CHAPTER VII.
TOM MAKES A FRIEND
Twenty-five cents is not a large sum, but it was Tom’s entire fortune. It was all she had, not only to buy breakfast with, but also to start in business. She had an excellent appetite, but now there was no hope of satisfying it until she could earn some more money.
Tom hurried back to the lodging, and entered, looking excited.
“Well, what’s wanted?” asked Meg, who knew well enough without asking.
“I’ve lost some money.”
“Suppose you did,” said the woman, defiantly, “you don’t mean to say I took it.”
“No,” said Tom, “but I had it when I laid down.”
“Where was it?”
“In my pocket.”
“Might have tumbled out among the straw,” suggested Meg.
This struck Tom as not improbable, and she went back into the bedroom, and, getting down on her hands and knees, commenced poking about for it. But even if it had been there, any of my readers who has ever lost money in this way knows that it is very difficult to find under such circumstances.
Tom persevered in her search until her next-door neighbor growled out that he wished she would clear out. At length she was obliged to give it up.
“Have you found it?” asked Meg.
“No,” said Tom, soberly.
“How much was it?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
“That aint much.”
“It’s enough to bust me. I don’t believe it’s in the straw.”
“What do you believe?” demanded Meg, whose guilty conscience made her scent an accusation.
“I think some of them took it while I was asleep,” said Tom, indicating the other lodgers by a jerk of her finger.
“Likely they did,” said Meg, glad to have suspicion diverted elsewhere.
“I wish I knew,” said Tom.
“What’ud you do?”
“I’d get it back again,” said Tom, her black eyes snapping with resolution.
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re nothin’ but a babby. You couldn’t do nothin’!”
“Couldn’t I?” returned Tom. “I’d let ’em know whether I was a baby.”
“Well, you go along now,” said Meg. “Your money’s gone, and you can’t get it back. Next time give it to me to keep, and it’ll be safe.”
Being penniless, Tom was in considerable uncertainty when she would again be mistress of so large a sum. At present she felt in no particular dread of being robbed. She left the lodgings, realizing that the money was indeed gone beyond hope of recovery.
There is some comfort in beginning the day with a good breakfast. It warms one up, and inspires hope and confidence. As a general rule people are good-natured and cheerful after a hearty breakfast. For ten cents Tom might have got a cup of coffee, or what passed for such, and a plate of tea-biscuit. With the other fifteen she could have bought a few morning papers, and easily earned enough to pay for a square meal in the middle of the day. Now she must go to work without capital, and on an empty stomach, which was rather discouraging. She would have fared better than this at granny’s, though not much, her breakfast there usually consisting of a piece of stale bread, with perhaps a fragment of cold sausage. Coffee, granny never indulged in, believing whiskey to be more healthful. Occasionally, in moments of extreme good nature, she had given Tom a sip of whiskey; but the young Arab had never got to like it, fortunately for herself, though she had accepted it as a variation of her usual beverage, cold water.
In considering what she should do for the day, Tom decided to go to some of the railway stations or steamboat landings, and try to get a chance to carry a carpet-bag. “Baggage-smashing” required no capital, and this was available in her present circumstances.
Tom made her way to the pier where the steamers of the Fall River line arrive. Ordinarily it would have been too late, but it had been a windy night, the sound was rough, and the steamer was late, so that Tom arrived just in the nick of time.
Tom took her place among the hackmen, and the men and boys who, like her, were bent on turning an honest penny by carrying baggage.
“Clear out of the way here, little gal!” said a stout, overgrown boy. “Smash your baggage, sir?”
“Clear out yourself!” said Tom, boldly. “I’ve got as much right here as you.”
Her little, sharp eyes darted this way and that in search of a possible customer. The boy who had been rude to her got a job, and this gave Tom a better chance. She offered her services to a lady, who stared at her with curiosity and returned no answer. Tom began to think she should not get a job. There seemed a popular sentiment in favor of employing boys, and Tom, like others of her sex, found herself shut out from an employment for which she considered herself fitted. But, at length, she saw approaching a big, burly six-footer, with a good-natured face. There was something about him which inspired Tom with confidence, and, pressing forward, she said, “Carry your bag, sir?”
