Apparently the other boy raised some objection which made Curly angry.
"What are you frightened of?" he said savagely. "Think I'm on the cross?
You change the bob, and we'll square up afterwards."
Bryant went to the door reluctantly, but, as if unable to make up his
mind, returned and whispered something to his companion. A scornful
laugh greeted his remark, and without further delay he entered the shop.
All this time Dick had stood a little distance off, thinking. By a
lucky accident the boys had chosen the shop kept by a man named Martin,
for whom Dick had occasionally done a few odd jobs.
"I'll tell Martin," said Dick to himself, "and ask his advice."
In a minute or two Bryant, still looking rather dissatisfied, came out
with a small packet of cigarettes; and, standing in the doorway of an
empty shop, he proceeded to share them with his companion.
This was Dick's opportunity, and, screening himself from their view by
the aid of the passers-by, he slipped into the shop, which, save for the
proprietor, was fortunately empty.
"Hullo, Dick; what is it?" said the man behind the counter. "You
haven't taken to smoking, have you?"
"No," said Dick, who hardly knew how to begin his curious story.
"What is it then? Anything wrong at home?"
"No; we're all right, thanks. I say, Mr. Martin, what did that chap buy
who was in here just now?"
"Packet of cigarettes," answered the man, looking in surprise at his
questioner.
"Would you know him again?"
"Pick him out of a thousand, if you like."
"Did he give you a shilling?"
"Eh?" said Martin, opening the till hastily, and taking out the coin.
"Is it bad?" And he rang it on the counter. "Sounds all right," he
added with a sigh of relief, "and there doesn't seem anything the matter
with it. But one is never safe with these young sharks."
He held the coin up to the light, turning it round and round, and
examining it attentively.
"Good enough," he decided, and was about to put it back, when something
again arrested his attention.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "some one has scratched a circle and star here.
Looks like a private mark." And he handed it to Dick.
The boy was in such a state of excitement that he could hardly see.
What was the meaning of this? Had Mr. Broad, suspecting something wrong,
laid a trap for Jim? It seemed very much like it. But if he had marked
one coin he had probably marked others.
The very notion made Dick shudder. He felt sure that Curly had passed
some money to Jim. Suppose it happened to be marked too! "Good
gracious!" he thought in despair; "they'll take him to prison like a
common thief! The disgrace will kill his mother!"
Noticing the agitation which Dick could not conceal, the shopkeeper
said,--
"What's it all about, Dicky? I hope you haven't got mixed up in
anything wrong?"
"No," answered the boy. "But trust me; I'll tell you all about it
to-morrow. I must be off now; and, I say, Mr. Martin, keep that
shilling by itself, will you? I shouldn't be surprised if the police
want to see it."
"All right, Dick. It shall be ready for them."
"Thank you," said Dick, and left the shop.
"I wonder now," mused the shopkeeper, "what the game is. Something
queer, by the youngster's showing. But he's an honest little chap, and
sharp as a knife. Well, I'll put the shilling away."
Looking round, he discovered an empty tobacco tin, in which he placed
the coin, and then locked it up in one of the drawers.
"No doubt the youngster will be back again, presently," he said to
himself, "and I shall hear what it's all about. It's very curious,
anyhow."
Meanwhile Dick, hot and flustered, was threading his way through the
side street. He was too excited to steer very cautiously, but, after
numerous bumps and joltings, he found himself at the top, where the
traffic was less dense.
"Hullo, Dick Boden; you ought to be home and abed! There's your mother
down the road with a cane looking for you." And Curly Peters, who stood
on the edge of the curb puffing away at a cigarette, laughed
boisterously.
Dick did not answer, but, being afraid of arousing suspicion, he walked
very leisurely till he had turned the corner and was out of sight. Then
he ran at his topmost speed, reaching the stationer's shop breathless
and exhausted. He was approaching the door to knock when he noticed,
through the side window, that the shop was brilliantly lit.
"Broad must have returned," thought he, "and perhaps brought a
policeman. I wonder if they are searching Jim."
He tried to peer in, but could see nothing. Then, crouching close to
the door, he listened. All was still; he could hear no sound.
"I may as well knock," he thought, and had raised his hand to do so when
a man inside began speaking. "That's Broad," said Dick to himself, and
directly afterwards he heard his chum's voice. Then the key turned in
the lock, the door was flung open, and Dick found himself face to face
with Mr. Farrant.
"Hullo!" exclaimed the latter, who was just going for a policeman;
"who's this?"
Dick was rather taken aback, but he answered boldly, "If you please, I
want to see Mr. Broad."
"Come again in the morning; he is busy now."
"But I can't wait," pleaded Dick. "I must see him now; it's very
important."
"Let him in, Farrant," said the stationer; "he may know something of
this miserable business."
"Come along then," grumbled Farrant, pulling him roughly inside and
shutting the door. "Now, what have you to say? Make haste with your
yarn, whatever it is!"
Dick glanced around apprehensively, and felt relieved at finding no
policeman in the shop. He smiled brightly at Jim, as if to say, "Cheer
up, old chap; I'll soon get you out of this scrape!" and then walked
over to Mr. Broad.
"I fancy I have seen you before," said that gentleman. "Aren't you one
of Hartland's friends?"
"Yes, sir," replied Dick promptly; "Jim and I are old friends."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant, showing a sudden interest in the
conversation; "is your name Peters?"
"No," replied Dick in surprise; "my name's Boden, but Peters has
something to do with what I've come about.--Have you lost any money, Mr.
Broad?"
"I've been robbed of some," answered Jim's employer sternly.
"Was there a shilling amongst it?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I'll tell you soon, sir," said Dick; "but I want to make sure of my
ground first. I should like to ask if there was a circle with a starred
centre scratched on it?"
"Yes," replied the stationer, now thoroughly interested--"the same mark
as on the sixpence which has been found in your friend Hartland's
pocket."
"I hope you don't think Jim a thief, sir. He wouldn't steal a pin."
