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WAS HE A THIEF?
DURING this time Bob Ronan, the lad with whom he had first made acquaintance, had been gradually drawn into engaging in the very games he had at first denounced. He, like Tom, had not long left school, but he had no intention of leaving Sunday-school when he went to work in the City, and endeavoured to persuade Randall first, and afterwards Tom, to join him at the Sunday-school, as they did not live so very far apart but that they could have done this if they had felt so disposed.
But the laugh that was raised against him whenever he ventured to mention the Sunday-school was at last too much for him.
Boys can endure anything better than ridicule, and Tom and Randall had both taken to ridicule his love for his Sunday-school.
If he had only "dared to be a Daniel," and borne this without flinching, and still held firmly on in his own way, he might have helped to keep his companions from doing wrong, but instead of this, like a foolish lad, he gave up going to Sunday-school himself, telling his mother that he was getting too old to go now.
When this was done, it was easy for Randall to persuade him to join in the game of pitch-and-toss, which he had formerly denounced, and so he, as well as Tom, had become involved in the meshes of this pernicious game, and were always eager to win that they might have more money at command.
Just now Bob was anxiously saving every farthing towards buying a warm winter shawl for his mother.
They were poorer than Tom's friends, for Bob had no father, and had been wholly dependent upon his mother's earnings as long as he could remember; so that it had been necessary for him to leave school as soon as he could, to help to maintain himself. But his mother had been very anxious that he should continue at the Sunday-school and week-night classes, and when Bob declared he could not go any longer, it had been a great grief to her.
But she was afraid to say too much about it, for fear of driving her boy further away from her, but she prayed and waited, hoping that something would happen to send her boy back to this shelter and safeguard, for she felt that as he had no father to guide and direct him, he had all the more need of such counsel as his Sunday-school teacher was ready to give.
But while his mother was thinking thus, Bob was wondering how he could make more money, and Tom's thoughts were occupied over the same problem when he met his friend Jack one evening as usual.
Jack was greatly excited over some news, or at least he appeared to be, and Tom had the most profound faith in his friend, and believed everything he said.
"I've learned a thing or two about a horse lately that will help us to make some money, if we can only get a few shillings together to lay on it," he said as they walked together down the road.
Tom looked at his friend. "You can easily do that, I suppose," he said, for Jack always seemed to have plenty of money to spend.
But he shook his head slowly now. "That's just where it is," he said with a sigh, "now I see a sure chance of making a little money, I haven't got a shilling left to do it with."
They walked on in silence for a minute or two, and then Jack said, "How much money could you put your hands on, do you think?"
"I might manage a shilling," said Tom, thinking of the money he had got for Dick's gloves, and that he might surely count on winning another twopence at pitch-and-toss the next day.
"A shilling," repeated Jack in a somewhat contemptuous tone; "that isn't much good. We must have more than that."
"I hope Warrior will win, because my friend Ronan has put all his money on it," said Tom, ignoring this remark.
"Well, I can tell you Warrior won't win; but mind, you mustn't say anything about it, or else I shall get into trouble. And now, what about our chances? A shilling ain't much good, but ten more would do for both of us, and I want you to lend me something to put on this race. Couldn't you borrow ten shillings for a day or two?" said Jack, and as he spoke he cast a meaning look at Tom.
But the lad did not see this in the dusk. "Who do you think I could borrow ten shillings of?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.
Jack shook his head. "I'm stumped," he said, "but I thought you might manage to get something for yourself and me too; we both want money badly enough, and it would be even, for as I can tell you how to make every shilling into ten, why I thought you could surely borrow half-a-sovereign or a sovereign for a day or two, that we might go shares with. Why it 'ud set us up for a week or two, if we could clear a few shillings on the horse that is going to win. It isn't as though there was any chance about this, it's just a dead certainty and no mistake, and, I tell you, twenty to one is her price now, and she's bound to win."
"What is the horse's name that is sure to win?" asked Tom, in a meditative tone.
"Ah, that's more than I dare tell, for fear it should leak out. It ain't Warrior though, I can say that much; but mind, you must keep that dark, for everybody has gone on Warrior, and so those of us that can get a peep behind the scenes stand to make a lot of money out of it. Another thing, if I tell you the name of the horse that is bound to bring your money in safe, I shall expect a little commission on the job."
Tom looked as though he did not quite understand his friend. "I thought you were doing this for me, because—"
He was interrupted by a roar of laughter from his companion. "Do you think the railway people let me go down to the country by train because they like me?" he asked.
"Well, no, of course not," answered Tom, who greatly disliked being laughed at. "I didn't suppose the railway people came out here to walk with you every evening, but I do, and so I thought that counted for something."
"It counts for a good deal, my boy, for if we wasn't friends and all that, I shouldn't tell you what I have, for if my governor knew I said a word to you, he would break every bone in my skin."
"Then you will be my friend still?" said Tom.
"Why, of course, and I hope you'll do the friendly by me too, and let me have ten shillings at least by Wednesday night, and a shilling commission for placing your money will make it eleven."
"But where am I to get eleven shillings?" said Tom wistfully.
"We shall stand to win a sovereign a piece if you can only manage it. And there 'll be no waiting for money either, for I shall be able to bring it to you the day after the race," said Jack, quite ignoring what Tom had said.