He stopped short and looked down at the queer figure of our heroine. Then, glancing at his carpet-bag, which was of unusual size and weight, the idea of his walking through the streets with Tom bending beneath the weight of his baggage, struck him in so ludicrous a manner that he burst into a hearty laugh.
“What’s up?” demanded Tom, suspiciously. “Who are you laughin’ at?”
“So you want to carry my carpet-bag?” he asked, laughing again.
“Yes,” said Tom.
“Why, I could put you in it,” said the tall man, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“No, you couldn’t,” said Tom.
“Do you think you could carry it?”
“Let me try.”
He set it down, and Tom lifted it from the ground; but it was obviously too much for her strength.
“You see you can’t do it. Have you found anything to do this morning?”
“No,” said Tom.
“Business isn’t good, hey?”
“No,” said Tom, “but I wouldn’t mind so much if I hadn’t had my money stole. I’m bust!”
“How’s that? Did the bank break or have you been speculating?”
“Oh, you’re gasin’! I aint got nothing to do with banks. Somebody stole two shillin’s I had, so I’ve had no breakfast.”
“Come, that’s bad. I guess I must give you a job, after all. You can’t carry my bag, but you can carry this.”
He had under his arm something wrapped in a paper, making a small bundle. He handed it to Tom, and she trudged along with it after him.
“You couldn’t guess what that is, I suppose?” said her companion, sociably.
“No,” said Tom; “it feels soft.”
“It’s a large wax doll, for my little niece,” said her patron. “You haven’t got any dolls, I suppose?”
“I had one once,” said Tom. “It was made of rags. But granny threw it into the fire.”
“I suppose you were sorry.”
“I was then; but I’m too old for dolls now.”
“How old are you?”
“I aint sure. Somewheres about twelve.”
“You live with your granny, then?”
“No, I don’t,—not now.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to lick me, so I run away.”
“Then where do you live now?”
“Nowhere.”
“You have no home?”
“I don’t want no home. I can take care of myself,” said Tom, briskly.
“I see you are an independent, young woman. Now, if you were a boy, I’d give you a chance on board my ship.”
“Have you got a ship?” asked Tom, becoming interested.
“Yes, I am a sea-captain, and go on long voyages. If you wasn’t a girl, I’d take you along with me as cabin-boy.”
“I wish you would,” said Tom, eagerly.
“But you are a girl, you know? You couldn’t climb a mast.”
“Try me,” said Tom. “I’m strong. I fit with a boy yesterday, and licked him.”
Captain Barnes laughed, but shook his head.
“I see you’re spunky, if you are a girl,” he said. “But I never heard of a girl being cabin-boy, and I don’t think it would do.”
“I’d put on a boy’s clothes,” suggested Tom.
“You’ve begun to do it already,” said the captain, glancing at the cap and jacket. “I didn’t know at first but you were a boy. What makes you wear a cap?”
“Granny gave it to me. I like it better than a bonnet.”
They had by this time reached Broadway.
“You may steer across the Park to French’s Hotel,” said the sailor. “It’s too late to get breakfast at my sister’s.”
“All right,” said Tom.
They crossed the Park, and the street beyond, and reached the door of the brick hotel on the corner of Frankfort Street.
“I’ll go down into the restaurant first,” said Captain Barnes. “I feel like laying in a cargo before navigating any farther.”
“Here’s your bundle,” said Tom.
He took it, and handed Tom twenty-five cents, which she received with gratification, not having expected so much for carrying so small a bundle.
“Stay a moment,” said the sailor, as she was about to go away. “You haven’t had any breakfast, I think you said.”
“No.”
“Then you shall come in, and breakfast with me.”
This invitation astonished Tom not a little. It was the first invitation she had ever received to breakfast with a gentleman. French’s restaurant being higher priced than those which her class were in the habit of patronizing, she entered with some hesitation, not feeling quite sure how her entrance would be regarded by the waiters. She was not generally wanting in self-possession, but as she descended the stairs and entered the room, she felt awkward and out of her element.
CHAPTER VIII.
AT FRENCH’S HOTEL
“Clear out of here!” said a waiter, arresting Tom’s progress, and pointing to the steps by which she had descended from the sidewalk.
If Tom had been alone, she would have felt bound to obey the summons; but being under the protection of Captain Barnes, who, she reflected, looked a good deal stronger than the waiter, she stood her ground.