"We aren't listening to testimonials of character," remarked Mr. Farrant
dryly; "they can be left to the magistrates. But now, just tell us how
you come to know anything about this business."
Jim had not said a word. On seeing his chum his face had become white,
and he hardly dared look at him. By degrees, however, he became more
composed; and when Dick spoke so emphatically about his honesty, the
warm blood surged to his face. Somehow he felt that in some mysterious
way Dick would be able to prove his innocence, and his heart grew light
at the thought.
Mr. Farrant prepared to listen with a cynical smile, but Mr. Broad was
anxious to give a favourable hearing to anything that might help to
clear Jim's character.
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*CURLY AND COMPANY.*
"Before Jim came here to work," began Dick, clearing his throat, "we
were generally together in the evenings. Since then, of course, he
hasn't had much time; but now and then I've been up to wait for him.
Coming up this evening I met Mr. Broad, and just afterwards Curly Peters
with a boy named Bryant."
"Is this Peters a friend of yours?" interrupted Mr. Farrant.
"No," replied Dick; "and I've never had anything to do with him. I
thought a long time ago that he wasn't up to much."
"All right; go on."
"Well, thinking they were going to see Jim, I turned back, and they
acted in such a funny way that I became curious. First of all, Bryant
followed Mr. Broad, very likely to see where he went; then they walked
up to the shop."
"Where were you?"
"On the other side of the road. Curly went to the shop, while the other
chap hid in the next doorway. Presently Jim came out; and, after a time,
Curly managed to draw him away from the door a bit. Then Bryant slipped
into the shop, and was back again almost before you could say 'Jack
Robinson!'"
"Why didn't you call out?"
"That wouldn't have done any good. Besides, Curly was on the move
directly. He joined his mate down the street, got something from him,
and ran back all in a breath to give it to Jim."
The two men exchanged significant glances. Thus far, at any rate, the
story fitted in very well with the suspected boy's assertions.
"But if you knew these boys had been thieving, I can't understand why
you did not tell your chum," said Mr. Farrant.
"I didn't know for certain," responded Dick promptly. "Besides, I
thought the best thing was to keep an eye on them."
"That's reasonable enough."
"And it was lucky I did, too. I followed them into West Street, where
they bought three pennyworth of bananas. Then they went on to a
tobacconist's, and Bryant bought a packet of cigarettes. He paid for
them with a shilling."
"How do you know that?"
"Because directly he came out I went in and asked the man. His name's
Martin, and he knows me. He doesn't know Bryant; but he could recognize
him."
"And what about the shilling?"
"Martin is taking care of it in case it's wanted. And so, sir, the whole
thing's as plain as anything, you see. They just diddled Jimmy, and
there you are.--How came he to give you the sixpence, Jim?"
"To pay back one that I lent him a month ago."
Mr. Broad was quite satisfied of the truth of Dick's story. It cleared
Hartland. Even with the marked coin before him he had somehow doubted
the boy's guilt. His friend showed himself rather more sceptical; but
he, too, admitted that the two stories fitted in admirably.
"We had better go to the tobacconist's," said he, "and then give
information to the police. I suppose there won't be much chance of
tracing the florin."
"If Curly doesn't know it's marked," said Dick, "he'll stick to it till
the shilling's gone, and then I expect Bryant won't get much of a
share."
"Then he mustn't be allowed to suspect anything," said Mr.
Farrant.--"Broad, suppose you go along with this amateur detective and
identify the shilling. I'll lock up and meet you later at the police
station."
"What about Hartland?"
"Hum! If this Peters sees him with any of us the florin will soon be a
minus quantity.--Can you get home without his seeing you?"
"Yes; over Cannon Hill and round by the Park. He isn't likely to be
there."
"Well, I suppose we must trust you, though I don't half like it.
However, take care, for your own sake, that you do not meet him."
"Come as usual in the morning, Hartland," added his master. "You will
be required to give evidence at the police-court."
"And thank your lucky stars," remarked Mr. Farrant, "that you won't be
in the dock. Your friend here has saved you from that."
Jim recognized this fact fully, and was never slow to acknowledge it
either to himself or to others. Slinking home by a roundabout way, he
entered the house, where his mother was awaiting him somewhat anxiously.
"You're late, my boy," said she. "I'm afraid your supper has got cold."
"It doesn't matter, mother, thank you. I'm not hungry."
His mother looked curiously at him, wondering what had happened.
"Don't you feel well?" she asked.
"My head aches a bit. There's been a bother at the shop."
"Try to eat your supper," said she gently. "You can tell me about it
afterwards."
Jim did his best in order to please her, but the attempt was not very
successful. He was thinking of his marvellous escape, and how, but for
Dick, he would now be locked up in a prison cell. His mother watched
him closely, and with something like fear in her heart; but, being a
tactful woman, she did not press him to tell her his story.
It came out at last, little by little, and the boy did not spare
himself. After all, beyond the folly of associating with unprincipled
companions, he had done little of which to be really ashamed.
His mother did not interrupt him once; but Jim will never forget the
look in her eyes when he told her of the finding of the marked coin, and
of his narrow escape from prison.
"Where is Dick now?" she asked when he had finished.
"Gone with the master to give information to the police. I expect he
will come in on his way home; but don't you think we ought to tell his
mother? She may be fidgeting about him."
"Yes; I will go round at once."
Putting on her hat and jacket, she went out, leaving Jim to wonder if
the marked florin would be found in Curly's possession. A great deal
might depend on that.
Meanwhile, Dick having piloted the worthy stationer to the tobacconist's
shop, where the shilling was at once identified, accompanied him to the
police station. Here they were shown into a sparsely-furnished room,
where an inspector sat at a table writing.
After Mr. Broad had given an outline of the case, Dick was called on for
his story, which he related in the most straightforward and convincing
manner.
"Simple enough," remarked the police inspector, "especially if we can
find the florin;" and, ringing a bell, he ordered the man who answered
it to send Pedder to him.