"If you could only tell me how I am to borrow the money, I would get it fast enough," replied Tom.
"Well, I know how such things often are managed by young fellows who are in offices like you are," and as he spoke Jack looked keenly at his companion to see how he took the suggestion he was about to make. "It isn't as though there was any risk about the matter," he went on. "This tip I have got is a dead certainty, and every two shillings put on the horse will bring in a pound. I said we should stand to win a sovereign a piece—what could I have been thinking about? Why, we shall have five pounds between us! If that ain't a lot of money, tell me what is, and all for eleven shillings down. Why, I know this, if I was to come up to your place and tell some of your fellows what I have told you, why I could have twice eleven shillings, and nothing said about it. Don't you know how the thing is done?"
"No, I don't know where to borrow eleven shillings, or I would do it fast enough," said Tom, ruefully.
"Don't you ever forget to enter money when it comes in?" said Jack, speaking in a lower tone. "You have some money to take, I know."
"How do you know?" said Tom quickly.
"Oh, never mind what a little bird whispered to me about it; but I do know that you take money sometimes, and hand it over before you come away at night. Now it would be easy enough," and then he went on to explain how he could take ten shillings of his master's money and bring it to him for a day or two. "Nobody would ever find it out," said the tempter.
Tom made no reply to this proposal, it was evident he was thinking it over, and the more he thought of it, seeing the proposal had not actually shocked and offended him, the more likely he was to see the reasonableness of it, and so Jack said no more about how the money should be got, but how they should spend what they won.
"We'll go to the theatre and see the pantomime," exclaimed Jack; "if you haven't seen a pantomime you've got a treat in store, I can tell you. Oh! The fairies and the transformation scene, it just beats everything you ever saw in your life; and you'll have enough to tell the country folks about then."
"How much will it cost?" asked Tom, for he had made up his mind to be careful with this money when he got it, so that he was not worried again as he had been lately.
"Oh, not more than we can afford, if we get this money. It all depends upon you, whether we do get it," he added.
"Well, I'll see," said Tom, who could not quite make up his mind to embezzle this money, tempting as the prospect was.
Prudence would whisper, "Suppose the horse should not win," and the thought of the predicament he would then be in, filled him with horror as he thought of it, and he almost made up his mind to have no more to do with Jack or his proposal. For he did feel disappointed when he heard that it was not for pure and simple love of him that his friend had told him what he had, but as a matter of business and by way of repaying himself for the trouble of collecting the information.
If Bob Ronan had only held firm to his principles, instead of giving up the Sunday-school, for fear of being laughed at, he might have been of service to Tom now; might even have persuaded him to join the Sunday and evening classes, for Tom would have been ready to go anywhere away from Jack just now. But the habit of going out in the evening had been formed, and he had nowhere else to go, as it seemed to him.
He wished some of the other lads he knew would propose something that would prevent him from seeing Jack again. He even went so far as to say to Bob, "Do you go to those classes now you were talking about when I first came up?"
"No, I don't," answered Bob a little shortly, for the subject of the Sunday-school was a very sore one to him then.
He was vexed with himself for giving it up, so to be asked about it was not at all pleasant.
"You didn't think much of it, then, after all," said Tom with something of a sneer.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Bob angrily.
"Why, if you'd thought much of your school, you wouldn't have given it up just because some of us laughed at you. I didn't think you would either," he added wistfully.
If only Bob had known that Tom was ready to catch at this, as a drowning man catches at a straw, to save himself from the temptation that was pressing upon him, he would not have turned away as he did, but would have confessed what was the truth, that he was very sorry he had been so foolish, and together the two boys might have gone that evening to the teacher, and told him that they wanted to join both the Sunday and week-night classes.
Tom would have gone readily enough now if he had only been invited, and the teacher, who was always at the school three evenings a week, would have been glad enough to welcome back the truant Bob, and his new friend as well.
Ah! If they had only gone. If Bob had only had the courage to speak out his thoughts just now, for as he stood talking to Tom, he was wishing he had never left the school, nothing had seemed to go right with him since, and he had such a load of care on his mind that he dare not tell anyone of.
And Tom would have given anything that would have afforded him a chance of not meeting Jack that night. A little friendly talk with one who understood a boy and his difficulties would have saved Tom from committing a crime that he would have to regret as long as he lived.
But the opportunity that might have been seized at dinner time vanished without being improved, and Tom yielded to the temptation.
The next minute he would have been glad to put the money back, for his conscience whispered, "You are a thief." But there was no chance to replace it, for the books were fetched just afterwards, to be looked over by Mr. Phillips, who came to see that he had made no mistakes, and the books and money balanced correctly.
"Very good, Flowers," he said, when he had gone through the day's accounts and found they were quite right. Little did he think that the boy's heightened colour, as he heard this, arose from a feeling of bitter shame and self-reproach. He thought the lad was pleased to be commended and he added, "If there should be a vacancy here at the desk, I will speak for you, my lad, and then I would advise you to go to school in the evening, and learn book-keeping thoroughly."
"Yes, sir," said Tom, in an absent manner.
"You are fond of accounts, I suppose?" said Mr. Phillips, as he finished his scrutiny of the books.
"Yes, sir; it was because I was so fond of doing sums that father sent me to the grammar school in the town for a year, after I left the village school."
"Ah! And he will be pleased to hear you are getting on in London?"
