“What are you two giggling about?” asked a sudden voice, and Berty, looking up from the hall, and Tom, from the staircase, saw Bonny standing on the steps above them.

“Meow, meow,” murmured Tom, in a scarcely audible voice.

“What’s up with him, Berty?” asked Bonny, good-naturedly.

“I think his head must be growing weak,” said the girl. “Everything lately seems to amuse him. If you hold up a finger, he goes into fits of laughter.”

“Poor Tom,” said Bonny, “and once he was a joy to his friends—I say, old man, uncurl yourself and tell us the joke.”

“Go ’way, Berty,” ejaculated Tom, partly straightening himself, “go ’way. You hate to see[205] me laugh. Just like all girls. They haven’t any more sense of humour than sticks.”

“Bonny,” said Berty, turning to her brother, “how is Grandma?”

“Asleep, and resting quietly.”

“I’ll go sit beside her,” said the girl; then, turning to her visitor, “Tom Everest, are you going to do that commission for me, or are you not? I’ve stood a good deal from you to-night. Just one word more, and I take it from you and give it to Bonny.”

“I’m ready and willing if it’s anything good,” said the light-haired boy.

“Sha’n’t have it, Bonny,” said Tom, staggering to his feet. “That jewel is mine. I’ll love and cherish him, Berty, until to-morrow afternoon, then I’ll report to you.”

“Good night, then,” said Berty, “and don’t make a noise, or you’ll wake Grandma.”

“Come on, Bonny, let’s interview Berty’s treasure,” exclaimed Tom, seizing his hat.

“What is it?” inquired Bonny, curiously, following him through the hall.

“A black pearl. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, I haven’t been here long. We were busy at the works.”

[206]

Without speaking, Tom led the way down the back staircase, through the lower hall, and out to the wood-shed at the back of the house.

“Listen to it,” he said to Bonny, with his hand on the door-knob.

“Who is snoring in there?” said the boy, quickly.

“One of your sister’s bits of driftwood. I’ve got to haul this one into port.”

“I wish Berty would look out for number one, and let number two, and three, and four, and five, take care of themselves,” said the lad, irritably. Then he suddenly recollected himself. “I suppose I am a brute, but I do hate dirty people. Berty is an angel compared with me.”

“Hello,” said Tom, opening the door and scratching a match to light the candle in a lantern hanging near him.

There was no response. Tom held the lantern and pushed the sleeping man with his foot.

“Here, you—wake up.”

The man rolled over, blinking at them in the light. “Hello, comrade, what you want?”

“Get up,” said Tom, commandingly.

“What for?” asked the sleeper, yawningly.

“To get out of this. I’ll find you another sleeping-place.”

[207]

“Oh, come, comrade,” said the man, remonstratingly, “this is cruelty to animals. I was having the sleep of my life—like drugged sleep—takes me back to my boyhood. Move on, and let me begin again. Your diamonds are safe to-night. I’ve had a first-class supper, and I’m having a first-class sleep. I wouldn’t get up to finger the jewels of the Emperor of Russia.”

“Get up,” said Tom, inexorably.

“Let him stay,” said Bonny. “I’m going to be here all night. If he gets dangerous, I’ll take the poker.”

“Oh, you’re going to stay all night,” remarked Tom. “Very good, then. I’ll come early in the morning and get him out of this.”

“Talking about me, gentlemen?” asked the man, sleepily.

Tom and Bonny stared at him.

“I haven’t done anything bad yet,” said the tramp, meekly, “unless I may have corrupted a few of those guinea-pigs by using bad language. They’re the most inquisitive creatures I ever saw. Stuck their noses in my food, and most took it away from me.”

“Who are you?” asked Bonny, abruptly.

“A poor, broken-down sailor, sir,” whined the[208] man. “Turned out of his vessel the first day in port, because he had a little weakness of the heart.”

“I heard you were a doctor,” interposed Tom.

“So I was this afternoon, sir. That nice young lady said I looked like a sailor, so I thought I’d be one to please her.”

“You’re a first-class liar, anyway,” said Tom.

The man rolled over on his back and sleepily blinked at him. “That I am, sir. If you’d hear the different stories I tell to charitable ladies, you’d fall down in a fit. They’re too funny for words.”

Bonny was staring at him with wide-open eyes. He had never spoken to a tramp before in his life. If he saw one on the right side of the street, he immediately crossed to the left.

“I say,” he began, with a fastidious curl of his lip, “it must be mighty queer not to know in the morning where you are going to lay your head at night. Queer, and mighty uncomfortable.”

“So it is, young man, till you get used to it,” responded the tramp, amiably.

Bonny’s countenance expressed the utmost disdain, and suddenly the tramp raised himself on an elbow. “Can you think of me, my fine lad, young and clean and as good-looking as you are?”

“No, I can’t,” said Bonny, frankly.

[209]

“Fussy about my tailor,” continued the man. “Good heavens, just think of it—I, bothering about the cut of my coat. But I was, and I did, and I’ve come down to be a trailer over the roads.”

“How can persons take a jump like that?” said the boy, musingly.

“It isn’t a jump,” pursued the tramp, lazily, “it’s a slide. You move a few inches each day. I’m something of a philosopher, and I often look back on my career. I’ve lots of time to think, as you may imagine. Now, gentlemen, you wouldn’t imagine where my slide into trampdom began.”

“You didn’t start from the gutter, anyway,” remarked Bonny, “for you talk like a gentleman.”

“You’re right, young man. I can talk the slang of the road. I’ve been broken to it, but I won’t waste it on you, for you wouldn’t understand it—well, my first push downward was given me by my mother.”

“Your mother?” echoed Bonny, in disgust.

“Yes, young sir—one of the best women that ever lived. She held me out to the devil, when she allowed me to kick the cat because it had made me fall.”

“Nonsense,” said Bonny, sharply.

“Not nonsense, but sound sense, sir. That was[210] the beginning of the lack of self-restraint. Did I want her best cap to tear to ribbons? I got it.”

“Oh, get out,” interposed Tom, crossly. “You needn’t tell us that all spoiled children go to the bad.”

“Good London, no,” said the man, with a laugh. “Look at our millionaires. Could you find on the face of the earth a more absolute autocrat, a more heartless, up-to-date, determined-to-have-his-own-way, let-the-rest-of-you-go-to-the-dogs kind of a man, than the average American millionaire?”

The two young men eyed each other, and............