OUT OF WORK
Thinking he might not have looked in the right pocket, Tom made a hasty
search through all the others.
“No use,” he said dolefully, “it’s gone! I must have dropped it after I
left the house. What’s to be done?”
The situation was serious for the lad. He wished he had been more
careful, but he had been so engaged in thinking of the queer actions of
Mr. and Mrs. Sandow, and in talking to Charley Grove, that he had given
little thought to the money.
“Mr. Townsend will think I have stolen it, when I go to him in the
morning, and say I’ve lost it,” murmured Tom. “I wish I had been more
particular. Maybe there was a hole in my pocket.”
He looked, but there was none, for Mrs. Baldwin attended carefully to
her son’s clothes.
“This is certainly a pickle!” exclaimed the boy to himself softly. “I
wonder what I’d better do? Maybe if I go back the way I came I’ll find
the envelope lying in the street. It was a good-sized, white one, and
I can easily see it.”
“But maybe I dropped it in the car,” he added. “No, I don’t believe I
could have done that, or some of the passengers or the conductor would
have seen it on the floor, and told me about it. I must have lost it
either before I got on the car, or afterward. I’ll walk back to where I
met Charley, and see if it’s there.”
It was nearly eleven o’clock now, and as Tom looked up at the silent
little house, where his mother and aunt were doubtless sleeping, he
wondered if he had better go in and tell his parent about the loss, and
inform her that he was going to look for the money.
“No, I’ll not do that,” he decided. “She’ll only worry about it, and
she has troubles enough. I’ll hurry as much as I can, and get back as
soon as possible. Still, if I’m not in by midnight she may worry too.
But then I told her I was likely to be late any night now, for I might
have to deliver books in the suburbs. I guess she won’t worry if I
don’t go in right away.”
Deciding that this was the best plan, Tom descended the steps of his
home, and hurried back over the route he had taken from the car.
How eagerly he scanned the pavement, looking for that white, square
envelope! Every scrap of paper he saw made his heart flutter, until he
came close to it, and saw that it was not what he sought.
“Well, here’s where I took the car,” he said, as he reached the corner
where he had alighted. “Either I didn’t drop it along this way, or if I
did, some one has picked it up. Now for the second part of my search.”
He waited for a car to come along, to take him back to Dr. Spidderkins’
house, and it was a cold, lonesome wait for Tom, who felt quite
miserable over what had happened. To his delight he saw on the car the
same conductor with whom he had ridden about an hour before. The man
was on the return trip.
“Did you find an envelope in the car, after I left?” asked Tom eagerly,
as he got aboard, and told the circumstances.
“Didn’t find anything but an old lunch box, and there was nothing in
it,” said the conductor.
“Then I must have dropped it before I got on the car,” decided Tom.
Arriving at the place where he had first boarded the electric vehicle,
he alighted and hurried over the ground toward the house of the
eccentric doctor. No sign of a white envelope greeted his anxious eyes.
“I’m going to ask if it’s in the house,” the boy said to himself, as he
stood in front of the big, dark mansion. “I might have let it slip when
I thought I put it in my pocket, and perhaps they picked it up on the
floor. Though if Mr. and Mrs. Sandow did, they’re likely to keep it, if
what Charley Grove says is true.”
Tom rang the bell. It seemed like a quarter of an hour before some one
opened a window over his head and called:
“Well, what’s the matter? Is it a telegram?”
“I’m from Townsend’s book store,” replied Tom. “I came----”
“What! More books!” exclaimed a voice Tom recognized as Mrs. Sandow’s.
“You can’t leave ’em here to-night. Everybody’s to bed long ago. You’ll
have to come back in the morning.”
“I haven’t got any books,” said Tom. “I dropped the envelope with the
ten-dollar bill the doctor gave me, and I thought maybe it might be in
the house. Would you mind looking?”
“That’s a likely story!” sneered Mr. Sandow, joining his wife at the
window. “You probably stole that money, and now you want us to help you
lie about it. Clear out of here!”
“I didn’t steal the money!” exclaimed Tom. “I lost it! Will you please
look down in the sitting-room, or have Dr. Spidderkins do so?”
“The doctor’s asleep, and I’m not going to disturb him,” declared Mrs.
Sandow.
“I guess not!” added her husband. “Now clear out of here, and don’t
disturb us any more. You’re a nuisance, with your books and things!
I’ll put a stop to this buying of trash!”
