IN WHICH BOBBY FINDS "IT IS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NO ONE ANY GOOD"  
A gentleman, who was sitting near Bobby when he made the remark which the colored boy had misunderstood, interfered to free him from blame, and probably all unpleasant feelings might have been saved, if Tom's zeal had been properly directed. As it was, the waiter retired with his bell, vowing vengeance upon his assailant.
 
"How came you here, Tom?" asked Bobby, when the excitement had subsided.
 
"You don't get rid of me so easily," replied Tom, laughing.
 
Bobby called to mind the old adage that "a bad penny is sure to return;" and, if it had not been a very uncivil remark, he would have said it.
 
"I didn't expect to see you again at present," he observed, hardly knowing what to say or do.
 
"I suppose not; but as I didn't mean you should expect me, I kept out of sight. Only for that darkey you wouldn't have found me out so soon. I like you, Bob, in spite of all you have done to get rid of me, and I wasn't a going to let the darkey thrash you."
 
"You only made matters worse."
 
"That is all the thanks I get for hitting him for you."
 
"I am sorry you hit him; at the same time I suppose you meant to do me a service, and I thank you, not for the blow you struck the black boy, but for your good intentions."
 
"That sounds better. I meant well, Bob."
 
"I dare say you did. But how came you here?"
 
"Why, you see, I was bound to go with you anyhow or at least to keep within hail of you. You told me, you know, that you were going in the steamboat; and after I left the shop, what should I see but a big picture of a steamboat on a wall. It said. 'Bath, Gardiner, and Hallowell,' on the bill; and I knew that was where you meant to go. So this afternoon I hunts round and finds the steamboat. I thought I never should have found it; but here I am."
 
"What are you going to do?"
 
"Going into the book business," replied Tom, with a smile.
 
"Where are your books?"
 
"Down stairs, in the cellar of the steamboat, or whatever you call it."
 
"Where did you get them?"
 
"Bought 'em, of course."
 
"Did you? Where?"
 
"Well, I don't remember the name of the street now. I could go right there if I was in the city, though."
 
"Would they trust you?"
 
Tom hesitated. The lies he had told that morning had done him no good—had rather injured his cause; and, though he had no principle that forbade lying, he questioned its policy in the present instance.
 
"I paid part down, and they trusted me part."
 
"How many books you got?"
 
"Twenty dollars' worth. I paid eight dollars down."
 
"You did? Where did you get the eight dollars?"
 
Bobby remembered the money Tom's father had lost several weeks before, and immediately connected that circumstance with his present ability to pay so large a sum.
 
Tom hesitated again, but he was never at a loss for an answer.
 
"My mother gave it to me."
 
"Your mother?"
 
"Yes, sir!" replied Tom, boldly, and in that peculiarly bluff manner which is almost always good evidence that the boy is lying.
 
"But you ran away from home."
 
"That's so; but my mother knew I was coming."
 
"Did she?"
 
"To be sure she did."
 
"You didn't say so before."
 
"I can't tell all I know in a minute."
 
"If I thought your mother consented to your coming, I wouldn't say another word."
 
"Well, she did; you may bet your life on that."
 
"And your mother gave you ten dollars?"
 
"Who said she gave me ten dollars?" asked Tom, a little sharply.
 
That was just the sum his father had lost, and Bobby had unwittingly hinted his suspicion.
 
"You must have had as much as that if you paid eight on your books. Your fare to Boston and your steamboat fare must be two dollars more."
 
"I know that; but look here, Bob;" and Tom took from his pocket five half dollars and exhibited them to his companion. "She gave me thirteen dollars."
 
Notwithstanding this argument, Bobby felt almost sure that the lost ten dollars was a part of his capital.
 
"I will tell you my story now, Bob, if you like. You condemned me without a hearing, as Jim Guthrie said when they sent him to the House of Correction for getting drunk."
 
"Go ahead."
 
The substance of Tom's story was, that his father drank so hard, and was such a tyrant in the house, that he could endure it no longer. His father and mother did not agree, as any one might have suspected. His mother, encouraged by the success of Bobby, thought that Tom might do something of the kind, and she had provided him the money to buy his stock of books.
 
Bobby had not much confidence in this story. He had been deceived once; besides, it was not consistent with his previous narrative, and he had not before hinted that he had obtained his mother's consent. But Tom was eloquent, and protested that he had reformed, and meant to do well. He declared, by all that was good and great, Bobby should never have reason to be ashamed of him.
 
Our little merchant was troubled. He could not now get rid of Tom without actually quarrelling with him, or running away from him. He did not wish to do the former, and it was not an easy matter to do the latter. Besides, there was hope that the runaway would do well; and if he did, when he carried the profits of his trade home, his father would forgive him. One thing was certain; if he returned to Riverdale he would be ............