"But I've made up my mind I won't live with Tim no longer. I can earn my own livin' sellin' papers, or smashin' baggage, and keep away from Tim. I'd have done it before if I'd had a friend like you to care for me." "We will stand by each other, Dodger. Heaven knows I need a friend, and if I can be a friend to you, and help you, I will." "We'll get out here, Miss Florence. I told Mrs. O'Keefe I'd call at her stand, and she'll go over and show you your room." They left the car at the corner of Grand Street, and Dodger led the way to an apple-stand, presided over by a lady of ample proportions, whose broad, Celtic face seemed to indicate alike shrewd good sense and a kindly spirit. "Mrs. O'Keefe," said Dodger, "this is the young lady I spoke to you about--Miss Florence Linden." "It's welcome you are, my dear, and I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. You look like a rale leddy, and I don't know how you'll like the room I've got for you." "I cannot afford to be particular, Mrs. O'Keefe. I have had a--a reverse of circumstances, and I must be content with an humble home." "Then I'll go over and show it to you. Here, Kitty, come and mind the stand," she called to a girl about thirteen across the street, "and don't let anybody steal the apples. Look out for Jimmy Mahone, he stole a couple of apples right under my nose this mornin', the young spalpeen!" As they were crossing the street, a boy of fourteen ran up to Dodger. "Dodger," said he, "you'd better go right over to Tim Bolton's. He's in an awful stew--says he'll skin you alive if you don't come to the s'loon right away." Chapter IX. The New Home. "You can tell Tim Bolton," said Dodger, "that I don't intend to come back at all." "You don't mean it, Dodger?" said Ben Holt, incredulously.