"And, Mr. Newell, would you mind—that is, would you make me a—aloan—" faltered Walter.
"Out with it, my boy, how much do you want? I told you before I'd be your friend, and what Phil Newell says he means, every trip."
"You are very kind, sir. I don't know how much I want. I had twenty dollars and thirty-five cents, and Mr. Walton said that was more than enough to see me through until pay day came along."
"Then here are twenty dollars." The proprietor of the news-stand pulled a roll of small bills from his pocket and counted out the amount. "You can pay me back when you recover your money, or else out of your pay money, if they don't collar that thief. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No, sir."
"Then you had better get a bite while I instruct Gimpwell. I'll be ready for you in quarter of an hour."
Fifteen minutes found them on the way, taking a car which took them directly over to Charlestown, along the navy-yard and up Hill Street.
"Here we are," cried Phil Newell, as he stopped
