The wages
may be small, but I won't mind that, if I
only support myself economically, and get on."
To most boys brought up in comfort, not to
say luxury, the prospect of working hard for
small pay would not have seemed inviting. But
Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible
ideas about labor. It was no sacrifice or
humiliation to him to become a working boy,
for he had never considered himself superior
to working boys, as many boys in his position
would have done.
He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at
the end of ten minutes thought he had better
sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings. But he was
destined to receive a shock. There, under the tree
which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter,
reclined a figure only too well-known.
It was the tramp who the day before had
compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.
The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when
his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed
with savage joy.
"So it's you, is it?" he said, rising from his seat.
"Yes," answered Carl, doubtfully.
"Do you remember me?"
"Yes."
"I have cause to remember you, my chicken.
That was a mean trick you played upon me,"
and he nodded his head significantly.
"I should think it was you that played the trick on me."
"How do you make that out?" growled the tramp.
"You took my money."
"So I did, and much good it did me."
Carl was silent.
"You know why, don't you?"
Carl might have denied that he knew the
character of the bill which was stolen from him,
but I am glad to say that it would have come
from him with a very ill grace, for he was
accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.
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