"Yes, sir, he will," replied Tom, feeling quite elated and forgetting the money he had in his pocket.
"Well, now you may tell him we are very satisfied with the way you have done your work, and when there is a chance of a rise you shall have it. But mind, my lad, you must be steady and careful, and not get yourself mixed up with bad company."
"Thank you, sir, I will be careful," replied Tom, thinking he would sit down and write to his father after he got home and tell him all about it.
He knew it would please father and mother too, better than any Christmas present he could send to them, and he had made up his mind to do as Mr. Phillips advised, and be more careful of the company he kept, when once he was out of his present difficulties.
By the time he had put his great-coat on, he had forgotten the money he had in his pocket, and went out with as light a heart as though he were still an honest lad. He had forgotten Jack and the races, and everything else but his father's delight when he got his letter. He knew exactly what would happen, his mother would go the day after it arrived to show it to his aunt and then to the rectory. His aunt was sewing-mistress at the village school, and she would be as proud as his mother when she heard how he was getting on in this great, splendid London.
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THE STOLEN HALF-SOVEREIGN CHANGES HANDS.
The City was a very beautiful place to Tom just then, and he forgot that there was such a person as Jack, until he came suddenly upon him waiting at the corner of Moorgate Street.
He started and stepped back as he recognized him, and then came the recollection of the money he had in his pocket. "I didn't expect to see you, Jack," he faltered.
"And you don't seem killingly glad now you do see me," replied Jack in something of a huff at his cool reception. "I suppose you have forgotten all about that money again?" he added reproachfully.
"No, I haven't," replied Tom.
He could have bitten his tongue out the next minute, for Jack said eagerly, "Then you've got it?"
"Yes, I have," said Tom slowly; "but look here, Jack, I don't like using it, I feel like a thief, and wish I hadn't touched it."
"Don't be a stupid!" retorted Jack in a tone of contempt. "I was half afraid you'd funk over the job, but as you've done it, why I think all the better of you for it."
"I wish I hadn't touched it," exclaimed Tom, with a sigh.
"Oh, that be bothered for a tale—do you think you're the only sharp chap in London that'll make money out of Tittlebrat with borrowed money? I tell you what, it is done every day by them as know how to manage, and nobody none the wiser, and they all the richer."
"I don't care so much about being rich just now, I only wish I was honest," said Tom with a sigh, fingering the money that still lay safely at the bottom of his pocket.
Jack was afraid that if this mood continued, he would not get the money after all, and so he said, "Look here, I can't stop talking goody-goody Sunday-school sermons now, I must get back or I shall catch it. Give us the money, for bets at the price I told you must be handed over to-night, and so if we are to clear our little commission out of Tittlebrat, I must be going and sharp too."
Most reluctantly did Tom hand over the ten shillings he had taken and his own shilling, by way of commission.
And having secured this, Jack did not fancy walking further just now with Tom, for he was not a very lively companion this evening. So he turned off down one of the streets in City Road, and Tom went on his solitary walk to Islington.
He blamed himself bitterly now for giving up the money, for the thought that he was a thief would not be put aside, and he wondered what would become of him if he did not get this money back to put in his master's desk, for detection would be certain sooner or later if he failed to restore it.
He reached home silent and moody, and to his aunt's question whether he was going out, he replied, he did not care about it, he felt tired—which was true in a certain sense, for he felt utterly wretched, and wanted to go to bed and to sleep, that he might forget what had happened for a little while at least.
So he went to bed early, but he lay tossing about quite unable to go to sleep, or to think of anything but the events of the afternoon, the taking the money, the commendation of Mr. Phillips, and the meeting Jack and giving him the ten shillings.
He called himself all the fools he could lay his tongue to now for parting with this, for if he had not given it up to Jack, he could have taken it back the next day and replaced it in the desk, and if it was found out that the entry in the book and the date when the bill was receipted did not quite agree, he could tell Mr. Phillips how he had been tempted and had repented, but now there would be no such way of escape for him.
After a miserable, restless night he got up, still feeling unhappy and half afraid to go to the office, for fear something had occurred to bring his guilt to light.
But Mr. Phillips met him with a cheerful nod, and he went to the desk again, but he had no disposition to touch the money which passed through his hands to-day.
At dinner time Bob was full of the coming races, for he and one or two other lads had made up their minds to win some money out of it. Warrior was the favourite with Bob it seemed, and in listening to their talk about this horse and its different points, Tom forgot his misery for a little while. He did not say that he had staked anything on this race, and was sorry to hear that Bob felt so sure Warrior was going to win, that he had parted with all the money he had saved to buy his mother a warm shawl for the winter.
His mother was a widow, he knew, and had to work very hard, Bob had told him. The boy was very fond of his mother, and it would grieve him to have to tell her that he could not buy the shawl, and Tom wished he could give him a hint of how things really were, and that all his money would be lost.
Nothing could be thought of or talked of by the boys out of office hours but the coming race. All that they could possibly scrape together had been staked on the issue, and when at last the day came, they all trooped down to Fleet Street, without regard to their dinner, eating a bit of bread and cheese as they ran, all eager to know the result of the day's race.
