"come, come, young man, you'd better keep a civil tongue in your head, or i'll jug you as it is. i've enough against you."
"why don't you do it, then?" was tom's defiant question; "i've learned enough during the last few minutes to understand my rights, and if you think i don't, now's the time to test it."
the officer went out muttering all sorts of things; and tom, turning to his employer, his breast heaving with indignation, said,--
"they have been plotting against me ever since i've been on the road. they went with all kinds of stories to you, and now they've been trying to make it appear that i am in the counterfeit business."
"but there must have been something tangible, or that detective would not have come here with the charge."
"there was something;" and thereupon tom told the story of the six shining quarters.
his employer was angered, for he saw through it all; and from the description of the donor, he recognized a worthless scamp who had been discharged for stealing some time before tom went on the route. the detective was sent for, and the case laid before him. that night mr. dick horton, who made the charge, was arrested, and in his rooms were found such proofs against him as a counterfeiter that, a few months later, he went to sing sing for ten years.
for a time succeeding this incident tom was left undisturbed in the pursuit of his business, the occurrence becoming pretty generally known and causing much sympathy for him.
it was about a month subsequent that tom missed his afternoon train down the river, and took another, which left later, not reaching new york till late at night.
it was a fierce drive.
it was a fierce drive.
as there was nothing for him to do, the train being in the hands of another newsboy, he sat down in the smoking-car, which was only moderately filled. directly in front was a man who, he judged from his dress, was a texan drover, or some returning californian he was leaning back in the corner of his seat, with his mouth open and his eyes shut, in a way to suggest that he was asleep.
seated next him was an individual who looked very much like the italian who had shoved his head into the door of tom's room some months before. this foreigner was watching the californian--if such he was--as a cat watches a mouse.
"i believe he means to rob him," was tom's conclusion, who, without being suspected by the scoundrel, was taking mental notes of the whole proceeding.
the supposition was confirmed within five minutes, when the italian, leaning over toward the other, in an apparently careless manner, began cautiously inserting his hand into his watch-pocket.
the instant tom saw this, he bent forward and shook the californian's shoulder so vigorously that he started up, and demanded in a gruff voice what was the matter. the italian, of course, had withdrawn his hand like a flash, and was leaning the other way, with his eyes half-closed, like one sinking into a doze.
"i saw that man there," said tom, pointing to the italian, "with his hand in your pocket, about to steal your watch, and i thought i'd best let you know."
"is that so?" demanded the stranger, a giant in stature, as he laid his immense hand on the shoulder of the other, who started up as if just aroused from sleep, and protested in broken english that he was not aware of being seated with the gentleman at all.
his vehement declarations seemed to raise a doubt in the mind of the californian, who began an examination of his pockets. he found everything right, and so declared.
"he was just beginning operations," said tom in explanation, "when i woke you."
"bein' as he ain't took nothin', i won't knock the head off him," said the californian, as he announced himself to be; "but he ain't any business to look so much like a sneaking dog, so i'll punch him on general principles."
whereupon he gave the fellow such a resounding cuff that he flopped out of the seat, and, scrambling to his feet, hurried out of the car.
the californian thanked tom, and then resumed his nap.
in half an hour tom found the tobacco-smoke so oppressive that he rose to go into the next car. on the platform stood the discomfited italian, who seemed to be waiting for revenge.
"you lie of me," he muttered, before tom suspected his danger. "i show you."
with a quick push he gave the lad a violent shove, thrusting him entirely off the platform and out upon the ground, fortunately clear of the rushing wheels.
