Publisher's Synopsis
"Twenty-five cents to begin the world with!" reflected Frank Kavanagh, drawing from his vest-pocket two ten-cent pieces of currency and a nickel. "That isn't much, but it will have to do." The speaker, a boy of fifteen, was sitting on a bench in City-Hall Park. He was apparently about fifteen years old, with a face not handsome, but frank and good-humored, and an expression indicating an energetic and hopeful temperament. A small bundle, rolled up in a handkerchief, contained his surplus wardrobe. He had that day arrived in New York by a boat from Hartford, and meant to stay in the city if he could make a living. Next to him sat a man of thirty-five, shabbily dressed, who clearly was not a member of any temperance society, if an inflamed countenance and red nose may be trusted. Frank Kavanagh's display of money attracted his attention, for, small as was the boy's capital, it was greater than his own. "Been long in the city, Johnny?" he inquired. "I only arrived to-day," answered Frank. "My name isn't Johnny, though." "It's immaterial. Johnny is a generic term," said the stranger. "I suppose you have come here to make your fortune." "I shall be satisfied with a living to begin with," said Frank. "Where did you come from?" "A few miles from Hartford." "Got any relations there?" "Yes, -an uncle and aunt." "I suppose you were sorry to leave them."