Tom felt almost sick with anxiety, he had not been able to eat any breakfast, and now it seemed that the bread and cheese would choke him. But he managed to keep up with the rest, however, and got to the shop window where there was already a crowd waiting. But the result had not been telegraphed from Leicester, where this race was to be run, and so the crowd edged themselves as close together as they could, and prepared to wait until the news came, or they were compelled to leave by the lapse of time.
But the race in which the lads had interested themselves was to be one of the first run, and so they did not have to wait long before the news was flashed from the northern town to this Fleet Street newspaper office, and almost as soon as it was known inside, it was made known to the waiting crowd in the street.
With straining eyes and senses almost reeling from the intensity of his anxiety, Tom heard the name of the winner proclaimed. "Tittlebrat is first! Tittlebrat is first!" came the cry in all the varied intonations of rage, despair, triumph, and relief.
To many a foolish young fellow gathered round that window, it meant misery and ruin, for what did they know about horses or the ways of managing them? They had learned which was the favourite each in his own way, and now that an outsider had won, they felt they had been cheated, duped; but what could they do? They might feel morally certain there had been unfair play somewhere, but they could not prove it, dared not say they had suffered by it, but in grim silence must bear their wrongs and disappointment, though it should mean starvation and perhaps a felon's lot in prison for the next few years.
To Tom the relief was so great that he reeled, and would have fallen, if the good-natured Bob had not caught him as he was slipping to the ground.
"Hullo, old fellow, are you hit as hard as that?" he said in a tone of compassion. For all his little store of hardly gathered shillings had been swept away, and he made sure Tom had also betted on the favourite, although he had been so quiet about it.
"All right," gasped Tom, after he had rested on the pavement a minute. "I'll get up now," he said, "or the police will be asking what is the matter."
"Oh, the police are used to a crowd here on a race day, and won't notice it. Are you hit over Warrior like the rest of us?" he asked.
But Tom shook his head. "I went on Tittlebrat," he said, and try as he would, he could not help the tone being a triumphant one.
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AN ESCAPE FOR BOB.
"SO you went on Tittlebrat," repeated Bob, as he walked down Fleet Street with Tom after he had recovered from the fainting fit into which he had been thrown by the news.
Bob was wishing more than ever that he had not been laughed out of his principles, for if he had only been firm in holding fast to his Sunday-school, this certainly would not have happened to him, for betting had no temptation for him, until he had given this up and tried to do as the rest did.
"Where did you get the news about Tittlebrat?" he asked, rather ruefully, as they walked along.
"Oh! A friend of mine told me about it," answered Tom.
"Well, you knew I was going to put all my money on the other, you might have given me a hint about this," said Bob in a reproachful tone. "I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for mother's shawl, but I've been saving my overtime money for that all the summer, and she will be vexed when she knows I've just been and thrown it all away; and the way I've lost it will be worse than all to her."
Tom felt sorry, but he was not in the mood to take the blame of Bob's disaster. "Wasn't you all dead-set on Warrior?" he said.
"Well, that may be, but still, if I'd got to know that another horse was sure to win, I would have given you and the other chaps a hint about how the land lay," answered Bob in the same reproachful tone.
"Well, I had to pay for my tip. Business is business, you know."
But Bob could not help feeling hurt at what he regarded a gross breach of friendship on the part of Tom, for he knew well enough that if the case had been reversed, he would have given his own particular friends no peace until they had put their money on the horse he considered was sure to win.
It was a revelation to the lad when Tom went on to speak of it as business, where everyone was bound to consider themselves first.
"Well, if friends ain't to be friends in this, I'd like to know what the good of it is, and if that's the way racing is to be looked at, I'll take good care I never have any more to do with it."
Poor Bob went home almost heart-broken over the loss of his mother's shawl, for so sure had he felt that he should win what he had risked, and a considerable sum besides, that he had arranged with her to go with him to buy it early the following week; and it would be hard to tell which had looked forward to it with the greatest pleasure, Bob or his mother.
Now for him to go home and have to tell her that the thin old shawl would have to be worn through another winter was bitter indeed to the lad, for he had begun to think he might be able to add a bonnet to the shawl, and then they might both go to church on Sunday. If anyone had told them that this bitter disappointment was the greatest blessing that could be bestowed upon Bob just now, they would scarcely have believed it, for the widow had already told some of her neighbours what her son Bob was going to buy for her Christmas present, and now to hear that he had no money left was a sad blow to her.
His mother was ironing when Bob went home, for she was a widow and maintained herself by laundry-work. She turned to him with a smile of greeting as he came in, but the boy's white face made her put down her iron and she asked him, in some consternation, what had happened.
"Have you lost your place?" she asked, for nothing short of this she thought could account for Bob's downcast looks.
"Worse than that, mother," said Bob, with a half suppressed sob; "I've lost your shawl."
"Lost my shawl! Bless the boy, it ain't bought yet," replied Mrs. Ronan, with a puzzled look on her face.
"No, mother, I've lost the money, though, that was to buy it."
"But I thought you told me last week that it was your overtime money, and that you'd put it in the Post Office to take care of. Surely that ain't gone and bust up like the banks do sometimes?"
Bob wished it had just then. Anything would be easier than to tell his mother he had taken it out to bet on horse-racing, for she had warned him against this only a few weeks before.
She had heard nothing of the matter since, and so she supposed that he had kept his promise, and had given up all games of chance as she had begged he would.
To hear therefore that he had drawn out all this little store of money to bet on the races was a cruel blow to her, and she dropped in her chair as though she had been shot when she heard it.
