Part 25 (2/2)
”Where shall we go first?” asked Tom.
”We had better go to a public house, and secure a lodging,” said Ferguson.
”I wish I knew some one here to direct me.”
Scarcely had Tom uttered these words than he cried out in surprise, ”Why, there's John Miles!”
They were pa.s.sing a little, unpainted, wooden building, of one and a half stories, used as a grocery. A German name was on the sign; but behind the rough counter stood the familiar form of John Miles.
Tom dashed into the store, followed by his more dignified companion.
”How are you, John?” he exclaimed.
”Why, if it isn't Tom,” returned Miles, his face showing the joy he felt. ”And here's Mr. Ferguson, too.”
Then there ensued a hearty shaking of hands, followed by the question, ”When did you get here?”
”About twenty minutes ago.”
”And you came straight to me. That's good.”
”So it is; but it's an accident. We had no idea where you were. So you are a grocer, John. Is the place yours?”
”If it is, then I've changed my name,” said Miles, pointing to the sign bearing the name:--
JOHN Sc.h.i.n.kELWITZ.
”The first name's right, at any rate,” said Tom, laughing. ”I suppose you are the clerk, then.”
”Yes.”
”How long have you been here?”
”Four weeks.”
”Is it a good business?”
”Very good. My Dutch friend pays me five dollars a day, and I sleep here.”
”Among the groceries?”
”Yes; it saves me the expense of a bed outside, and that is a good deal.
I haven't saved quite enough to pay you yet, Tom, but I can soon.”
”No hurry, John. I have been lucky since I saw you.”
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