Pedder was a short, stout, bull-necked man in plain clothes, who, in
answer to his superior, said: "Curly Peters? Oh yes, I know the young
gentleman quite well. I've been expecting to put my hand on his
shoulder for a long time."
"And a lad named Bryant?" asked the inspector, reporting Dick's
description of him.
Pedder shook his head. "I've seen a chap with Curly, but don't know
anything of him, good or bad."
"Well, take a man with you and bring them both here. Be sure that
Peters has no chance to get rid of any money."
"Very good, sir," said Pedder, looking at the clock. "The round trip
oughtn't to take more than half an hour, if I've any luck."
"Sit down, Mr. Broad--and you, my boy," said the inspector, who
immediately resumed his writing, and did not look up again till Mr.
Farrant was shown into the room.
Five minutes after the half-hour there was a scuffling noise in the
passage, the door was thrown open, and in marched Curly Peters and
Bryant in the custody of the two plain-clothes policemen.
Curly looked about him with easy self-assurance. His companion, on the
contrary, was white and trembling, and would have fallen but for the
officer's support.
"Search them!" said the inspector briefly.
"You won't find anything on me but my own money," said Curly defiantly.
"I've only a two-shilling piece, which I worked hard enough for, too. I
earned it yesterday, carrying boxes on the quay."
"You'd better keep a still tongue," advised the inspector gruffly. "All
you say may be used as evidence against you."
"I ain't afraid of telling the truth," responded Curly boldly.
Presently the search was over, and Dick heaved a sigh of satisfaction
when Pedder placed a florin on the table. Bryant's share of the plunder
had dwindled to twopence halfpenny.
"Can you identify this coin, Mr. Broad?"
"Yes," said the stationer, after examining it carefully; "here is my
private mark quite plain."
"And the tobacconist can identify the boy from whom he received the
marked shilling?"
"I took him to the shop," said the second officer, "and he knew him in
an instant."
When all the formalities were concluded, the two boys were marched off,
Curly throwing a savage glance at Dick, and muttering, "I'll pay you out
for this!" as he passed.
"I think there is nothing further now," said the inspector to Mr. Broad.
"Of course you will be present in the morning. As to the shop-boy, I
hardly know whether he should not have been charged with the others; but
no doubt we shall get at the truth when the case comes before the
magistrates."
"Jim Hartland didn't know anything about it, sir!" cried Dick, who was
bold as a lion in defence of his friend.
"Perhaps not, perhaps not!" replied the inspector testily. "However, we
shall soon see."
As soon as he could get away, Dick ran off to Brook Street, knowing that
his chum would be anxiously awaiting him. As a matter of fact Jim stood
at the gate, and on seeing Dick he cried eagerly, "Did you catch them?
Had Peters spent the money?"
"Make yourself easy, old chap!" laughed Dick; "it's all right. Curly
had the florin, and he gave himself away before knowing it was marked."
"Did he try to drag me into it?"
"No. Don't pull such a long face. The truth is bound to come out. I
shall be surprised if Bryant doesn't own up; he's nearly frightened to
death. Well, I must be off; mother will think I'm lost."
"She knows where you are; we told her."
"That's a good chap. She's been awfully fidgety since Dandy Braithwaite
was drowned. Well, ta-ta! See you in the morning, as the fisherman said
when he popped the trout into his basket."
"You won't come in?"
"I'd rather not. Wait till this affair's done with, and we'll celebrate
the event in fine style."
"Good-night, then. I can't thank you properly just now, but I shan't
forget in a hurry what you've done for me."
"All right, old fellow! _I_ know." And Dick went off whistling.
Jim closed the gate softly, but did not go into the house for some time.
Thus far--thanks to Dick--all had gone well; but there was still a
prospect of danger. Suppose Curly, finding himself trapped, endeavoured
to throw the blame on him. He might even assert that he, Jim, had
planned the robbery, and had knowingly shared the plunder.
The magistrates might doubt such a tale, but some people would believe
it, and in their eyes he would be a thief.
"Oh yes," they would say, "that's the lad who was mixed up in the till
robbery. Nothing was proved against him, you know, but--" And then
there would be expressive glances and waggings of heads.
Again, he could hardly expect Mr. Broad to continue to employ him. Of
course he would be dismissed, and no one would care to engage a boy who
had lost his situation under such suspicious circumstances. It seemed
to him just then that he had recklessly spoiled his career before it had
fairly begun. His thoughts were very, very bitter; but he had not
altogether lost his moral courage, and readily confessed that he was
only reaping what he had sown. This, however, was but poor consolation,
and it was with a heavy heart that he at last went into the house.
"Dick has brought good news, mother," he cried, trying to speak
cheerfully: "the police have caught Peters with the money on him. I am
going to bed now. We shall have to be up early in the morning." And he
kissed her good-night.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*"WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT."*
Fortunately for Jim's peace of mind the next day was not a particularly
busy one at the police court. He and Dick sat with Mr. Broad and the
tobacconist in the space reserved for witnesses, while in the public
portion of the building only a few people besides his mother and Mrs.
Boden had assembled.
Presently a small side-door was opened, and the two youthful prisoners
took their places in the dock. Curly was still smiling and cheerful, but
his companion in misfortune looked even more miserable than on the
preceding night.
When the charge had been read over, Mr. Broad proceeded to make his
statement, describing how he had marked the coins and placed them in the
till, and how, on returning to the shop, he had found they were gone.
Then Jim went into the witness-box, feeling horribly uncomfortable. He
thought the two magistrates regarded him contemptuously, and as if they
thought his proper place was in the dock with the prisoners. However, he
managed to give a connected account of what had passed, and was stepping
down again when one of the magistrates observed, "If this witness speaks
the truth, it is clear that the prisoner Peters could not have been in
the shop."
"I wasn't, sir," spoke up Curly. "I never put my foot inside it."
