Luke Walton. Horatio Alger Jr.

      "Most of us do, but I promised my mother I wouldn't smoke till I was twenty-one."

      "Then I'm old enough to smoke. I've smoked ever since I was twelve years old – well, good morning!"

      "That'll do for one day," thought Stephen Webb.

      It was three days before Stephen Webb called again on his new acquaintance. He did not wish Luke to suspect anything, he said to himself. Really, however, he found other things to take up his attention. At the rate his money was going it seemed very doubtful whether he would be able to give his mother any part of his salary, as suggested by his uncle.

      "Hang it all!" he said to himself, as he noted his rapidly diminishing hoard. "Why can't my uncle open his heart and give me more than ten dollars a week? Fifteen dollars wouldn't be any too much, and to him it would be nothing – positively nothing."

      On the second evening Luke went home late. It had been a poor day for him, and his receipts were less than usual, though he had been out more hours.

      When he entered the house, however, he assumed a cheerful look, for he never wished to depress his mother's spirits.

      "You are late, Luke," said Mrs. Walton; "but I have kept your supper warm."

      "What makes you so late, Luke?" asked Bennie.

      "The papers went slow, Bennie. They will, sometimes. There's no very important news just now. I suppose that explains it."

      After a while Luke thought he noticed that his mother looked more serious than usual.

      "What's the matter, mother?" he asked. "Have you a headache?"

      "No, Luke. I am perfectly well, but I am feeling a little anxious."

      "About what, mother?"

      "I went around this afternoon to take half a dozen shirts that I had completed, and asked for more. They told me they had no more for me at present, and they didn't know when I could have any more."

      This was bad news, for Luke knew that he alone did not earn enough to support the family. However, he answered cheerfully: "Don't be anxious, mother! There are plenty of other establishments in Chicago besides the one you have been working for."

      "That is true, Luke; but I don't know whether that will help me. I stopped at two places after leaving Gusset & Co.'s, and was told that their list was full."

      "Well, mother, don't let us think of it to-night! To morrow we can try again."

      Luke's cheerfulness had its effect on his mother, and the evening was passed socially.

      The next morning Luke went out to work at the usual time. He had all his papers sold out by half-past ten o'clock, and walked over to State Street, partly to fill up the time, arid partly in search of some stray job. He was standing in front of the Bee Hive, a well-known drygoods store on State Street, when his attention was called to an old lady, who, in attempting to cross the street, had imprudently placed herself just in the track of a rapidly advancing cable car. Becoming sensible of her danger, the old lady uttered a terrified cry, but was too panic-stricken to move.

      On came the car, with gong sounding out its alarm, and a cry of horror went up from the bystanders.

      Luke alone seemed to have his wits about him.

      He saw that there was not a moment to lose, and, gathering up his strength, dashed to the old lady's assistance.