His friend, the lot agent, was out of town, and he hardly knew whom
to advise with. At last Mike Flynn, the friendly bootblack, whose
acquaintance he had made in front of the Astor House, occurred to him.

Mike, humble as he was, was better off than himself. Moreover he was
a New York boy, and knew more about "hustling" than Rodney did. So he
sought out Mike in his "office."

"Good morning, Mike," said Rodney, as the bootblack was brushing off a
customer.

"Oh, its you, Rodney," said Mike smiling with evident pleasure. "How
you're gettin' on?"

"Not at all."

"That's bad. Can I help you? Just say the word, and I'll draw a check
for you on the Park Bank."

"Is that where you keep your money?"

"It's one of my banks. You don't think I'd put all my spondulics in one
bank, do you?"

"I won't trouble you to draw a check this morning. I only want to ask
some advice."

"I've got plenty of that."

"I haven't been able to get anything to do, and I have only fifty cents