"No, thanks," answered Dick, with a laugh. "I wouldn't read such trash if I were you. There are very few Indians left out West and they're too scarce to kill off."
"Well," spoke Tim, with a sigh, "it's in de book. Say," he added, "does it cost much to go out West?"
"Well, I'm not sure just how much it does take, but I guess it's rather costly."
Tim sighed heavily.
"What's the matter?" asked Dick.
"I've got three dollars an' nineteen cents salted down in de dime savings bank," replied the newsboy. "I was savin' it fer a new overcoat, but I'd rather go out West. How far could I go fer three dollars an' nineteen cents? Could I travel wit youse as far as it lasted?"
The boy looked wistfully at Dick, and there was a world of longing in the blue eyes of Tim Muldoon as they met the brown orbs of the millionaire's son. Then Dick came to a sudden resolve.
"Would you like to go with me and the other boys?" he asked.
"Would I? Say, Mr. Dick, would a cat eat clams? Would I? Don't spring dat on me agin," he added, with an attempt at a laugh. "I've got a weak heart an' I might faint. It's back to little ole N' York an' Hester Street fer mine, I guess."
"No," said Dick. "I mean it. You may have
