Part 3 (1/2)

”What's his name?”

”Jacob.”

”What other name?” asked the customer, quickly.

Tom had by this time completed his task, and was standing erect, facing the speaker.

”He's got an inquirin' mind,” thought Tom; but, though rather surprised at the questions, he had no objection to answer them.

”I don't know,” he said.

”Don't know?”

”He never told me. Maybe it's Grey, like mine. Some call him my grandfather, but he isn't.”

”It is he,” thought the stranger; ”but things are well as they are. He knows nothing, and need know nothing. I am safe enough, since between us there is a great gulf of ignorance, and more than a thousand miles of s.p.a.ce.”

”Well, my boy,” he said, aloud, ”I suppose you want to be paid?”

”That's what's the matter,” answered Tom.

The stranger put in his hand a half dollar, and Tom, plunging his hand in his pocket, prepared to give change.

”Never mind,” said his late customer, with a wave of his hand.

”Thanks,” said Tom, and he mentally wished he might be as well paid every day for answering questions.

Tom shouldered his box, and walked a few steps down Broadway. It was some time before another customer appeared, and meanwhile another bootblack came up. The name of the newcomer was Pat Walsh. He enjoyed a bad reputation among his comrades--as one who would take a mean advantage, if he dared, and was at all times ready to bully a smaller boy. He had long cherished an ill feeling toward Tom, because the latter had interfered, on one occasion, to protect a smaller boy whom Pat tried to cheat out of a job. As Tom's prowess was well known, Pat had contented himself hitherto with uttering threats which he hesitated to carry into execution. It was shrewdly suspected by his companions that he was afraid to contend with Tom, and they had taunted him with it. Finding his authority diminis.h.i.+ng, Pat decided to force a quarrel upon Tom at the first opportunity. He had no great appet.i.te for the fight, but felt it to be a disagreeable necessity.

Just as he came up a gentleman approached with a valise in his hand.

His boots were decidedly dirty, and he was hailed as a prize by the bootblacks.

”s.h.i.+ne yer boots?” exclaimed Tom and Pat, simultaneously.

”I don't know but they need brus.h.i.+ng,” said the traveler.

Instantly both bootblacks were on their knees before him, ready to proceed to business.

”I don't need both of you,” he said, smiling.

”Take me,” said Pat; ”I'll give you a bully s.h.i.+ne.”

”I'll give you the bulliest,” said Tom, good humoredly. ”I spoke first.”

”Lave wid yer, or I'll mash yer!” said Pat.

”Better not try it,” said Tom, not in the least intimidated. ”The gentleman will choose between us.”