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HEN I was a young man, about thirty years of age, I came to the city to make my fortune. I had no profession and was ready to do anything honorable that promised me fair wages. To save my money, I boarded with another young fellow who was also looking for work. He was hardly more than a boy, about fifteen, I think, but he may have been younger.

His name was Marmaduke Perron, and I think he must have been French, he was always so gay and confident. Nothing made him blue. Even when we had spent all but enough to pay one week's board he would not be discouraged. He went every day to answer advertisements or to ask for work.

I was older, came of Scotch stock, and was more easily disheartened.

One day, after a long tramp about the city without finding anything except an agency to sell very poor s, I came in, and settled down by our little cylinder stove, entirely hopeless. I had about made up my mind to go back to my country home, when Marmaduke came in. He seemed very jolly, and for the first moment I thought he must have found work. Then I remembered that he always did come back in a happy frame of mind, and I became gloomy again.

This time, however, Marmaduke had found something—though I was inclined to sneer when he told me what it was. 14