Wait a minute, though," he
said, with a sudden thought. "Here is a gold
pencil! It is worth five dollars; at any rate,
it cost more than that. I can place that in
your hands."
"Let me see it."
Carl handed the clerk a neat gold pencil,
on which his name was inscribed. It was evidently
of good quality, and found favor with
the clerk.
"I'll give you a dollar and a quarter for the
pencil," he said, "and call it square."
"I wouldn't like to sell it," said Carl.
"You won't get any more for it."
"I wasn't thinking of that; but it was given
me by my mother, who is now dead. I would
not like to part with anything that she gave me."
"You would prefer to get off scot-free, I
suppose?" retorted the clerk, with a sneer.
"No; I am willing to leave it in your hands,
but I should like the privilege of redeeming
it when I have the money."
"Very well," said the clerk, who reflected
that in all probability Carl would never come
back for it. "I'll take it on those conditions."
Carl passed over the pencil with a sigh. He
didn't like to part with it, even for a short
time, but there seemed no help for it.
"All right. I will mark you paid."
Carl left the hotel, satchel in hand, and as
he passed out into the street, reflected with
a sinking heart that he was now quite penniless.
Where was he to get his dinner, and
how was he to provide himself with a lodging
that night? At present he was not hungry,
having eaten a hearty breakfast at the
hotel, but by one o'clock he would feel the need
of food.
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