"Do you want any cash boys?" inquired Frank.
"Are you inquiring for yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are too large. Besides, you would not be satisfied with the wages?"
"How much do you pay, sir?"
"Two dollars a week."
"No; I don't think I should like to work for that," said Frank. "Are
those cash boys?" he asked, pointing out some boys of apparently ten to
twelve years, old, who were flitting about from desk to counter.
"Yes."
"I see they are much younger than I. Excuse the trouble I have given
you!"
"None whatever," said the man, politely.
Frank left the store, and continued his walk down Broadway.
He began to feel a little serious. It was evident that the boys did not
receive as large compensation for their services as he had supposed.
The problem promised to be a perplexing one, but Frank was by no means
discouraged. In fact, if he had been, he would hardly have deserved to
be the hero of my story.
Though Clinton Place is not very far uptown, it is a considerable walk
from this point to the Astor House.
There was so much to see, however, that Frank did not become tired, nor
was he sensible of the distance.
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