“What’s the matter? What is it? Is it a burglar after my rare books?”
inquired Dr. Spidderkins, coming suddenly to the window, behind Mr.
and Mrs. Sandow. He leaned out, and Tom could see, in the light of an
electric arc lamp in front of the house, that the doctor was dressed,
and had on his spectacles, as if he had been sitting up reading.
“Go back to bed!” called the woman.
“I haven’t been to bed. I must have forgotten to go,” answered the
doctor. “I was reading an account of how the Romans invaded England.
It’s in a very rare first edition of----”
The rest of the sentence was cut off, as Mr. Sandow slammed the window
down.
“They don’t want him to speak to me,” thought Tom. “I wonder what’s the
matter with that couple? They seem to want the doctor to do just as
they say.”
An instant later the window was raised again, and the aged physician
looked out.
“Did you say some one was stealing my books?” he asked. “Are you a
policeman? I’m much obliged to you. I hope the fellow didn’t get my
first folio Shakespeare.”
“No, I’m not a policeman! No books have been stolen!” cried Tom. “I’m
from Townsend’s book store.”
“Oh, yes. You’re Theopholus--no--I remember now; you’re Tom Baldwin.
Wait; I’ll be right down. Have you some more books for me?”
Before the boy could answer, the window was shut again, but in less
than a minute the front door opened, and Dr. Spidderkins, holding a
candle in his hand, for he liked that old-fashioned method of going
about the house after dark, was inviting Tom to enter. The story of the
mishap was soon told.
“I thought maybe I might have dropped the envelope here,” the boy
finished.
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Dr. Spidderkins, as he reached for his
pocketbook. He searched hurriedly through it. Then he uttered an
exclamation. “There! It’s all my fault. I knew I’d forget about it!”
“What?” asked Tom hopefully.
“Why, I gave you the wrong thing! There wasn’t any ten-dollar bill in
that envelope!”
“There wasn’t?” and Tom’s heart grew light again.
[Illustration: “Why, I gave you the wrong thing!” said Dr. Spidderkins.
_Page 50._]
“No. That envelope contained a list of books I wanted Mr. Townsend to
get for me. I meant to send it back to him by whoever called for the
ten dollars. I put the envelope in the compartment with the bill, so I
would remember about it. Then my memory played me a trick, and I gave
you the envelope with the list, and not the bill. So you haven’t lost
much of anything, after all. I can easily make out another list, and
here is the ten-dollar bill. Queer how that happened.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t give me the money,” said Tom with
a smile, “for I would have lost it. But I’ll be careful this time.”
He placed the bill in an inner pocket, and then, bidding the doctor
good-night, Tom once more started for home. This time he reached it in
safety, and he put the bill under his pillow when he went to bed. He
said nothing about the little adventure to his mother or aunt, merely
stating that he had been out late because of some business for his
employer. Nor did he mention the happening to Mr. Townsend.
The work at the book store became more exacting as Christmas
approached, and as customers increased, Tom was kept busy from morning
to night. He had to run on many errands, and he learned more of Boston
than he had ever known before.
He made many sales in the store, and several times he waited on Dr.
Spidderkins, but the physician made no reference to Tom’s midnight
visit. Probably he forgot all about it ten minutes after it occurred.
Christmas eve Tom was up until after midnight, delivering books to
late customers, and when he got back to the store about one o’clock in
the morning, he found Mr. Townsend about to close up.
“Tom,” said his employer, “you’ve done very good work for me, and I
assure you I appreciate it. We don’t open to-morrow, and here’s a
little remembrance for the Christmas season.”
He handed our hero a book of adventures that Tom had long desired to
possess.
“I am sorry,” went on Mr. Townsend, “that I won’t be able to keep you
after this week. You know I engaged you for the holiday rush, and
that’s over now, so I won’t need so many clerks. I am sorry to have to
let you go, as you suited me very well.”
“I’m sorry, too,” said Tom frankly, “but, of course, I understood when
you hired me that it was for the holiday season. I only hoped you could
keep me.”
“So did I, but I find I can not. Your week will not be up until
Saturday, but as there will be little to do, you need not come in that
day, nor Friday, though I will pay you for a full week. Here is the
money. Now if you want a reference, to get another position, call on
me. I will be glad to speak a good word for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Townsend.”
“I think you can get work, somewhere,” went on the bookseller. “I wish
I could keep you, but I can’t. Times are too dull. Good-night, Tom.”
Tom went home with a heavy heart, in spite of the fact that it was
Christmas morning, and that a book had been presented to him. He was
out of work, and he did not know where to look for a situation.