"We suggest that he was acting as a blind," said the inspector--"that he
engaged the shop-boy's attention while the other prisoner stole the
money. I think the next witness will make that clear."
"Very well," said the magistrate; "let him he called."
"Richard Boden!"
Dick stepped into the box, took the oath, and began his story without
the least hesitation. As he proceeded Curly's confident smile began to
fade: the witness was not leaving him a single loophole for escape. The
evidence was so clear and simple and yet so conclusive that, as one
constable remarked in a whisper, the prisoners had not "the ghost of a
chance."
"Uncommon smart boy that," he added graciously. "Ought to join the force
when he's old enough."
When Dick had finished, Sir Thomas Arkell, the senior magistrate, a
tall, stout man with bristling moustache, leaning forward, said, "I
congratulate you on the way in which you have given your evidence, my
lad." And the compliment was well deserved.
Martin, the tobacconist, then identified Bryant as the boy who had paid
him the marked shilling, and the officers deposed to searching the
prisoners and finding the florin on Peters. No one had any doubt of
their guilt, but several people thought Jim very lucky in not having
been placed with them.
However, Curly did not quite despair of getting off. Certainly he would
leave his accomplice in the lurch, but that misfortune he was prepared
to bear philosophically.
"I didn't steal the money!" he protested energetically, "and I didn't
know it was stole. It will teach me a lesson, though, to mind who I
takes up with another time. This all comes of being pals with Sam
Bryant. Last night I met him in West Street. He said he had won some
money on a race, and asked me to mind a two-shilling piece. He said he
durstn't take it home for fear his father would nab it. And that's the
solemn truth, gentlemen! Why, I'd no more think of stealing a penny
than of swallowing it!"
Now, fortunately for Jim, Curly's frantic effort to save himself roused
Bryant from his stupor. Hitherto he had displayed no interest in the
proceedings, but now, glaring savagely at his companion, he exclaimed in
a shrill voice, "Oh, that's it, is it? I am to bear all the blame, am
I? Well, then, I'll just tell the truth. Curly made friends with Jim
Hartland on purpose to get him to rob the till. Curly sounded him
several times, but could make nothing of him, so we agreed to do it
ourselves. We went in two or three times before, but didn't get much.
Last night seemed a good chance, and Curly agreed to get Hartland out of
the way. I got three and ninepence altogether, and out of that Curly
gave Hartland sixpence that he owed him. I ain't going to prison by
myself, when Curly Peters had more to do with it than me!"
"I told you it would come out!" whispered Dick to his chum.
The magistrates consulted together for a few minutes, and then the two
prisoners were remanded, with a view to being sent to a reformatory.
As this was the last case set down for hearing, the people began to
leave the court; and Mr. Broad, turning to Jim with a smiling face,
said,--
"I am glad you have come out of it so well, Hartland. I am sorry I
suspected you at all, but at one time things looked rather black against
you, eh? However, you've had your lesson, and I hope you will profit by
it. By the way, I shall be glad if you can come an hour earlier this
afternoon. This wretched business has thrown the work back a good
deal."
"Are you going to keep me on, sir?" asked Jim, who could scarcely
believe his own ears.
"Keep you on? Of course! Why not? You've been a pretty silly chap in
choosing your friends, but that won't happen again. There, there; don't
thank me." And the worthy stationer bustled away, leaving Jim with
flushed face and sparkling eyes. This was a greater piece of good
fortune than he had dared hope for.
In the corridor he found his mother with Mrs. Boden; and directly
afterwards Dick, who had suddenly disappeared, ran up waving his cap and
hardly able to keep from hurrahing.
"O my aunt!" cried he; "here's a stroke of good luck! Let's go outside,
where I can tell you all about it. You'll never guess where I've been."
"You had better tell us, then," said his mother.
"So I will. Don't get too excited, now. What do you think of an
interview with Sir Thomas Arkell in the magistrates' room? I thought
you'd open your eyes. O my--"
"Never mind your aunt," said Jim, laughing; "we're dying to hear about
the interview."
"Well, while you were talking to Mr. Broad, a policeman came up and
asked if I was Richard Boden. When I told him I was, he said, 'Come
this way. Sir Thomas wishes to speak to you.' He was a solemn old
chap, and marched along like a mute at a funeral. I began to feel
frightened."
"I wish I'd been there to see you, Dicky," said Mrs. Hartland.
"Well, it really was enough to make me nervous," declared Dick.
"However, at last he knocked at a door; some one said, 'Come in,' and
there was Sir Thomas standing with his back to the fire.
"'Ah,' said he--and he isn't half as fierce as he looks--'are you
Richard Boden?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Well, I wanted to say I was very pleased with you this morning. Where
do you go to school?' And when I told him, he said, 'I suppose your
master can give you a good character?'
"'I think he will, sir,' I answered; and then he wrote down my name and
the name of the school in a notebook.
"'I will see Mr. Holmore,' he said; 'and should the result be
satisfactory, as I have no doubt it will, I shall find a berth for you
in my business.'"
"O Dick!" exclaimed his mother, "it sounds too good to be true!"
"It's true enough," cried Dick gaily, throwing his cap into the air.
"Don't you hear the bells, 'Turn again, Richard, Lord Mayor of
Beauleigh'? Why, it's as simple as anything: just like going upstairs.
Office-boy, clerk, confidential clerk, manager, partner--Arkell and
Boden! We'll hang out a big signboard when that time comes. Hurrah!
Trot along, Jimmy!"
"You might both run on," suggested Mrs. Hartland, "and get a cup of tea
ready for us."
"Rather a drop from the Lord-Mayor business, isn't it?" laughed Dick
good-humouredly. "Still, it's as well to make use of me while you can."
That afternoon has often been talked of since. Every one was in good
spirits, and Dick rattled on like a merry madcap, building, half in
jest, half in earnest, golden castles in the air. To judge by his
remarks when Mrs. Hartland began talking of his kindness to Jim, the
whole affair had been got up specially for his benefit.
