grow very sober.

As the pangs of hunger were added to his general feeling of
helplessness, for a moment he thought of returning to his guardian, but
only for a moment. As he left the letter in his pocket and remembered
the awful stigma his guardian had tried to cast upon his dead father,
his pride arose.

"I will never go back there!" he told himself. "I have money in my
pocket, and I can get something to eat. Then I'll go over to one of the
stations in Jersey City and find some place to sleep. Perhaps there'll
even be a train going out West to-night that will carry me part way to
Oklahoma."

Coming forth from the pile of boxes from which he had sought in vain to
catch a glimpse of his friend, the reporter, Bob walked up the street
until he came to a restaurant, brilliantly lighted, and with a sign
standing in the door from which the words: "Pork and Beans, 15 cents a
plate," stared at him invitingly.

Dearly did Bob love pork and beans, but only occasionally had his
guardian provided them, and then in such small quantities that the boy
had never been able to eat all he wanted, and oftentimes had he
promised himself that some day he would have his fill. Consequently, as
he read the sign, he determined to gratify his desire, and timidly
entered the restaurant, where there were stools in front of a high
counter and tables along the wall, upon which stood an array of food
that amazed him, accustomed, as he had been, to living on almost
nothing.