“Did you hear what I said?” demanded the waiter angrily, about to take Tom by the shoulder.
“Avast there!” put in the captain, who thought it time to interfere; “is that the way you treat your customers?”
“She aint no customer.”
“She is going to take breakfast here, my friend, and I should like to know what you have got to say about it.”
The waiter seemed taken aback by this unexpected championship of one whom he had supposed to be an unprotected street girl.
“I didn’t know she was with you,” he stammered.
“Well, you know it now. Come, child, you can sit down here.”
Tom enjoyed her triumph over the waiter, and showed it in a characteristic manner, by putting her thumb to her nose.
Captain Barnes sat down on one side of a table at one of the windows, and motioned Tom to sit opposite.
“I don’t think you told me your name,” he said.
“Tom.”
“Then, Tom, let me suggest that you take off your cap. It’s usual in the best society.”
“I never was there,” said Tom; but she removed her cap. This revealed a mop of hair, tangled it is true, but of a beautiful brown shade. Her black eyes sparkled from beneath, giving a bright, keen look to her face, browned by exposure to all weathers. I regret to say that the face was by no means clean. If it had been, and the whole expression had not been so wild and untamed, Tom would certainly have been considered pretty. As it was, probably no one would have wasted a second glance upon the little street girl.
“What will you have, sir, you and the young lady?” asked the waiter, emphasizing the last word, with a grin at Tom.
“What will you have, Tom?” asked the captain.
“Beefsteak, cup o’ coffee, and bread-and-butter,” said Tom, glibly.
Her knowledge of dishes was limited; but she had tried these and liked them, and this guided her in the selection.
“Very good,” said Captain Barnes; “the same for me, with fried potatoes and an omelet.”
Tom stared at this munificent order. She fixed her black eyes meditatively upon her entertainer, and wondered whether he always indulged in such a superlatively square meal.
“What are you thinking about, Tom?” questioned the captain.
“You must be awful rich,” said Tom.
Captain Barnes laughed.
“What makes you think so?”
“It’ll cost you a lot for breakfast.”
“But you know I don’t always have company to breakfast.”
“Do you call me company?”
“Of course I do.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d want to have me eat with you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a gentleman.”
“And you’re a young lady. Didn’t you hear the waiter call you so?”
“He was chaffin’.”
“You may be a lady some time.”
“’Taint likely,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t got no good clothes to wear, nor don’t know nothin’.”
“Can you read?”
“A little, but I don’t like to. It’s too hard work.”
“Makes your head ache, eh?”
“Yes,” said Tom, seriously.
Captain Barnes looked attentively at the odd little creature opposite him. He wondered what would be her fate. She was quick, sharp, pretty, but withal an untamed Arab of the streets. The chances seemed very much against her in the warfare of life. Society seemed leagued against her, and she was likely to be at war with it.
“I’ll make an effort to save her,” he thought. But of this he did not speak to Tom at present, more especially as the waiter was seen advancing with the breakfast ordered.
He deposited the various dishes, some before Tom, and the remainder before the captain.
Tom was not used to restaurants of the better class, and did not see the necessity of an empty plate in addition to the dish which contained the meat. Such ceremony was not in vogue at the ten-cent restaurants which she had hitherto patronized. She fixed her eyes eagerly upon the beefsteak, which emitted a very savory odor.
“Pass your plate, Tom, and I will give you some meat.”
Tom passed her plate, nothing loath, and the captain transferred to it a liberal supply of meat.
Tom waited for no ceremony, but, seizing her knife, attacked the meat vigorously.
“How is it?” asked her companion, amused.
“Bully!” said Tom, too busy to raise her eyes from her plate.
“Let me help you to a little of the omelet.”
Tom extended her plate, and a portion of the omelet was placed upon it.
Tom raised a little to her lips, cautiously, for it was a new dish to her, and she did not know whether she would like it. It seemed to be satisfactory, however, none being left upon her plate when she had finished eating.
Not much conversation went on during the meal. Tom’s entire energies were given to disposing of the squarest meal in which she had ever indulged, and the captain’s attention was divided between his breakfast and the young waif upon whom he was bestowing perfect bliss.
At length Tom’s efforts relaxed. She laid down her knife and fork, and heaved a sigh of exquisite enjoyment.
