Book Description

"Herald, Times, Tribune! All the news of the day! Have a paper, sir? All about the terrible fire in Harlem! Two lives lost!"High and clear above the din made by the cabs, trucks, and street cars a boyish voice could be heard. The speaker was but fifteen years of age, tall and thin, with a face that betokened a refinement unusual to such a station in life. But if the lad's look was above the average, his clothes were not, for they were in tatters, while the hat and shoes he wore had seen far better days."A fire in Harlem, eh?" queried a stout gentleman, as he stopped short in front of the newsboy."Yes, sir; a big one, too, sir. Which paper will you have?""Which has the most in about the fire?""All about the same, sir. Better take 'em all, sir. Then you'll be sure to have all the news," added the newsboy shrewdly.At this the stout gentleman laughed."I don't know but what you are right," he said. "Give me one of each."The words were scarcely uttered when the newsboy had the papers ready for him. Taking the several sheets, the stout man passed over a dime and started to cross the crowded thoroughfare."Change, sir!" cried the boy, and dove into his pocket for a handful of cents."Never mind the change, lad.""Thank you, sir!" The newsboy wheeled quickly. "Herald, Times, Tribune! Who'll have a paper? All the latest news! Extra!"The stout man stepped from the curb into the gutter, and there halted to let a truck go by. As he waited he began to scan one of the newspapers he had purchased. Suddenly he gave a violent start."Fire in the Starmore apartment house!" he muttered. "The building I purchased only last month! What bad luck is this?"Still staring at the newspaper, he passed onward behind the heavy truck. Another truck and a street car were coming from the opposite direction, and both traveling at a good rate of speed."Hi! look out!" yelled the truck-driver, and the street-car bell clanged violently. But the stout man was too absorbed in the newspaper to heed the warnings.The cry of the truck-driver reached the ears of the quick-witted newsboy, and in a flash he saw the danger."Oh, the gentleman will be run over!" he muttered, and throwing his papers on the pavement, he made a leap into the street and grabbed the man by the arm. Just as he drew the stout individual back the truck horse plunged forward, grazing the man's side. Had it not been for the newsboy, the stout gentleman would have collapsed in the gutter. But as it was each, in a moment more, gained the pavement in safety."Phew! that was a narrow escape," puffed the stout gentleman, as soon as he could get back some of the wind he had lost in his consternation."So it was," answered the newsboy, as he stepped about to pick up his scattering stock in trade.The stout gentleman brought out a large handkerchief and began to mop his face, for the excitement had put him into a perspiration."My lad, you've done me a great service," he went on, after the boy had collected his papers."That's all right, sir," was the ready reply. "Sorry you lost your papers. The truck cut 'em up, and they are all muddy, besides.""Never mind the papers-you can sell me another set. But I want to thank you for what you did for me.""You're welcome, sir. Here's the other set of papers.""If it hadn't been for you, I might have fallen under that horse and truck!" The stout man shuddered. "Here is pay for the papers and for your services to me."As he finished he held out a two-dollar bill."Why, it's two dollars!" cried the newsboy in astonishment. Then he added quickly, "I can't change it.""I don't want you to change it. I want you to keep it.""What for?""For what you did for me.""What I did aint worth two dollars.""Let me be the judge of that, my lad. What is your name?""I'm Nelson, sir.""What is your full name?"At this question the boy's face fell, and his mouth trembled a little as he gave his answer."I don't know, sir."