The boy marched straight up to the counter.
“Well, my little man,” said the merchant, “what can I do for you?”
“If you please,” said the boy, “I came in to see if you wouldn’t let me work for you.”
The boy was not yet ten years old, and he was small for his age. But there was something in his speech, or manner that held the man’s attention.
“Do some work for me, eh?” said the man. “What kind of work could you do? You can hardly look over the counter.”
“Oh, yes; I can,” said the little fellow, as he stood on tiptoe and peeped over the counter.
Out of sheer curiosity the merchant came from behind the counter, so as to get a good look at the boy.
“Oh,” he said, “I see you’ve got copper taps on your shoes; I suppose your mother couldn’t keep you in shoes if they didn’t have taps on them!”
“She can’t keep me in shoes anyway, sir,” and the little boy’s voice hesitated.
“I’m older than I look; folks say that I’m small for my age.”
“I’m going on ten,” said Davie, with a look of great importance. “You see,” he continued, “my mother hasn’t anybody but me, and this morning I saw her crying because she could not find five cents in her pocket-book, and she thinks she must have lost it—and it was—the—last cent—that she had—in the world; and—I—have—not—had—any—breakfast, sir.” The voice again hesitated, and tears came into the little boy’s eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry, my little man; I guess I can help you to a breakfast. Here, take this quarter!” He pulled a quarter from his vest pocket and handed it to the boy. The boy shook his head.
“Mother wouldn’t let me beg,” was his simple answer.
“Humph!” said the merchant. “Where is your father?”
“We never heard of him, sir, after he went away. He was lost in the steamer City of New York.”
“That’s too bad. But you’re a plucky little fellow, anyhow. Let me see,” and he looked straight down into the boy’s eyes, and the boy looked straight up at him. Turning to the head man, after awhile, the merchant said:
“Dead, sir; died last night,” was the reply.
“I’m sorry; but here’s a boy you might use. Put him down in No. 5’s place. We’ll try him for awhile, anyhow. What is your name, my little man?” he asked, turning again to the boy.
[Illustration: “THE BOY MARCHED STRAIGHT UP TO THE COUNTER.”]