He had made over thirty applications, and in no instance had he received one grain of encouragement.

In more than one case he had been insulted and ordered from the store, followed by the intimation that he was some runaway or thief.
No wonder that Tom felt discouraged and depressed in spirits as he rode homeward in the street-car.

He was so wearied that he dropped down in one corner, where he soon fell asleep, not waking until he had gone fully two miles beyond the point where he should have left the vehicle.

This sleep so mixed him up that it was nearly ten o'clock when he reached his hotel, as we may call it.
He was hopeful that Jim would have a better story to tell; but to his amazement, he found that his friend, despite the lateness of the hour, had not yet come back.

A shiver of alarm passed over Tom, for he was certain that some dreadful evil had befallen him.
Most likely he had been waylaid and killed in some of the hundred different ways which the police reports show are adopted by the assassins of New York in disposing of their victims..