"Oh, mother, don't cry," said Bob, bursting into tears himself, and trying to draw her apron down from her eyes. "Don't, mother, don't," he pleaded.
But the poor woman felt too heart-broken to dry her tears at once, and for a few minutes the two cried together.
"Oh, Bob, I have been so proud of you," she managed to say at last; "I have told everybody what a good, steady lad you were, never giving me any trouble, but always ready to give me a helping hand with a basket of clothes when you came home, and never spending any of your money on yourself, but just saving up your overtime money to buy me a warm shawl for the winter. And then for you to tell me you've just been and done the very thing I asked you not to do. Oh dear, oh dear! What will happen next?"
And the poor woman burst into a fresh flood of tears over the downfall of her hopes in her only son.
"Mother, you'll just break my heart if you go on like that," sobbed Bob; "say you'll forgive me, and I'll never bet on horses again, and I'll never play pitch-and-toss any more, and I'll go to evening-school and see if I can't learn to write better, and do sums quicker."
Bob knew how anxious his mother was for him to go to Sunday-school again, but hitherto, he had resisted all her persuasions for fear his companions at the warehouse should find out that he had gone back, after telling them he had left.
To hear, therefore, that Bob would conquer his pride and the fear of his companions' ridicule made the poor woman more hopeful for her boy's future. "Not that I'm the only one you've grieved, Bob," said Mrs. Ronan, wiping her eyes and looking straight at her son. "I hope you don't forget that you've grieved God a good deal more than you have me, badly as I feel about it."
Bob hung his head and did not reply. He had not thought of his fault in this light at all, but as his mother spoke, he recalled what he had often heard at school—about the unfairness, and the selfishness that all games of chance lead people to commit, and he remembered how he had complained of Tom Flowers not telling him how he might have avoided losing his money.
"I see, mother," he said slowly, "people who gamble and bet can't do to others as they would have others do to them. That's what Tom said to-day, when I grumbled because he didn't tell me all he knew about these races. He said everyone must be for himself in this, and look after the main chance."
"Yes, I suppose so, and the Lord Jesus Christ says, If anyone will be My disciple let him deny himself, which is just the opposite of what these racing people say."
"But I wouldn't have served Tom Flowers as he served me," protested Bob, in some indignation.
"Perhaps not just at first, but I daresay you would have come to it by-and-by; for what the Lord Jesus taught us as the golden rule of conduct between us and our neighbours—to do unto others as we would wish them to do to us if we were in their place, is quite impossible in all gambling and betting. You can see this for yourself. You say this Tom is a nice friendly lad, and yet he never told you what he had heard to save you from losing your money. Don't you see, that those who win must do so at the expense of those who lose; all cannot win, and, therefore, your gain must mean loss to somebody else, and so you profit by robbing another of his money—it is little better than robbery," concluded Mrs. Ronan.
"I see, mother," said Bob, humbly, "and if it wasn't for your shawl, I should feel rather glad that I hadn't won, for I should wonder now who had lost the money I had got."
"Thank God you didn't win, for if you had, you would never have thought about it perhaps, but only got into the habit of wanting and spending money, until this betting became a habit too, and then whatever money you might win, would cause you to be a ruined lad—ruined in body and soul, so I can thank God for the loss of my shawl, since it may be the means of saving my boy," said the widow.
"And you think the game of pitch-and-toss is as bad as betting?" said Bob, but it was more in the way of confession than asking a question.
What his mother said had so touched him, that he thought he had better make a clean breast of it, and let his mother know the worst at once, though it would grieve her, he knew, to hear how every consideration of right and wrong had been given up since he left the Sunday-school.
"Oh, Bob, you know as well as I do, that pitch-and-toss is only gambling. Didn't you see some boys taken up by the police for playing at this game only last week. Oh, my boy, my boy, I little dreamed—"
And here the widow's tears choked her voice, and she put her arms about her boy's neck, and they cried together for a few minutes again.
But at last Bob said, "Mother, I'll never do it again, I promise you. Ask God to forgive me, and—and—"
"Let us kneel down together and ask Him to forgive you for the past, and to help you keep the promise you have just made to me. Without His help you will fall again, even though you do go to Sunday-school. Don't forget that, Bob, it must be in God that you trust, not your school or your teacher. Now let us ask God for this," and together they kneeled down, and the widow poured out her trouble before God, but did not forget to thank Him that her boy had been stopped in his downward course.
And then she prayed that if there were any among his companions who had been led away by his bad example, they, too, might be brought back to the path of right, even though the way back should be painful to tread.
The widow did not know why she was led to pray thus, and certainly did not know how greatly poor, foolish Tom Flowers needed her prayers just then. But she did know how one boy's example influences another, and she thought it might be possible that Bob had thus helped to lead another boy astray, by his bad example at least.
When they rose from their knees, Bob said, "I think I should like you to tell teacher all about it, mother. He ought to know before I go back to school, but I shouldn't like to tell him."
"Very well, you go round to the school presently, he will be there to-night, and ask him to come in and see me."
Bob hardly liked to go upon this errand, but his mother said he must, and so after tea he went, looking very sheepish as he went into the school, where so many of his old companions were gathered now.
"Well, Bob, have you come back to us again?" said his teacher, when he saw him.