“Well,” said the captain, “would you like some more?”
“No,” said Tom, “I’m full.”
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“Didn’t I, just?” and Tom’s tone spoke volumes.
“I’m glad of that. I think it’s very good myself.”
“You’re a brick!” said Tom, in a tone of grateful acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” said Captain Barnes, his eyes twinkling a little; “I try to be.”
“I wonder what granny would say if she knowed where I was,” soliloquized Tom, aloud.
“She’d be glad you had enjoyed your breakfast.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d be mad.”
“You don’t give your grandmother a very good character. Doesn’t she like you?”
“No; she hates me, and I hate her. She takes all my money, and then licks me.”
“That’s unpleasant, to be sure. Then you don’t want to go back to her?”
“Not for Joe!” said Tom, shaking her head very decidedly.
“Then you expect to take care of yourself? Do you think you can?”
Tom nodded confidently.
“What are you going to do this morning, for instance?”
“Buy some papers with the money you give me.”
“What a self-reliant spirit the little chit has!” thought Captain Barnes. “I’ve known plenty of young men, who had less faith in their ability to cope with the world, and gain a livelihood, than she. Yet she has next to no clothes, and her entire capital consists of twenty-five cents. There is a lesson for the timid and despondent in her philosophy.”
Tom had no idea of what was passing in the mind of her companion. If she had been able to read his thoughts, it is not likely she would have understood them. Her own thoughts had become practical. She had had a good breakfast,—thanks to the kindness of her new friend,—but for dinner she must depend upon herself. She felt that it was quite time to enter upon the business of the day.
She put on her cap and rose to her feet.
“I’m goin’,” she said, abruptly.
“Where are you going?”
“To buy some papers. Thank you for my breakfast.”
It was probably the first time Tom ever thanked anybody for anything. I am not quite sure whether anybody before this had given her any cause for gratitude. Certainly, not granny, who had bestowed far less than she had received from the child, upon whom she had not been ashamed to be a selfish dependent. There was something, possibly, in her present companionship with a kind-hearted gentleman, something, perhaps, in her present more respectable surroundings, which had taught Tom this first lesson in good manners. She was almost surprised herself at the expression of gratitude to which she had given utterance.
“Stop a minute, Tom!” said the captain.
Tom had got half way to the door, but she stopped short on being called back.
“You haven’t asked me whether I have got through with you.”
Tom looked surprised. She knew of no further service in which she could make herself useful to her companion.
“Haven’t you got through with me?” she asked.
“Not quite. I’m not going to stop here, you know,—I am going to my sister’s.”
“Where does she live?”
“In Sixteenth Street.”
“Do you want me to carry your carpet-bag?” asked Tom.
“Well, no; I think you couldn’t manage that. But you can carry the bundle.”
“All right!” said Tom.
It was all one to her whether she sold papers, or carried bundles. The main thing was to earn the small amount of money necessary to defray her daily expenses. Of the two she would rather go up to Sixteenth Street; for as she had seldom found occasion to go up town, the expedition promised a little novelty.
Captain Barnes paid his bill, and left the restaurant, with Tom at his heels.
CHAPTER IX.
MRS. MERTON
“We’ll go across Broadway, and take the Sixth Avenue cars, Tom,” said the captain.
“Are we goin’ to ride?” asked Tom, surprised.
“Yes, you don’t catch me lugging this heavy carpet-bag up to Sixteenth Street.”
Tom was rather surprised at this. She did not understand why her services were required to carry the bundle if they were going to ride. However, she very sensibly remained silent, not feeling called upon to comment on her employer’s arrangements.
At this time in the day there was no difficulty in obtaining a seat in the cars. Tom, however, was not disposed to sit down quietly:—
“I’ll stand outside,” she said.
“Very well,” said Captain Barnes, and he drew out a copy of a morning paper which he had purchased on leaving the hotel.
Tom took her position beside the driver. She rather enjoyed the ride, for, though she had lived in the city for years, she had seldom been on the car as a passenger, though she had frequently stolen a ride on the steps of a Broadway omnibus.
“Well, Johnny, are you going up town to look after your family?” asked the driver, good-naturedly.
“I’d have to look a long time before I found ’em,” said Tom.
“Haven’t you got any relations, then?”
“There’s an old woman that calls herself my granny.”
