"You don't mean to say you swallow all that?" he said.

"Don't you think it's all right?" asked Ben anxiously.

"Look here," said the street boy, "do you think anybody's going to
pay a boy ten dollars a week, when there's hundreds ready to work
for three or four? Why, a man in Pearl Street advertised last week
for a boy at three dollars, and there was a whole shoal of boys went
for it. I was one of 'em."

"Don't you earn more than that by your business?"

"Sometimes I do, but it ain't stiddy, and I'd rather have a place."

"Why do they advertise to give ten dollars, then?" asked our hero.

"They want to get hold of your fifty dollars," said the bootblack.
"Them fellers is beats, that's what they are."

"What had I better do?" asked Ben, in perplexity.

"Go and see 'em, and have a talk. If they're not after your fifty
dollars, you'll know what it means."

"It may be all right, after all," said Ben, who did not like to give
up hope.

"I may be General Grant," retorted the bootblack, "but if I know
myself I ain't."