"It's I who have to thank Jim," he laughed. "But for him I shouldn't
have had an interview with Sir Thomas!" adding solemnly, "I won't forget
you, Jim; you shall have a ticket for my mayoral banquet, and shall sit
near me."
"Thanks," replied Jim humbly; "I shall be satisfied with a seat at the
bottom of the table."
"What a rattle-pate you are, Dick!" laughed Mrs. Hartland. "How poor
Susie would enjoy being here now!"
"Is the doctor really doing her good?" asked Dick's mother.
"He thinks so. He is trying a wonderful new discovery of some foreign
doctor, and the nurse told me on Sunday he's more than satisfied with
the result."
"Hurrah for Dr. Stewart!" cried Dick; "he's a fine fellow. I'll keep a
place for him on my visiting-list."
Thus they laughed and chattered, enjoying themselves in an innocent way,
and endeavouring to banish the disagreeable incidents of the morning,
until it was time for Jim to start for work.
"I may as well walk with you as far as the shop," said Dick, going out
with him; "I feel like a fish out of water, not being at school to-day.
Won't there be a buzz when the fellows hear the news?"
"Too much for me. I don't think I shall go back."
"What?" Dicky turned and looked his chum full in the face. "Surely you
aren't going to show the white feather, old man. Why, that would be
just giving the fellows a stick to beat you with."
"It is easy to talk," said Jim, "but I don't want to see sour looks and
hear sneering remarks every day. I know what chaps like Simpson will
say."
"And I know what they'll say if you don't turn up."
For some distance the two boys walked in silence. Jim was thinking. His
chum was right, of course. It would be much braver and more manly to
"face the music;" but he shrank, and perhaps naturally, from the ordeal.
Besides, he would be leaving in any case at the end of a few weeks, and
why should he go out of his way to suffer misery for the sake of a fad?
"Here we are nearly at the shop," cried Dick, stopping suddenly. "You
will come in the morning, won't you?"
"I won't promise," said Jim slowly.
I think that at this juncture it was the boy's master who proved his
guardian angel. He greeted him cheerily, and showed by every means in
his power that he had confidence in his honesty. This absolute trust
brought back Jim's self-respect. If his employer believed in his
innocence, why should he trouble himself about the sneers of others?
His courage gradually rose; he threw off the gloom that hung about him.
He determined to hold up his head and bear himself bravely, whatever
happened.
"'Twill be jolly hard, I know," he said to himself; "but I'll live it
down." And his heart grew lighter as he registered the resolve.
"By the way, Hartland," remarked his employer later in the evening, "I
have been thinking we might make a fresh arrangement. I should like you
to stay all day, and you might start on Monday."
"I'd rather not begin till the holidays, sir," said Jim, with an effort.
"Why not?"
"Because, because--well, they might say I was afraid to go back to
school."
"Well, it won't be particularly pleasant," replied Mr. Broad, "and that
is partly why I made the offer. But yours is the better plan, and I wish
you luck, my boy."
"Thank you, sir," returned Jim, brightly, though in his heart he could
not help wishing that the next day was safely over.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*A FRESH START.*
The police-court proceedings created a great sensation at the Deanery,
and were canvassed with characteristic schoolboy freedom. Dick, of
course, received much praise; and on his arrival, just before opening
time, he was surrounded by an admiring group. However, he bore his
blushing honours meekly, remarking that he had done nothing in
particular.
"Your being there was a lucky thing for Jim Hartland, though," observed
Alec Macdonald.
"A good many people think there's more in it than came out!" sneered
Simpson. "_I_ shouldn't like to be caught with a marked sixpence in my
pocket!"
"You're just a cad!" cried Dick hotly, "and no one cares a brass button
what you say. As to Hartland, he showed more grit in five minutes than
you'd show in five centuries."
"How's that?" cried several boys eagerly.
"That's part of what Simpson says didn't come out. Of course you know
old Broad found the sixpence on him. Well, he's a good sort, though at
first he did think Jim guilty. 'Look here, Hartland,' said he; 'you'd
better own up. You're certain to be sent to prison, because, even if
you're innocent, you can't prove it.' Well, what did Jim answer?"
"He wasn't likely to give the show away, anyhow!" said Simpson.
"Broad didn't ask him to. 'Just admit you stole the money, and you'll
hear no more of it,' said he. 'I'll hush it up, and no one will be any
the wiser.'"
"That was handsome," remarked several of the boys.
"Yes," agreed Dick, "but Jim wasn't taking any 'Send me to prison for
life if you like,' said Jim; 'I shan't confess to what I didn't do!'"
"Good old Jim!" cried Alec Macdonald. "He always was a plucky beggar."
And the others echoed his cry.
Few of them believed he was mixed up in the robbery, and Dick's story
was received with acclamation. A sudden revulsion of feeling took
place, and those who had looked rather coldly on Jim since the fatal
accident to Braithwaite now spoke loudly in his defence.
Just as the bell rang he was seen coming in at the gate, and quite a
number of boys ran across to meet him.
Once more Alec Macdonald voiced the general sentiment.
"We're jolly glad you got out of that mess, Jim," he exclaimed, "and we
know it wasn't your fault."
Jim blushed like a peony; his eyes were suspiciously moist, and he felt
a choking sensation in his throat. This reception differed altogether
from what he had expected. He looked at the group of boys and tried to
answer, but his words were very stammering.
"This is--very--kind--of you chaps," he managed to say, "and I didn't
expect it."
"Come on!" cried Dick; "there's Mr. Laythorne! He'll be giving us an
extra half-hour's grind." And they scudded away to their places like so
many rabbits into a warren.
Jim's class-fellows were not alone in expressing their belief in his
innocence. After prayers, and before beginning morning work, Mr.
Laythorne, standing before his class, said, "I am glad to see you in
your place again, Hartland. We have all heard of your trouble, and we
all rejoice that you have come through it so triumphantly. I am
speaking not only for myself and the boys, but for all the masters,
including Mr. Holmore. Let me say for all of us that we are quite
convinced of your honesty."