“Does she live up on Fifth Avenue?”
“Yes,” said Tom; “next door to you.”
“You’ve got me there,” said the driver, laughing. “Give my respects to your granny, and tell her she’s got a smart grand-daughter.”
“I will, when I see her.”
“Don’t you live with her?”
“Not now. She aint my style.”
Here the conductor tapped Tom on the shoulder.
“He pays for me,” said Tom, pointing back at Captain Barnes.
“I suppose he’s your grandfather,” said the driver, jocosely.
“I wish he was. He’s a trump. He gave me a stunnin’ breakfast.”
“So you like him better than your granny?”
“You can bet on that.”
Captain Barnes, sitting near the door, heard a part of this conversation, and it amused him.
“I wonder,” he thought, “whether my sister will be willing to assume charge of this wild little girl? There’s enough in her to make a very smart woman, if she is placed under the right influences and properly trained. But I suspect that will require not a little patience and tact. Well, we shall see.”
After a while the car reached Sixteenth Street, and the captain left it, with Tom following him. They turned down Sixteenth Street from the avenue, and finally stopped before a fair-looking brick house. Captain Barnes went up the steps, and rang the bell.
“Is Mrs. Merton at home?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the servant, looking hard at Tom.
“Then I’ll come in. Tell her her brother wishes to see her. Come in, Tom.”
Tom followed the captain, the servant continuing to eye her suspiciously. They entered the parlor, where Captain Barnes took a seat on the sofa, motioning Tom to sit beside him. Tom obeyed, surveying the sofa with some curiosity. The families in the tenement house with whom she had been on visiting terms did not in general possess sofas. She had sometimes seen them in furniture stores, but this was the first time she had sat upon one.
“What are you thinking of, Tom?” asked the captain, desiring to draw her out.
“Does your sister live here?”
“Yes.”
“She’s rich, isn’t she?”
“No, she makes a living by keeping boarders. Perhaps you’d like to board with her.”
Tom laughed.
“She don’t take the likes of me,” she said.
“Suppose you were rich enough, wouldn’t you like to board here?”
“I don’t know,” said Tom, looking round. “It’s dark.”
“All the rooms are not dark. Besides, you’d get three square meals every day.”
“I’d like that,” said Tom, seriously.
Their further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the captain’s sister, Mrs. Merton. She was rather a stout woman, but there was an expression of care on her face, which was not surprising, for it is no light thing to keep a New York boarding-house.
“When did you arrive in the city, Albert?” she asked, giving him her hand cordially.
“Only just arrived, Martha. How does the world use you?”
“I can’t complain, though it’s a wearing thing looking after a household like this. Have you had any breakfast?”
“I took some down town.”
Just then Mrs. Merton’s eye fell for the first time upon Tom. She started in surprise, and looked doubtfully at her brother.
“Who is this?” she asked. “Did she come with you?”
“It’s a young friend of mine. She met me at the wharf, and wanted to carry my carpet-bag.”
“You didn’t let her do it?”
“Bless you, no. It’s big enough to pack her away in. But I employed her to carry a bundle. Didn’t I, Tom?”
“What did you call her?” asked his sister.
“Tom. That’s her name, so she says.”
“What made you bring her here?” asked Mrs. Merton, who evidently regarded her brother’s conduct as very queer.
“I’ll tell you, but not before her. Tom, you can go out into the entry, and shut the door behind you. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
Tom went out, and Captain Barnes returned to the subject.
“She’s got no relations except an intemperate old grandmother,” he said. “I’ve taken a fancy to her, and want to help her along. Can’t you find a place for her in your kitchen?”
“I take a girl from the street!” ejaculated Mrs. Merton. “Albert, you must be crazy.”
“Not at all. I am sure you can find something for her to do,—cleaning knives, running of errands, going to market, or something of that kind.”
“This is a very strange proposal.”
“Why is it? At present she lives in the street, being driven from the only home she had, by the ill-treatment of a vicious grandmother. You can see what chance she has of growing up respectably.”
“But there are plenty such. I don’t see that it’s our business to look after them.”
“I don’t know why it is, but I’ve taken a fancy to this little girl.”
“She looks perfectly wild.”
“I won’t deny that she is rather uncivilized, but there’s a good deal in her. She’s as smart as a steel trap.”
