discordant ones at that, so Paul thought. Of the hundreds passing and
repassing before him, every one had something to do. Every one had a
home to go to. Perhaps it was not altogether strange that a feeling of
desolation should come over Paul as he recollected that he stood alone,
homeless, friendless, and, it might be, shelterless for the coming
night.

"Yet," thought he with something of hopefulness, "there must be
something for me to do as well as the rest."

Just then a boy some two years older than Paul paced slowly by, and
in passing, chanced to fix his eyes upon our hero. He probably saw
something in Paul which attracted him, for he stepped up and extending
his hand, said, "why, Tom, how came you here?"

"My name isn't Tom," said Paul, feeling a little puzzled by this
address.

"Why, so it isn't. But you look just like my friend, Tom Crocker."

To this succeeded a few inquiries, which Paul unsuspiciously answered.

"Do you like oysters?" inquired the new-comer, after a while.

"Very much."

"Because I know of a tip top place to get some, just round the corner.
Wouldn't you like some?"

Paul thanked his new acquaintance, and said he would.