"Yes, yes!" murmured the class approvingly.
"Thank you, sir," said Jim. "I'm--" But he got no farther. Cold looks
he had steeled himself to meet, and angry words he would have thrown
back with interest, but this kindness broke him down utterly. The tears
would come into his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The
young master said nothing further, thinking it best not to disturb him.
He had always felt great interest in Jim, and no one had been more
disappointed at his failure to gain a high place in the Gayton
Scholarship list.
Several times recently he had endeavoured to save him from drifting, but
without success; now he resolved to make another effort.
"He is a clever boy, and ought to do well," he said to himself
thoughtfully, "but lately he seems to have got into a set of cross
currents. One would think he had thrown that Gayton Scholarship away
deliberately."
Mr. Laythorne was not aware how very severely Jim had been handicapped;
but that same afternoon, during a talk with Dick Boden on quite another
subject, he learned the truth. When school was dismissed, he called
Dick to him and said, "By the way, Boden, I have to congratulate you.
Sir Thomas Arkell has been to see the head-master, who referred him to
me. I was glad to be able to report favourably on your conduct, and he
has decided in consequence to take you on at his place as soon as the
holidays begin."
"Thank you, sir," answered Dick gratefully. "Mother meant me to stay a
little longer, but we can't afford to miss this chance, and I shall be
able to attend the continuation school."
"I hope you will. Well, it appears we shall both be leaving the dear
old Deanery together."
Dick glanced up hastily, saying, "Are you going away from Beauleigh,
sir?"
"Yes. It will soon be known now. I have been appointed to a school in
Portsmouth."
"The boys will be sorry," exclaimed Dick, "and glad too--sorry on their
own account, and glad on yours."
"I think," said the master, smiling, "we have got on very comfortably
together. By the way, I am sorry about your chum Hartland. I had hoped
he would do better."
"Jim's had very hard lines lately, sir. Things have all gone wrong,
somehow, and he took the result of the 'Gayton' very much to heart."
"So I should imagine," exclaimed the master dryly.
"It wasn't his fault coming out so low down," said Dick. "You can't
sprint very fast with a heavy load on your shoulders, and Jim was
carrying too much weight. A lot of his time was taken up at the shop,
morning and evening; then his mother fell ill, and he had to work like a
nigger keeping things straight at home. Why, for weeks he had hardly a
minute to breathe in!"
"He did not mention this to me when I spoke to him about his position."
"No," responded Dick with a twinkle; "Jim isn't built that way. He's
too proud to let the world into his little secrets."
"Oh!" said the master thoughtfully, "that puts a very different
complexion on the case."
That same evening Jim's mother was surprised by a visit from Mr.
Laythorne, who, by a few skilful questions, soon discovered that Dick
had not overstated the case. It was plain that, despite his folly
elsewhere, Jim had behaved splendidly at home; and the class-master's
good opinion of his scholar was more than restored.
"What are you going to make of the boy?" he asked.
"Well," replied Mrs. Hartland, "had his father lived we should have
tried to start him as a pupil-teacher, but I fear he must give up that
idea now. Mr. Broad has been very kind, and has offered to take him into
the shop altogether."
"And what does Jim think of the proposal?"
"He doesn't really like it, but he is a good boy, and raises no
objection."
Mr. Laythorne was more than ordinarily thoughtful that evening. For
more than an hour he sat in his room, thinking deeply, too absorbed even
to open one of his favourite books.
"It's a quixotic scheme," he muttered once, "but upon my word I've a
good mind to try it. The lad has brains, and, properly trained, should
do well. He'll do no good here if his heart isn't in the work and he may
slip back. It would remove him from temptation, too. Well, I'll sleep
on it, and ask Holmore's advice."
The result of these cogitations, and of an interview with the
head-master, became apparent at the end of the week, when he once more
called at the house in Brook Street; but this time late in the evening,
when Jim had returned from work.
He was not a man given to much beating about the bush, and he introduced
the object of his visit at once.
"Hartland," he began quietly, "I understand from your mother that you
would like to be a pupil-teacher?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jim readily, "but," trying to smile, "that's out of
the question now."
"I'm not so sure of that. You know I am going to Portsmouth?"
"Yes, sir; Dick Boden told me, and very pleased I was to hear it."
"How would you like to go with me?"
Jim sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling, and
every fibre of his body quivering with excitement. Then he shook his
head mournfully, saying, "We can't afford it, sir."
"Your mother and I will discuss that part of the business," remarked Mr.
Laythorne quietly. "But if you go, I shall expect you to work hard, to
pass your examinations high up, and, generally speaking, to do me
credit."
"I would do my very best!" exclaimed the lad earnestly.
"I believe you would. Well, now run away, while I have a talk with your
mother."
The boy went out to the front door, and stood looking into the dingy
street. Now and again he turned toward the room, straining his ears,
not to hear what was said, but just to make sure that Mr. Laythorne was
really there. It seemed altogether too wonderful; he feared almost to
dwell on it.
Presently he heard the visitor stand up, and come into the passage.
What had been decided? His heart beat fast at the question. Here was
Mr. Laythorne shaking his hand. What did he say? What strange noises
buzzed in his head! Ah, the words became plain.
"I hope, my boy, that this will be putting your foot on the first rung
of the ladder."
So the wonderful thing had come to pass, and he was really to go! I
cannot write down Jim's answer because neither his mother nor Mr.
Laythorne understood his broken words; but it is certain that he was
extremely grateful and supremely happy.
"By the way," said their visitor, before taking leave, "it will not be
necessary to inform the world of our private arrangement. It will be
sufficient to say that Jim is coming with me." For Mr. Laythorne was a
gentleman, and had no sympathy with the blowing of trumpets at street
corners.
Jim and his mother had little to say when they were left alone. They
were overwhelmed with surprise, and their happiness was too great for
words. But when the boy had gone to his room, he knelt by his bedside
and asked for strength to prove himself worthy of his benefactor's
generosity; and many times over, before falling asleep, he said to
himself, "I will not disappoint him!"
