For more than an hour did Phil stay, trying to while away the time, and to interest the sufferer, until at last the nurse came to him and told him he must leave, but could come again on the morrow.
"Of course, father, if I get work you won't see me; because, you know, I shall have to keep the family now." He said the words laughingly, while in his heart he knew they would be better off without him; and secretly he saw a more prosperous, peaceful time during his father's enforced absence, than he had hitherto known. But of all this he said nothing, and promising that either he or his mother should come on the morrow, he went away, leaving his father once more to the unpleasant society of his thoughts.
The ward in which he lay was a small one, and the bed on either side empty, so that Mellor was left pretty much to himself; but the nurse was kind, and sat by him, talking to him, until at last, weary with pain, he fell asleep.
Phil's first errand the next morning was to his friend Forbes, to find out from him the owner of the horse that had knocked down his father. "Because, you see, Mr. Forbes, I should think he ought to do something for us, and I'm going to try; only I wish I looked more decent; you see my clothes are so very shabby." Phil looked longingly at Forbes' blue coat, with its bright buttons, and then sadly at his own patched garments. "Mother sat up last night mending my jacket," he said, half apologetically; "because, you know, rags look dreadful."
"Well, let's see, Phil, I think I could find an old waistcoat of my Tom's that would look better than yours, and a necktie too. There; now you'll do. Well, it's Mr. Cross, the news-agent down in George Street, whose horse knocked your father down; not that he was to blame, though, from all I hear, for the horse is quiet enough, they say, but took fright at a traction engine. Anyhow, you might call down, Phil, and tell your story."
So off the boy went; and after a patient waiting, found himself in the presence of Mr. Cross, one of the busiest tradesmen in Helmstone, an advertising and news-agent.
"Now, my lad, what's your business?"
In few words Phil told of his father's accident. "And I should be very much obliged, sir, if you could give me work; because, you see, I shall have to keep mother and Rob now."
"Work, eh?" and Mr. Cross looked down at the little lad beside him, with his bright honest face, that had such a wonderful attraction about it. "Work? I fancy I should have the School Board officer down on me if I took you on here. How old are you?"
"Thirteen last Sunday, sir; so you see I'm all right that way; and, oh, please, sir, take me. I'll do anything."