"I'm coming, sir, but I'd like you to see mother first, if you wouldn't mind coming in to speak to her as you go home."
"You haven't lost your place, I hope, Bob," said the gentleman, noticing the boy's serious looks.
"No, sir, it's nothing about my place," said Bob; "but mother wants to see you before I come back to Sunday-school."
"Well, I'm glad you're coming back," said the gentleman. "I'll come in as I go home."
Bob contrived to be out of the way when his teacher came in, that his mother might have her talk with him alone. But he kept his promise and went to school on Sunday, and also joined several of the classes held on week evenings for the improvement of those who desired to continue their education.
Bob determined to apply himself to arithmetic and writing, for he had seen by the way in which Tom Flowers had been chosen for office work, that if he was to rise and be a help and comfort to his mother by-and-by, he must strive to improve himself in this, and in reading and spelling too.
Mrs. Ronan was well pleased to see that Bob was determined to turn over a new leaf entirely as to his conduct. But as he sat at tea a few days later, she thought she would give him a word of caution to be careful, and not to forget to ask God's help for the future.
"I'm not likely to forget what a fool I have been while that shabby old shawl hangs there," said Bob. "I'd a good mind to sell my great-coat yesterday, for I hate to see you go out in that old shawl this bitter cold weather." And he looked at his mother to see how she took this proposal about the coat.
"I should have been very cross if you had sold the coat. You will have to bear the sight of the old shawl as a lesson, though I don't mind it a bit now," she added.
"That don't make up to me for the shawl, though," said Bob, with a sigh.
"Perhaps not to you, but if I see you working steadily at these school lessons, I shall feel proud of you yet, Bob, though you did take me down a peg or two over that shawl I'll not deny. For I had counted on it, and told Mrs. Hooper about it, and we had discussed what the shawl should be, until I felt almost as though I had been robbed when you came and told me I could not have it."
Bob sighed. "Poor mother, I was sorry to have to come home and tell you about it. I had some thought of running away instead of coming home that night, for I didn't know how I was to tell you what a fool I had been."
"That would have been mending matters with a vengeance," said Mrs. Ronan, with a scared look in her face that such a thought could enter her boy's head. "Why, what do you think I should have done then if you had gone?"
"I suppose I was thinking more about having to tell you and how I could get out of it," admitted Bob frankly.
"Yes, how you could shirk being made uncomfortable by what you had done. That is the reason most people run away from their duty, and, like the cowards they are, care nothing for the trouble and grief they cause their friends. I am glad you were brave enough to come and tell me all about it. We have both had to suffer some pain, but it may be a useful lesson to us both, and I feel sure now I shall be as proud as ever of my boy, in spite of what has happened."
"So you shall, mother," said Bob heartily, "I mean to stick to Sunday-school now I have begun again, and I mean to try my hardest at the writing and arithmetic, so that I may get a rise some day, and save you from working so hard at the washtub."
"Well, of course, I shall be glad for you to get on, my boy, but I want to see if you can't do something to induce your friends at the warehouse to give up all gambling games."
"Ah! That's easier said than done," said Bob, with something of a sigh as he rose from the tea table. "You see, if you ain't in the swim with the rest you're just nowhere, and that's where I am now. They've found out that I have gone back to school, and as I don't join in any of the games, they take care not to let me know what is going on among them. That was just how it was I had to join in with them before. A chap has to do like the rest for peace sake."
This was all Bob said, but his mother knew that her boy was having a hard fight, and she took care that his struggle was not made harder when he came home. The old shawl was put out of sight for a time, for the boy had no need of this to remind him of what had taken place, and since it had become a reproach to him, she resolved that he should not see it more than she could help.
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APPLES OF SODOM.
TOM went home the evening of the race, feeling wonderfully elated, hugging to himself the knowledge of his good fortune, but not daring to let his aunt know anything of it. He had to sit and eat his bread and butter at tea time as though nothing had happened, which in itself was almost a pain just now. For he was bursting to tell the news to somebody.
If he could only have done this, he might have been able to eat as usual, but, as it was, every mouthful seemed as though it would choke him. And at last his aunt noticed the pile of bread and butter still on the plate, and said, "What is the matter with you this evening? You don't get on with your tea."
"I am not very hungry," said Tom in a tone of indifference, but with a smile playing about his lips that did not escape his aunt's notice.
"What's taken your appetite away?" she asked rather sharply.
"I don't know," said Tom, rising from the table now, for he did not like his aunt's scrutiny.
He had not learned to tell a lie unblushingly yet; and Mrs. Flowers, as she watched him go out of the room, nodded her head sagaciously:
"There is something a-foot I know," she said half aloud, as Tom closed the door, and she resolved to watch him more closely for the next few days.
Of course, Tom was all impatience to go and meet his friend Jack, and he made sure he should find him waiting at the corner of the street for him, for surely Jack would be as eager to talk the good news over as he was.
But to his disappointment there was no one to be seen at the street corner, and he walked along in the direction of Jack's home in the hope of meeting him. The evening was raw, and little scudding showers of sleet fell every now and then, making most people hurry home as fast as they could, but Tom did not notice this small discomfort in the growing anxiety he felt at Jack's continued absence. He suddenly remembered that although Jack had told him his home lay in this direction, he did not know his address, or where he could find him if he failed to make his appearance.