Of course, Mr. Broad had to be told of the contemplated change, and he
was really sorry to have to part with Jim.
"I should have liked to keep you, Hartland," he said, "but I mustn't
stand in your light; and, by the way, don't buy any lesson-books. Ask
your master to write out a list of what you will require for next two
years, and I will get them."
"Why," exclaimed the Angel delightedly, when he heard the news, "there's
such a lot of silver lining that very soon you won't be able to see the
black cloud at all!"
Dick was prophesying better than he knew. But we must not anticipate.
On Sunday Jim went with his mother to the Children's Hospital. Susie
still kept her bed, and her back was encased in plaster of Paris; but
she had grown decidedly stronger, and the nurse spoke most hopefully of
her case.
"And if she does walk," said she, "you will have to thank Dr. Stewart.
I have never known any one take such an interest in a case."
Mrs. Hartland left Jim to reveal his great secret, and it was charming
to observe the look of delighted surprise steal into the girl's face.
"Do you know," she said thoughtfully, after congratulating her brother
on his good fortune, "I think people have been very kind to us."
"Yes," exclaimed her mother, kissing her fondly; "and I hope we shall
never forget it."
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*A STARTLING SURPRISE.*
The next fortnight was about the happiest time Jim had passed since the
news arrived of his father's death. Thanks in some part to his wages,
they had tided over the worst of the crisis; and his mother, who was
really a skilful needlewoman, had now no lack of employment.
At the Deanery School he had quite recovered his popularity. The boys
sought his advice as in the old days; and one half-holiday the Football
Committee begged him to assist the team in an important match. Mr. Broad
readily granted him an extra hour's leave, and much to the delight of
his numerous admirers, he had the satisfaction of kicking the winning
goal for the school.
"There's an end to my football in Beauleigh," he said, as he left the
field with his chum.
"And a very good finish!" laughed the Angel. "The Deanery fellows will
miss you at cricket next season."
"I expect they'll miss us both. I hope, though, they'll keep the
shield."
"They're bound to!" said Dick, with a grin. "Haven't they got Simpson?"
"Of course; I'd forgotten him. Have you heard from Sir Thomas Arkell?"
"Yes; I'm to begin work on the morning they reopen after the holidays.
I can hardly believe it now."
"I understand the feeling. D'you know, I think we've been awfully
lucky, Dick."
"The reward of merit!" murmured the Angel; and a stranger, judging by
the tone of his voice, would have thought he really meant it.
Jim, however, knew him better, and greeted the remark with a laugh,
saying, "Well, every one who deserves the reward doesn't get it,
anyhow."
"Only one week more," cried Dick, flying off at a tangent--a by no means
unusual proceeding on his part. "I'm counting the days now."
That week seemed a long time to the eager boys; but it came to an end at
last, and the Deanery scholars assembled in the large hall for
dismissal. It was the head-master's custom to speak a few words before
they separated, and he did so now.
That part of the speech which met with the greatest attention referred
to Mr. Laythorne's approaching departure. The boys were sorry to lose
him, as he was very popular, and they punctuated every sentence with
ringing cheers. But the greatest applause was reserved for the
unveiling of the handsome presents which boys and masters alike had
subscribed for; and when Mr. Laythorne stepped forward to express his
thanks, the cheering became deafening.
"Three cheers for Mr. Laythorne, and one cheer more!" yelled the Angel.
"Hurrah!"
It was a breaking-up scene such as had rarely occurred at the Deanery,
and one to be long remembered. Mr. Laythorne made a modest little
speech, and then, unchecked by the masters, the Angel led off with "For
he's a jolly good fellow!" and was strenuously backed up by the vocal
powers of three hundred enthusiastic boys. It was not, perhaps,
strictly orthodox, but it was undoubtedly genuine; I fancy Mr.
Laythorne, though not a demonstrative man himself, was rather pleased by
the warmth of his reception. When the boys were dismissed, he called
Jim, to give him his final instructions.
"My arrangements are quite complete," said he, "but I shall write in the
course of a week or two. Most likely I shall want you to come over a few
days before school begins."
"I shall be ready, sir, whenever you send."
"Well, good-bye! Have a good holiday, because there will be plenty of
work when you get to Portsmouth."
A good holiday! How surprised both would have been had they known the
kind of holiday which was in store for Jim!
Instead of going straight to work, the boy ran home with his bag of
books, and stayed a few minutes with his mother, chatting of the
splendid send-off to Mr. Laythorne.
"Dick led the cheering," said he, "and we all sang, 'For he's a jolly
good fellow!'"
"So he is," said Mrs. Hartland, smiling--"none better, as far as we are
concerned."
"Well, I must be off," remarked Jim, "or Mr. Broad will wonder if I'm
lost."
They were very busy at the shop, and the boy worked away with a will.
Perhaps the breaking-up scene had put him in good spirits; at any rate,
the stationer remarked on his cheerfulness. While they were waiting for
the evening papers, Jim, anxious not to waste time, sat down in a recess
and began addressing a pile of labels.
Suddenly he saw a man pass the window, stop as if hesitating, and then
enter the shop. Knowing his employer was at the counter, he went on
with his work, not thinking he would be required.
"I can polish these things off to-night if I peg away at them," he said
to himself. "Where's that other book of addresses, I wonder? Oh, I
see!"
He got up to fetch the volume. From where he stood he could just see
the top of Mr. Broad's head, but nothing of the customer. He heard his
employer say "Good-evening," to which the stranger replied in a tone
that made Jim jump.
He placed the book on the table, and sat down. It was no business of
his, but he felt compelled to listen to the conversation. The first
words brought the blood to his face with a rush.
"Have you a boy named Hartland employed here?" asked the stranger.
"I have."
"James Hartland?"
"That is his name. Why?"
"I should like to speak to him for a minute, if I may."
