I'm countin' on a steamboat, where there ain't any shinnin' round to be done. Them fellers that run on the Sound steamers have snaps, that's what they have. You know my stand was on West Street, where I saw them all, and the money they spend! It don't seem like as if half a dollar was any account to 'em."

      "But what could you do on a steamboat?"

      "I don't know yet; but I'll snoop 'round before the summer's over, an' find out. Where you livin' now?"

      "Well, say, Joe, you can talk 'bout steamboat snaps; but this house of mine lays over 'em all. I s'pose I've got about the swellest layout in this city, an' don't have to give up a cent for it, either. First off McDaniels counted on chargin' me rent, an' after I'd been there a couple of days he said it didn't seem right to take money, 'cause the place wasn't fit for a dog. I'll tell you what it is, if McDaniels keeps his dogs in any better shanty than that, they must be livin' on the fat of the land."

      "Who's McDaniels?"

      "He's the blacksmith what owns the shanty where I live. You see, it was like this: I allers sold him a paper

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