He walked on for nearly a mile, and then turned and walked back at a quicker pace, fearing that he might have come from another direction, and was now waiting at the corner where they usually met. But when he got back, there was no Jack to be seen, and then an awful fear began to creep over his mind. Suppose he should never come to meet him again. He had got the money that was to be risked on the race! Suppose he went off with the winnings!
In spite of the cold wind and sleet that came beating in his face as he gazed round, Tom went hot all over at the thought. And yet it did not shock him that such an idea as this had entered his head concerning this bosom companion of his. In fact, the notion that this might happen grew stronger, as the minutes went on, and Jack did not make his appearance.
"I might have expected it," muttered Tom under his breath; "I have been a fool to think he would come when he had all that money safe in his hands."
But although he said this, he still paced up and down the road, watching eagerly each figure in the distance that at all resembled Jack's.
In spite of the cold he stayed out later than usual, for he dreaded to go home, and wondered what would become of him if he could not replace the ten shillings he had "borrowed" from his master's money.
But at last the clock of a neighbouring church struck ten, and Tom, as he counted the strokes, felt the tears slowly well into his eyes, for he knew it was useless to wait longer now—Jack would not come.
The utter misery of the lad as he slowly walked down the street homewards can better be imagined than described. And this was the night of his triumph too. Tittlebrat had won the money for them that they had talked of so much, and this was the way he had to celebrate the victory.
He felt too miserable to eat his usual slice of bread by way of supper, and went up to bed as quickly as he could, that he might escape his aunt's watchful eyes, for he felt that she was suspicious of him, careful as he had been to keep his secret to himself.
He lay shivering with cold and misery long after his uncle and aunt came upstairs, and when at last he did fall off into an uneasy sleep, his dreams were of policemen coming to arrest him for the robbery or murder he had committed—sometimes it was one and sometimes the other—but Jack was always the person he had murdered; and truly the feeling he felt towards him now was fitly pictured in these hideous dreams, for nothing short of hatred towards the false friend who had led him astray could find a place in his heart now.
It was a relief to him when morning dawned and it was time to get up, though he then became aware of a dull aching in all his limbs that betokened a bad cold. But the misery of his mind made him almost forget the uncomfortable feeling of stiffness and soreness in his bones, and when his uncle remarked at the breakfast table that he did not look well, he passed it off without making any complaint.
The truth was it had flashed upon him as he came downstairs that if he admitted having taken cold the previous evening, he would not be allowed to go out again after he returned from work that day.
So in spite of his throat being sore, and his limbs so stiff he could not move without pain, he bore all the discomfort without a word, and swallowed as much as he could of his breakfast, for fear of his liberty being curtailed in the evening.
How he got through that miserable day he did not know, for his head ached, and he felt dull, yet was kept perpetually on the alert lest the customer who had paid the money he had taken should come in and speak about it, or bring the receipt back through some informality in it, for he felt sure now that he had not made the bill out quite right, and that it would be sure to come in again, and then the whole tale of his theft would have to be told.
But at last the misery of sitting and glancing every now and then towards the door, in the expectation of seeing his accuser walk in, came to an end, and he breathed more freely when the place was closed, and he could put on his coat to go home.
But just as he was leaving, he was thrown into another fright, for Mr. Phillips said in a kindly tone, "You had better not come to-morrow if your cold is no better, I expect the other lad back, and so we shall not be so driven but what you can take a day off to get well."
Tom had to take hold of a post supporting the ceiling to keep himself from falling as he heard these words. "The other lad come back to-morrow," he repeated inwardly, and the horror that filled his soul at this news made itself seen in his face, only Mr. Phillips had turned away and there was no one else to see the look of agony that all in a moment swept over the boy's countenance.
But he had to conquer this and say "Good-night" in a tone calm and unconcerned, though how he managed to hide his misery he never knew.
When he got outside, and away from all watchful eyes, he leaned up against the wall, seriously to consider whether he should not put an end to this awful suspense by delivering himself up to the police at once, and confessing what he had done. Nothing could be worse than the torture he now endured, but when he lifted his eyes suddenly and saw a policeman looking at him, all his courage went, and he pulled himself together with an effort, and turned to walk away.
"What is it, my lad?" asked the man, placing himself in front of Tom so as to bar his further progress.
"I felt giddy—I've got a bad cold," said Tom rather incoherently.
"Where do you work?" asked the policeman, laying his hand on his shoulder, and turning him round to the light of the neighbouring gas lamp, but whatever the suspicion was in the man's mind, Tom's appearance convinced him that his statement was correct, for he was shivering as if struck with ague now, and he said in a more kindly tone, "You ought to be in bed, not out of doors such a cold night as this."
"I'm going home now," replied Tom very meekly, for he felt he dare not give a policeman a saucy answer just now.
"Yes, you get home as fast as you can, or you'll be worse," said the policeman in a tone of compassion, for it was easy to see that the boy was not fit to be out in the chill evening air.
How Tom staggered home and kept up an appearance of being pretty well during tea time he alone knew, but he did manage it, and went out afterwards to see if he could find Jack.
To-night he was not disappointed, though he rather disgusted his friend by the way he ran to him exclaiming, "Oh, Jack, Jack, why didn't you come last night?"
"Come last night," repeated Jack coolly, "what would have been the good of that?"