"Is it anything important? because he is busy at present."
Jim thought the man laughed; but he said aloud, "I think it's important
enough for me to see him."
"Hartland!" cried his master, "here's a gentleman wishes to see you!"
And Jim, half dazed by surprise and doubt and fear, moved slowly toward
the counter.
The man on the other side of the counter was of medium height, well
proportioned on the whole, but with a great breadth of chest. He was
dressed in heavy serge of a dark-blue colour, and wore a peaked cap.
His hair was short and curly; a few silver threads sprinkled the tawny
brown of an ample beard. His eyes were gray; his face was white, and
rather drawn. An observant critic would probably have called him a
strong man just recovered or recovering from a severe illness.
For a moment he looked hard at the boy; then a tender smile overspread
his face, his lips parted, and in a soft voice he whispered, "Jim!"
I do not know that the stationer ever complained; he might have done so
with reason. Jim was a good all-round athlete, who, on ordinary
occasions, could vault over the counter with ease. Now, dizzy with
excitement, he made an erratic kick, sweeping papers, books, and
stationery to the floor. Neither did he stop to repair the mischief,
but flung himself with a cry of joy into the man's outstretched arms.
Presently the man looked round on the pile of wreckage, and smiled.
"Come, Jim," said he, "let us put this straight." And while Mr. Broad
looked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up the
fallen articles.
"If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habit
of guessing, I should say you are Mr. John Hartland, who was drowned off
Cape Horn."
"Right you are, sir!" returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am John
Hartland, and this is my boy. I'm just down from London. I heard Jim
was up here, and I've come to borrow him. You see, he has to tell his
mother. I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners of
the _Morning Star_ know I'm still in the land of the living."
"Take him, my good sir!" said the delighted stationer. "Take him, and
good luck to you both! But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!"
"I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!" exclaimed Jim; "I won't leave
you in the lurch. But I must go now. Oh, _how_ shall I tell mother?"
People stopped to look at them in the streets--they were so patently, so
undeniably happy. John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, and
every now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face.
"We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked.
"Yes, I know. I've made inquiries," replied his father. "How is
Susie?"
"She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better. The doctor says
she is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believe
you are here!"
"Can't you? Just feel this!" And he squeezed the boy's arm. "How is
mother living?"
"By her needle. She does beautiful needlework."
"I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn't this Brook Street? You
go on, and I'll wait here a bit. But don't be long, Jim, don't be long!
My patience will soon bubble over. I've been burning to get a peep at
her."
Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the
house. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in
surprise.
"What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the shop?"
"It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news. Mr.
Broad said I might come. I've something to tell you--something
pleasant, that will make you very happy."
"Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes.
"A marvellous thing, mother--more marvellous than you ever dreamed of.
Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."
The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitched
nervously.
"Jim," she said pathetically--"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell me
quickly! O Jim, I can't bear it!"
"It's true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, father
is alive; there's news of him. He's coming home--coming to Beauleigh!"
Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a
silent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praise
and the thanksgiving were all there.
And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step
on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open.
"O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!"
He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own
words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the
next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms.
"Mary!"
"John!"
Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were
required to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerous
questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account of
his wonderful escape to be given.
I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of
interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. The
man Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland
was astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a good
swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared
he would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and he
could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the
rough sea.
The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted by
the prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home,
he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child laying
its head on the pillows. Only for the sake of his wife and children he
fought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of the
sea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun,
without sight.
Death was then very close at hand. He never knew the exact manner of
his rescue or the period of his unconsciousness. He came back to life
in a wretched hut on a desolate coast. Several natives stood around
him. They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way of
thinking, absolutely without the necessities of life. However, they
treated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire for
him, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants their
greatest dainty--an occasional bird.
From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; and
afterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his way
round to Rio. Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunate
accident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.
Then Mrs. Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim's
unselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder and
murmuring, "Good boy! Good boy, Jimmy! You did well!"
"As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick! Thank
goodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can never
repay his generous thoughtfulness. Money's no good for that part of the
case."
"No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr. Stewart either.
We have had much to be thankful for, John."
"'Pon my word!" exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down on
the table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so much
kindness in the world. When shall I be able to see Susie?"
"We must consult the doctor," said his wife. "The sudden shock may not
be good for her."
"Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore to
see the little lass."
True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and for
several days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time was
over. It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought of
reward.
The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and he
received the congratulations of all kinds of people. Dick Boden, of
course, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardly
necessary to state, he was warmly welcomed.
"I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!" exclaimed the jovial sailor,
"nor what you did for Jim. I've heard the yarn. Just wait till I come
back from my next voyage."
"I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face,
"that it won't take quite as long as the last." And the sailor laughed.
He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home.
His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderful
hope. With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, and
had come away with the profound conviction that she was gradually
growing stronger. Indeed, Dr. Stewart had said as much, and more also.
"Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk,
and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aid
of crutches."
Mr. Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, and
Jim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived,
directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on the
following morning. Accordingly, Mrs. Hartland packed his things, Jim
paid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was now
installed in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hour
with his parents.
"I'll come with you, my boy," said his father. "I wish to thank this Mr.
Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."
The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance of
the sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, and
then his father said,--
"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but I
want to thank you from my heart for your kindness. You've been a real
Samaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it. There is just
one thing to be said. I mustn't trade on your generosity. The owners
of the _Morning Star_ have behaved very handsomely, so that I can well
afford to pay Jim's shot. Now that his father is home again, the boy
mustn't be a burden on you, sir. You see that?"
"Very well," said Mr. Laythorne; "that shall be as you please." And
before Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminently
satisfactory arrangement.
"And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and run
back.--Good-bye, my boy. Write often to your mother, and try to show
this gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.--Good-bye,
sir. If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have you
to thank for it."
They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr.
Laythorne said,--
"This is a happier start than I expected. Now let us go to the school;
there are several things to be done before the boys return."
"Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to begin
his fresh start in life.