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Phil knew of no better way, and he followed Signor

Orlando's advice.
After a frugal breakfast at the Bowery restaurant,

he invested a few pennies in the two papers
mentioned, and began to go the rounds.

The first place was in Pearl Street.
He entered, and was directed to a desk in the

front part of the store.
"You advertised for a boy," he said.

"We've got one," was the brusque reply.
Of course no more was to be said, and Phil walked

out, a little dashed at his first rebuff.
At the next place he found some half a dozen boys

waiting, and joined the line, but the vacancy was
filled before his turn came.

At the next place his appearance seemed to make
a good impression, and he was asked several questions.

"What is your name?"
"Philip Brent."

"How old are you?"
"Just sixteen."

"How is your education?"
"I have been to school since I was six."

"Then you ought to know something. Have you
ever been in a place?"

"No, sir."
"Do you live with your parents?"

"No, sir; I have just come to the city, and am
lodging in Fifth Street."

"Then you won't do. We wish our boys to live
with their parents."

Poor Phil! He had allowed himself to hope that
at length he was likely to get a place. The abrupt

termination of the conversation dispirited him.
He made three more applications. In one of them

he again came near succeeding, but once more the
fact that he did not live with his parents defeated

his application.
"It seems to be very hard getting a place,"

thought Phil, and it must be confessed he felt a little
homesick.

"I won't make any more applications to-day," he
decided, and being on Broadway, walked up that

busy thoroughfare, wondering what the morrow
would bring forth.

It was winter, and there was ice on the sidewalk.
Directly in front of Phil walked an elderly gentleman,

whose suit of fine broadcloth and gold spectacles,
seemed to indicate a person of some prominence

and social importance.
Suddenly he set foot on a treacherous piece of ice.

Vainly he strove to keep his equilibrium, his arms
waving wildly, and his gold-headed cane falling to

the sidewalk. He would have fallen backward, had
not Phil, observing his danger in time, rushed to his

assistance.
CHAPTER VIII.

THE HOUSE IN TWELFTH STREET.
With some difficulty the gentleman righted

himself, and then Phil picked up his cane.
"I hope you are not hurt, sir?" he said.

"I should have been but for you, my good boy,"
said the gentleman. "I am a little shaken by the

suddenness of my slipping."
"Would you wish me to go with you, sir?"

"Yes, if you please. I do not perhaps require
you, but I shall be glad of your company."

"Thank you, sir."
"Do you live in the city?"

"Yes, sir; that is, I propose to do so. I have
come here in search of employment."

Phil said this, thinking it possible that the old
gentleman might exert his influence in his favor.

"Are you dependent on what you may earn?"
asked the gentleman, regarding him attentively.

"I have a little money, sir, but when that is gone
I shall need to earn something."

"That is no misfortune. It is a good thing for a
boy to be employed. Otherwise he is liable to get

into mischief."
"At any rate, I shall be glad to find work, sir."

"Have you appliedanywhere yet?"
Phil gave a little account of his unsuccessful

applications, and the objections that had been made to
him.

"Yes, yes," said the old gentleman thoughtfully,
"more confidence is placed in a boy who lives with

his parents."
The two walked on together until they reached

Twelfth Street. It was a considerable walk, and
Phil was surprised that his companion should walk,

when he could easily have taken a Broadway stage,
but the old gentleman explained this himself.

"I find it does me good," he said, "to spend some
time in the open air, and even if walking tires me it

does me good."
At Twelfth Street they turned off.

"I am living with a married niece," he said, "just
on the other side of Fifth Avenue."

At the door of a handsome four-story house, with
a brown-stone front, the old gentleman paused, and

told Phil that this was his residence.
"Then, sir, I will bid you good-morning," said

Phil.
"No, no; come in and lunch with me," said Mr.

Carter hospitably.
He had, by the way, mentioned that his name was

Oliver Carter, and that he was no longer actively
engaged in business, but was a silent partner in the

firm of which his nephew by marriage was the
nominal head.

"Thank you, sir," answered Phil.
He was sure that the invitation was intended to

be accepted, and he saw no reason why he should
not accept it.

"Hannah," said the old gentleman to the servant
who opened the door, "tell your mistress that I

have brought a boy home to dinner with me."
"Yes, sir," answered Hannah, surveying Phil in

some surprise.
"Come up to my room, my young friend," said

Mr. Carter. "You may want to prepare for
lunch."

Mr. Carter had two connecting rooms on the
second floor, one of which he used as a bed-chamber.

The furniture was handsome and costly, and
Phil, who was not used to city houses, thought it

luxurious.
Phil washed his face and hands, and brushed his

hair. Then a bell rang, and following his new
friend, he went down to lunch.

Lunch was set out in the front basement. When
Phil and Mr. Carter entered the room a lady was

standing by the fire, and beside her was a boy of
about Phil's age. The lady was tall and slender,

with light-brown hair and cold gray eyes.
"Lavinia," said Mr. Carter, "I have brought a

young friend with me to lunch."
"So I see," answered the lady. "Has he been

here before?"
"No; he is a new acquaintance."

"I would speak to him if I knew his name."
"His name is----"

Here the old gentleman hesitated, for in truth he
had forgotten.

"Philip Brent."
"You may sit down here, Mr. Brent," said Mrs.

Pitkin, for this was the lady's name.
"Thank you, ma'am."

"And so you made my uncle's acquaintance this
morning?" she continued, herself taking a seat at

the head of the table.
"Yes; he was of service to me," answered Mr.

Carter for him. "I had lost my balance, and should
have had a heavy fall if Philip had not come to my

assistance."
"He was very kind, I am sure," said Mrs. Pitkin,

but her tone was very cold.
"Philip," said Mr. Carter, "this is my grand-

nephew, Alonzo Pitkin."
He indicated the boy already referred to.

"How do you do?" said Alonzo, staring at Philip
not very cordially.

"Very well, thank you," answered Philip politely.
"Where do you live?" asked Alonzo, after a

moment's hesitation.
"In Fifth Street."

"That's near the Bowery, isn't it?"
"Yes."

The boy shrugged his shoulders and exchanged a
significant look with his mother.

Fifth Street was not a fashionable street--indeed
quite the reverse, and Phil's answer showed that he

was a nobody. Phil himself had begun to suspect
that he was unfashionably located, but he felt that

until his circumstances improved he might as well
remain where he was.

But, though he lived in an unfashionable street, it
could not be said that Phil, in his table manners,

showed any lack of good breeding. He seemed
quite at home at Mrs. Pitkin's table, and in fact

acted with greater propriety than Alonzo, who was
addicted to fast eating and greediness.

"Couldn't you walk home alone, Uncle Oliver?"
asked Mrs. Pitkin presently.

"Yes."
"Then it was a pity to trouble Mr. Brent to come

with you."
"It was no trouble," responded Philip promptly,

though he suspected that it was not consideration
for him that prompted the remark.

"Yes, I admit that I was a little selfish in taking
up my young friend's time," said the old gentleman

cheerfully; "but I infer, from what he tells me,
that it is not particularly valuable just now."

"Are you in a business position, Mr. Brent?"
asked Mrs. Pitkin.

"No, madam. I was looking for a place this
morning."

"Have you lived for some time in the city?"
"No; I came here only yesterday from the country."



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