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size, who presided over an apple-stand close by.

      Frank laughed.

      "If that is the case," he said, "I think I will patronize her."

      "Leave it to me," said Dick, winking.

      He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, "Old lady, have you paid your taxes?"

      The astonished woman opened her eyes.

      "I'm a gov'ment officer," said Dick, "sent by the mayor to collect your taxes. I'll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay what you're owin' to the gov'ment."

      "I don't know nothing about no taxes," said the old woman, in bewilderment.

      "Then," said Dick, "I'll let you off this time. Give us two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will pay you."

      Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, Dick remarking, "If these apples aint good, old lady, we'll return 'em, and get our money back." This would have been rather difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed.

      Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted by a cupola.

      "That's where the mayor's office is," said Dick. "Him and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by partic'lar appointment. That's the way I pay my city taxes."

      CHAPTER V

      CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY

      They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of ready-made clothing shops, many of which had half their stock in trade exposed on the sidewalk. The proprietors of these establishments stood at the doors, watching attentively the passersby, extending urgent invitations to any who even glanced at the goods to enter.

      "Walk in, young gentlemen," said a stout man, at the entrance of one shop.

      "No, I thank you," replied Dick, "as the fly said to the spider."

      "We're selling off at less than cost."

      "Of course you be. That's where you makes your money," said Dick. "There aint nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any profit on his goods."

      The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn't quite comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with his companion.

      In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.

      "I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. It's a frightful sacrifice. Who'll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen shillings! Why the cloth cost more by the yard!"

      This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three men, holding in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in the legs, and presenting a cheap Bowery look.

      Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them knocked down to rather a verdant-looking individual at three dollars.

      "Clothes seem to be pretty cheap here," said Frank.

      "Yes, but Baxter Street is the cheapest place."

      "Is it?"

      "Yes. Johnny Nolan got a whole rig-out there last week, for a dollar,—coat, cap, vest, pants, and shoes. They was very good measure, too, like my best clothes that I took off to oblige you."

      "I shall know where to come for clothes next time," said Frank, laughing. "I had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country. I suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fashionable?"

      "In course they are. Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes. When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I can't go the white hat. It aint becomin' to my style of beauty."

      A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small printed handbills. One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,—

      "GRAND CLOSING-OUT SALE!—A variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles for Sale, at a Dollar apiece. Unparalleled Inducements! Walk in, Gentlemen!"

      "Whereabouts is this sale?" asked Frank.

      "In here, young gentlemen," said a black-whiskered individual, who appeared suddenly on the scene. "Walk in."

      "Shall we go in, Dick?"

      "It's a swindlin' shop," said Dick, in a low voice. "I've been there. That man's a regular cheat. He's seen me before, but he don't know me coz of my clothes."

      "Step in and see the articles," said the man, persuasively. "You needn't buy, you know."

      "Are all the articles worth more'n a dollar?" asked Dick.

      "Yes," said the other, "and some worth a great deal more."

      "Such as what?"

      "Well, there's a silver pitcher worth twenty dollars."

      "And you sell it for a dollar. That's very kind of you," said Dick, innocently.

      "Walk in, and you'll understand it."

      "No, I guess not," said Dick. "My servants is so dishonest that I wouldn't like to trust 'em with a silver pitcher. Come along, Frank. I hope you'll succeed in your charitable enterprise of supplyin' the public with silver pitchers at nineteen dollars less than they are worth."

      "How does he manage, Dick?" asked Frank, as they went on.

      "All his articles are numbered, and he makes you pay a dollar, and then shakes some dice, and whatever the figgers come to, is the number of the article you draw. Most of 'em aint worth sixpence."

      A hat and cap store being close at hand, Dick and Frank went in. For seventy-five cents, which Frank insisted on paying, Dick succeeded in getting quite a neat-looking cap, which corresponded much better with his appearance than the one he had on. The last, not being considered worth keeping, Dick dropped on the sidewalk, from which, on looking back, he saw it picked up by a brother boot-black who appeared to consider it better than his own.

      They retraced their steps and went up Chambers Street to Broadway. At the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street is a large white marble warehouse, which attracted Frank's attention.

      "What building is that?" he asked, with interest.

      "That belongs to my friend A. T. Stewart," said Dick. "It's the biggest store on Broadway.2 If I ever retire from boot-blackin', and go into mercantile pursuits, I may buy him out, or build another store that'll take the shine off this one."

      "Were you ever in the store?" asked Frank.

      "No," said Dick; "but I'm intimate with one of Stewart's partners.

      He is a cash boy, and does nothing but take money all day."

      "A very agreeable employment," said Frank, laughing.

      "Yes," said Dick, "I'd like to be in it."

      The boys crossed to the West side of Broadway, and walked slowly up the street. To Frank it was a very interesting spectacle. Accustomed to the quiet of the country, there was something fascinating in the crowds of people thronging the sidewalks, and the great variety of vehicles constantly passing and repassing in the street. Then again the shop-windows with their multifarious contents interested and amused him, and he was constantly checking Dick to look in at some well-stocked window.

      "I don't see how so many shopkeepers can find people enough to buy of them," he said. "We haven't got but two stores in our village, and Broadway seems to be full of them."

      "Yes," said Dick; "and its pretty much the same in the avenoos, 'specially the Third, Sixth, and Eighth avenoos. The Bowery, too, is a great place for shoppin'. There everybody sells cheaper'n anybody else, and nobody pretends to make no profit on their goods."

      "Where's

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