TOM LEARNS SOMETHING
Poor Tom was much distressed. What he meant to be an act calculated to
benefit the old doctor, was likely to turn to his disadvantage, for he
could not but admit that appearances were against him. It did look, to
a casual observer, as though he had taken the pocketbook and was about
to run away with it.
“This boy a thief?” exclaimed Dr. Lemuel Spidderkins as he looked at
Tom. “I don’t believe it! He’s the boy who brought me the books. He’s
an honest lad if ever I saw one.”
“Well, your eyesight isn’t very good,” remarked Mr. Sandow sneeringly.
“I saw him steal the pocketbook.”
“Oh, it’s my pocketbook you’re talking about, is it?” asked the doctor.
“Certainly. What did you think we were speaking about?” asked his
brother-in-law.
“Why, I thought you meant one of these books. Bless my soul, that is my
pocketbook. I forgot about it for the moment, I was thinking so much
about this book.”
Tom did not know what to make of the aged man. Certainly his memory was
very short, for in one breath he talked of his wallet, and the next he
forgot he had mentioned it.
“Better look and see if he took any of the money out,” suggested Mr.
Sandow. “The policeman will be here in a minute.”
“I didn’t take any money!” insisted Tom.
The aged physician opened the wallet and examined it.
“Well, if this isn’t a queer thing!” he exclaimed. “I meant to put a
hundred dollars in it this morning, to buy a rare copy of Gibbon’s
Rome, but I forgot it. I haven’t a cent with me. You’ll have to lend me
some, Barton.”
“Are you sure you didn’t give the hundred dollars away?” remarked Mr.
Spidderkins’ relative with a sneer.
“No; I’m sure I left it home. I put it in back of the first edition of
Bacon’s Essays. I remember now. My pocketbook hasn’t a cent in it, so
if any one had taken it, he wouldn’t have stolen anything.”
Tom looked relieved. Still, he wanted to be cleared of the least
suspicion, and he did not know how this was going to be brought about.
Unexpectedly, however, matters turned out right.
Quite a crowd had collected by this time, and a policeman was edging
his way through it.
“What’s the matter?” asked several. “Anybody killed?” was another
inquiry.
“This boy tried to steal Dr. Spidderkins’ pocketbook,” declared Mr.
Sandow.
“I did not!” indignantly denied Tom, and he explained what had really
happened.
“I believe the boy’s right,” declared a middle-aged man in the throng.
“What do you know about it?” asked Mr. Sandow roughly.
“I was walking right behind this old gentleman,” was the reply, and
the man indicated the physician. “I saw his pocketbook partly out of
his pocket, and I was just going to tell him to look out for it, when
he turned into the book store. Then I thought if it fell out he would
hear it drop, and pick it up, and I passed on. When I saw the crowd
collecting I turned back.”
“Ah, I told you this boy was not a thief!” exclaimed Dr. Spidderkins.
“You don’t know whether he is or not,” muttered Barton Sandow.
“Do you want to make a charge?” asked the policeman, turning to the
aged physician.
“Indeed I do not, officer. I know this boy to be honest. He used to
bring me books from Mr. Townsend’s store, and I am a good judge of
character.”
“All right,” agreed the bluecoat. “You’re the person most interested,
and you ought to know what you want to do. Now then, move on, you
people,” he said to the crowd which was growing larger. “It’s all over.
No arrest is going to be made.”
“I’m much obliged to you, sir,” said Tom to the man who had testified
in his favor. “And to you, Dr. Spidderkins, for believing in me.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the middle-aged man. “I’m glad I could
do you a good turn.”
The crowd began to disperse, and Mr. Sandow, with a spiteful look at
Tom, hurried off up the street.
“He acts as though he had a grudge against me,” thought Tom. “I wonder
why?”
“There!” exclaimed Dr. Spidderkins, “my brother-in-law has gone off,
without giving me a cent of money, and I want to buy this book. What
shall I do? Oh, my memory is getting something very bad! I shall have
to get a secretary.”
“I’d lend the money to you, only I haven’t any,” said Tom. “I’m to get
fifty cents for delivering this bundle, but I won’t have that until I
return.”
“I’ll take the will for the deed,” replied the old doctor, with a
twinkle in his eyes. “Perhaps the bookseller will trust me, or hold the
book for me.”
The proprietor of the store, who had been in the rear, and had not
noticed the commotion in front of his place, now came out as he saw a
possible customer. He at once recognized Dr. Spidderkins, who was a
well-known character in the book stores of the entire city. The man at
once agreed to let the physician take the book home, and pay for it
when he liked. He even loaned him some money for car fare, since the
first five cents he had paid a conductor, on leaving home, had been all
the cash available.
Now that everything was satisfactorily adjusted Tom hurried off with
the books. He delivered them safely, received his money, and arranged
to call the following day, to see if there were any errands he might
do. As he was starting toward home, for it was so late that he did not
believe it worth while to look any farther for work that day, he was
hailed by Charley Grove.
“Hello, Tom,” called his chum. “I thought you were comin’ over and see
a fellow.”
“I meant to, some evening, Charley, but I had to work late around
Christmas time, and since then I’ve been looking for a place, and I
haven’t had much time.”
“What’s the matter; did you get discharged?”
“Not exactly, but there was no more work for me after the holidays.”
“I see,” declared Charley shortly. “Why don’t you learn to be a
telephone boy?”
“Wish I might; but where could I? Every place I go they want
experienced help, but how’s a fellow ever to get any experience if he
never has a chance to learn?”
“That’s so. Maybe I could teach you something about it. Our office
closes early, and there’d be plenty of chances to learn.”
“I wish you would.”
“I’ll speak to the boss about it to-morrow, and let you know. I stand
in pretty good with him.”
The next evening Charley left word at Tom’s house (for our hero was
absent, delivering some books for the second-hand dealer) that the
broker had consented to allow Tom to learn how to operate a small
private exchange switchboard.
When Tom got home, later that evening, he went over to Charley’s house,
and they completed the arrangements. The following afternoon Tom
presented himself at the broker’s office. Business was over for the
day, and save for two bookkeepers and Charley, the place was deserted.
Thereupon, Charley initiated Tom into the mysteries of the plugs, the
weighted cords, the switches, cams and the push buttons that constitute
a private exchange.
“Do you think it will take me long to learn it?” asked Tom, as he made
imaginary connections.
“No. A week or so, and then you can get a good job. I learned in a
week. Wait now, and we’ll practice. I’ll make believe I’m the boss.”