"The money, Jack, the money!" said Tom, in an imploring tone.
"Well, the money's all right. I suppose you found out that Tittlebrat was first, as I said he would be. I suppose you will believe another time that my tips are worth more than I charge for them," he said, in a sneering tone.
"Oh, never mind the tips now, it's the ten shillings I stole."
"Stole," interrupted Jack, in an impressive whisper. "That's an ugly word to use, I wouldn't talk like that if I were you."
"I daresay not; you haven't got to face the master if it should be found out as I have," replied Tom, in a tone of passive misery.
"Oh, come now, don't be in a funk about that, the money is all right, and if you borrowed that ten shillings of your master—"
"If I borrowed it," interrupted Tom, "didn't you tell me to borrow it?" he demanded fiercely.
"Well, suppose I did. How was I to know where you were going to get it from? That wasn't my business, was it? I tell you of a good thing, the way a lot of money can be made without any trouble, only it wants money to breed money always, and if I say to you get ten shillings for a few days, and I can put you in the way of making it half as many pounds before you can say Jack Robinson, how am I to know where you get the money from?"
"But you did know well enough," replied Tom, rather indignantly. "You told me that lots of other chaps did that sort of thing, and I might as well do the same, but I'll take good care I don't any more," he added, emphatically.
"Oh, come now, you're cross about something, I can see. What's amiss with you this evening?" said Jack, in a different tone.
"Why didn't you come last night as you promised?"
For answer Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. "You're enough to make a cat grin, Tom," he said, by way of excuse. "Anyone could tell you've never had a taste of London life before. Come last night," he repeated, "why, how could I? I was miles away from London. Perhaps you'd have liked me to write about our business that your dragon of an aunt might have opened the letter."
Tom turned hot and cold at the thought of this happening, but still, he repeated, "You ought to have let me know if you couldn't keep your promise."
"I never made the promise," retorted Jack, growing angry as Tom cooled. "I said I would come if I could; but what would have been the use of coming last night, you knew that Tittlebrat went straight to the winning-post, wasn't that good enough?"
"No, not for me," replied Tom. "I wanted the ten shillings I stole to put back in the desk, and return it to my master."
"Oh, of course, it was the money, I knew all about that," said the other; "it's always the same, you're always in a great hurry to return what you've borrowed, I daresay."
"Yes, I am," replied Tom, "and especially now, when nobody knew I had borrowed it."
"And so you thought you would get the money last night. What an idea you must have of business, and how things are managed among gentlemen!" Jack spoke in a tone of supreme contempt.
"Well, you said we should get the money as soon as ever the race was run," replied Tom.
"And when was it run, pray?" demanded the other, in a tone of indignant expostulation.
"Why, yesterday, and, of course, I expected it last night."
"More fool you then!" retorted Jack, losing his patience again.
"Well, I don't see that I was such a fool," said Tom. "You said as soon as the race is run you will have your money down on the nail, and, of course, I thought I could take that ten shillings back this morning."
"Oh, hang the ten shillings!" interrupted Jack. "I tell you I haven't got all our stakes paid over to me yet, and so I can't pay you, and that's flat."
"Then I may as well go and give myself up to the police at once," groaned Tom, stopping short in his walk, as though he contemplated throwing himself into the arms of the next policeman who came along.
The look of despair in his face alarmed Jack, and thrusting one hand into his pocket he drew Tom along with the other, for fear of attracting attention.
"Look here," he said, "you shall have the ten shillings. I have got that much for you, only I was going to ask you to lend it to me for a day or two, just to give me a chance to turn a penny or two more before Christmas. But, of course, if you must have it, you must," and as he spoke, he reluctantly drew from his pocket a half-sovereign, and gave it to Tom.
But he looked surprised when Tom's hand closed upon the coin.
"I thought you would be sure to let me have it for a day or two," he said in a tone of reproach.
"So I would," replied Tom, "if it was my own. But, look here, it may be too late now to put that back without being found out. Just as I was coming away to-night, I heard that the desk boy was coming back to-morrow, and if he comes, how am I to get that back and entered in the book. And if it isn't entered, the bill will be sent in again soon, and then there is my name on the receipt and I shall be clean bowled out over it."
"I suppose you must have it then," said Jack rather ruefully, but still looking as though he thought Tom ought not to take it.
But Tom took care to put it safe into an inside pocket, and when he had buttoned up his coat again he said, "When can I have the rest, Jack?"
"The rest?" repeated the friend who had been so profuse in his assurances that all racing money was paid the moment the race was settled. "What do you mean by the rest?"
"Why, this is just the money you had to place on Tittlebrat, there is two pounds five more coming to me."
"Is there, and what about my commission—you don't suppose I can go about and do this sort of business for nothing, do you?"
"You never said anything about commission before. I gave you the shilling for that, I thought," added Tom.
"I tell you what it is," said the other, after a pause, "you ain't fit to be about London at all, you're only just fit to run errands about a country village. Carry mangling clothes home, and wait for the money before you hand over the basket, that's what you're fit for, Tom; and you ought to go home to your mother to-morrow."
This was said in such a tone of withering contempt, that poor Tom felt half inclined to hand back the half-sovereign merely to get back Jack's good opinion again, but fear, lest if he did this he should never get the chance of restoring it, prevailed, and he went home with it secure in his pocket, though he and Jack parted very coolly through it.