CHAPTER III.

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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration]