He was not as successful proportionately as the previous
afternoon. Still his share of the profits amounted to a dollar and
twelve cents, and he felt quite satisfied. His sales had been fifty
per cent. more than George Barry's average sales, and that was doing
remarkably well, considering that the business was a new one to him.
The next morning about ten o'clock, as he stood behind his stand, he saw
a stout gentleman approaching from the direction of the Astor House.
He remembered him as the one with whom he had accidentally come in
collision when he was in pursuit of Mike Donovan. Having been invited to
speak to him, he determined to do so.
"Good-morning, sir," said Paul, politely.
"Eh? Did you speak to me?" inquired the stout gentleman.
"Yes, sir; I bade you good-morning."
"Good-morning. I don't remember you, though. What's your name?"
"Paul Hoffman. Don't you remember my running against you a day or two
since?"
"Oho! you're the boy, then. You nearly knocked the breath out of me."
"I am very sorry, sir."
"Of course you didn't mean to. Is this your stand?"
"No, sir; I am tending for the owner, who is sick."
"Does he pay you well?"
"He gives me half the profits."
"And does that pay you for your labor?"
"I can earn about a dollar a day."
"That is good. It is more than I earned when I was of your age.
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