“Smart enough to steal, probably.”
“Perhaps so, under temptation. I want to remove the temptation.”
“This is a very strange freak on your part, Albert.”
“I don’t know about that. You know I have no child of my own, and am well off, so far as this world’s goods are concerned. I have long thought I should like to train up a child in whom I could take an interest, and who would be a comfort to me when I am older.”
“You can find plenty of attractive children without going into the street for them.”
“I don’t want a tame child. She wouldn’t interest me. This girl has spirit. I’ll tell you what I want you to do, Martha. I’m going off on a year’s voyage. Take her into your house, make her as useful as you can, civilize her, and I will allow you a fair price for her board.”
“Do you want her to go to school?”
“After a while. At present she needs to be civilized. She is a young street Arab with very elementary ideas as to the way in which people live. She needs an apprenticeship in some house like this. My little niece must be about her age.”
“Mary? How can I trust her to the companionship of such a girl?”
“Tom isn’t bad. She is only untrained. She will learn more than she will teach at first. Afterwards Mary may learn something of her.”
“I am sure I don’t know what to say,” said Mrs. Merton, irresolutely.
Here the captain named the terms he was willing to pay for Tom’s board. This was a consideration to Mrs. Merton, who found that she had to calculate pretty closely to make keeping boarders pay.
“I’ll try her,” she said.
“Thank you, Martha. You can let her go into the kitchen at first, till she is fit to be promoted.”
“She must have some clothes. She had on a boy’s jacket.”
“Yes, and cap. In fact she is more of a boy than a girl at present.”
“I am not sure but some of Mary’s old dresses may fit her. Mary must be a little larger than she is.”
“That reminds me I brought a doll for Fanny. She has not grown too large for dolls yet.”
“No, she is just the age to enjoy them. She will be delighted.”
“I think we may call in Tom now, and inform her of our intention.”
“She must have another name. It won’t do to call a girl Tom.”
“She said her name used to be Jenny, but she has been nicknamed Tom.”
The door was opened, and Captain Barnes called in Tom.
“Come in, Tom,” he said.
“All right!” said Tom. “I’m on hand!”
“We’ve been talking about you, Tom,” pursued the captain.
“What have you been sayin’?” asked Tom, suspiciously.
“I’ve been telling my sister that you had no home, and were obliged to earn your own living in the streets.”
“I don’t care much,” said Tom. “I’d rather do that than live with granny, and get licked.”
“But wouldn’t you like better to have a nice home, where you would have plenty to eat, and a good bed to sleep in?”
“Maybe I would.”
“I’ve been asking my sister to let you stay here with her. Would you like that?”
Tom regarded Mrs. Merton attentively. The face was careworn, but very different from granny’s. On the whole, it inspired her with some degree of confidence.
“If she wouldn’t lick me very often,” she said.
“How about that, Martha?” he asked.
“I think I can promise that,” said Mrs. Merton, amused in spite of herself.
“Of course you will have to work. My sister will find something for you to do.”
“I aint afraid of work,” said Tom, “if I only get enough to eat, and aint licked.”
“You see, Tom, I feel an interest in you.”
“You’re a brick!” said Tom, gratefully.
“Little girl,” said Mrs. Merton, shocked, “you mustn’t use such language in addressing my brother.”
“Never mind, Martha; she means it as a compliment.”
“A compliment to call you a brick!”
“Certainly. But now about clothes. Can’t you rig her out with something that will make her presentable?”
“She needs a good washing first,” said Mrs. Merton, surveying Tom’s dirty face and hands with disfavor.
“A very good suggestion. You won’t mind being washed, I suppose, Tom?”
“I’d just as lives,” said Tom.
In fact she was quite indifferent on the subject. She was used to being dirty, but if she could oblige her new protector by washing, she was quite willing.
“I’ve got to go out for an hour or two,” said Captain Barnes, “but I will leave my carpet-bag here, and come back to lunch.”
“Of course, Albert. When do you sail?”
“In three days at farthest.”
“Of course you will remain here up to the day of sailing.”
“Yes, if you can find a spare corner to stow me in.”
“It would be odd if I couldn’t find room for my only brother.”
“So be it, then. You may expect me.”
He rose and taking his hat left the house. Tom and Mrs. Merton were now alone.