boys who have a good home are apt to undervalue it. they do not realize the comfort of having their daily wants provided for without any anxiety on their part. they are apt to fancy that they would like to go out into the great world to seek their fortunes. sometimes it may be necessary and expedient to leave the safe anchorage of home, and brave the dangers of the unknown sea; but no boy should do this without his parents' consent, nor then, without making up his mind that he will need all his courage and all his resolution to obtain success.

sam found himself penniless in a great city, and with no way open, that he could think of, to earn money. even the business of the boot-black, humble as it is, required a small capital to buy a brush and box of blacking. so, too, a newsboy must pay for his papers when he gets them, unless he is well known. so sam, sitting on the door-step, felt that he was in a tight place. where was he to get his dinner from? he did not care to repeat his operation of the morning, for it was not pleasant to be "bounced."

"i wonder if i couldn't get a chance in a store," he thought. "that wouldn't need any money. there seems to be a lot of stores in the city. i guess there must be a place for me somewhere."

this thought encouraged sam. he rose from his lowly seat, and determined to look about for a place. presently he came to a real-estate office. sam did not understand very well what kind of a business that was, but on the window a piece of paper was pasted, on which was written, "a boy wanted."

"i guess i'll go in," thought sam. "maybe they'll take me."

there were three boys ahead of him; but they were not very eligible-looking specimens. so they were dismissed with small ceremony, and sam was beckoned to the desk.

"i suppose you have come about the place," said a man with black whiskers, and a pen behind his ear.

"yes," answered sam.

"how old are you?"

"twelve."

"rather young. still you are large of your age."

"i am pretty strong," said sam, anxious to succeed in his application.

"there isn't any work to be done that requires strength," said the black-whiskered man. "how is your education?"

"pretty good," said sam, with hesitation.

"do you live in the city?"

"yes, sir."

"with your parents?"

"no, sir. they are dead."

"that is an objection. perhaps, however, you live with an aunt or uncle. that will answer as well."

"yes," said sam, determined to obviate this objection. "i live with my uncle."

"where does he live?"

"in new york," answered sam.

"don't you understand me? i mean to ask the street and number."

sam was posed. he could not at the moment think of the name of any street except broadway. but it would not do to hesitate. so he said promptly, "he lives at no. 656 broadway."

"what is his business?" inquired the black-whiskered man.

"he keeps a store," answered sam, feeling that he was getting deeper and deeper into the mire.

"what sort of a store?"

"a grocery store."

"what, at 656 broadway?" demanded the other, in surprise. "i didn't know there was a grocery store in that neighborhood."

"oh, murder!" thought sam. "i'm found out."

he made no answer, because he could not think of any.

"why don't your father give you a place in his own store?" asked the real-estate agent, with some suspicion in his tone.

"he's got all the help he wants," said sam, quickly.

here another boy entered the office, a boy neatly dressed, and intelligent in appearance.

"sit down a moment," said the agent to sam, "while i speak with this other lad."

sam took a seat, and listened to the conversation with the other boy. the conclusion of the matter was, that the other boy was engaged and sam was obliged to go out to offer his services in some other quarter.

"what a lot of lies i had to tell!" he reflected. "what's the use of their asking so many questions? i don't see. i'll have to try somewhere else."

as sam was sauntering along he was accosted by a tall man, evidently from the country.

"boy, can you direct me to the 'tribune' office?"

"yes, sir," said sam, "but it's some ways from here. it'll be worth ten cents to lead you there."

the gentleman hesitated.

"well," he said after a pause, "i'll give it to you."

"will you give it to me now?" asked sam.

"i will pay you when you have done your work."

"the reason i asked was, because i showed a man the other day, and then he wouldn't pay me."

"that was mean," said the stranger. "i hope you don't think i would serve you so."

"oh, no, sir. you're a gentleman," said sam. "you wouldn't cheat a poor boy that hasn't had any breakfast this mornin'."

"dear me! you don't say so?" ejaculated the compassionate stranger, shocked at sam's fiction. "here, take this twenty-five cents. do you often have to go without your breakfast?"

"often, sir," said sam, unblushingly. "it's hard times for poor boys like me."

"there's another quarter," said the stranger, his compassion still more deeply moved.

sam did feel some compunction now, for he was about to make a very poor return for the kindness of his new acquaintance. the fact was, he had not the slightest idea where the "tribune" office was, and he had therefore undertaken what he was unable to perform. but he had gone too far to recede. besides, he did not feel prepared to give up the money which he had obtained through false pretences. so counterfeiting a confidence which he did not feel he led the way up centre street, saying, "this way, sir. i'll lead you right to the office."

"i never was at the office," said the stranger, "though i've been a subscriber to the weekly 'tribune' for ten years."

"that's a good while," said sam.

"it is indeed, my boy. i live in illinois, more than a thousand miles from this city. indeed, i have never been in new york before."

"haven't you?"

"no; now you, i suppose, my young friend, know your way all about the city."

"of course i do," said sam, in an off-hand manner.

"if i had more time, i would get you to guide me round the city," said the stranger.

"wouldn't i lead you a wild-goose chase, old gentleman?" thought sam. "you'd be pretty well taken in, i guess."

"i am obliged to go away to-night," continued the old gentleman, "but i thought i would renew my subscription to the 'tribune' before i went."

"all right, sir; it's a nice paper," said sam, who had never read a line in the "tribune."

"so i think. are we almost at the office?"

"almost," said sam. "if you don't mind waiting i'll run over and speak to my cousin a minute."

there was a boot-black on the opposite side of the street. it struck sam, who did not like to deceive so generous a patron, that he could obtain the information he needed of this boy.

"can you tell me where the 'tribune' office is?" he asked hurriedly.

the boot-black had no more scruples about lying than sam, and answered, glibly, pointing to the tombs prison, a little farther on, "do you see that big stone buildin'?"

"yes," said sam.

"that's it."

"thank you," said sam, feeling relieved, and never doubting the correctness of this statement.

he returned to the stranger, and said, cheerfully, "we're almost there."

"is that boy your cousin?" asked his acquaintance.

"yes," said sam.

"he blacks boots for a living."

"yes, sir."

"does he do well at it?"

"pretty well."

"did you ever black boots?"

"no, sir," answered sam, telling the truth by way of variety.

"that's the tribune office," said sam, a moment later, pointing to the gloomy-looking prison.

"is it?" echoed the stranger, in surprise. "really, it's a very massive structure."

"yes," said sam, mistaking the word employed, "it's very massy."

"it doesn't look much like a newspaper office."

for the first time sam began to suspect that he had been deceived, and he naturally felt in a hurry to get away.

"you go right in," he said, confidently, "and they'll attend to you inside. now i'll go and get some breakfast."

"to be sure. you must be hungry."

the stranger walked up the massive steps, and sam hurried away.

"i wonder what place that is, anyhow," he said to himself. "now i've got money enough for dinner."

for a country boy sam was getting along fast.