His stock of money was exhausted. He had not had any money
anyway. For food he ate grass in Central Park and drank the
water from the Cruelty to Animals horse-trough.

Gradually a change came over the lad; his face grew hard and
stern, the great city was setting its mark upon him.

One night Hezekiah stood upon the sidewalk. It was late,
long after ten o'clock. Only a few chance pedestrians passed.

"By Heaven!" said Hezekiah, shaking his fist at the lights of
the cruel city, "I have exhausted fair means, I will try foul.
I will beg. No Hayloft has been a beggar yet," he added with
a bitter laugh, "but I will begin."

A well-dressed man passed along.

Hezekiah seized him by the throat.

"What do you want?" cried the man in sudden terror. "Don't
ask me for work. I tell you I have no work to give."

"I don't want work," said Hezekiah grimly. "I am a beggar."

"Oh! is that all," said the man, relieved. "Here, take this
ten dollars and go and buy a drink with it."

Money! money! and with it a new sense of power that rushed
like an intoxicant to Hezekiah's brain.