“Tom was fifteen last May.”
“He was very young to become an auctioneer,” 121 smiled Matt. “I am hardly old enough for the business.”
“He has made a friend of this auctioneer—who used to stand up in a wagon and sing songs, and then sell cheap jewelry—and he went off with him one Saturday, when I thought he had gone to New York with his uncle.”
“And doesn’t he want to come back?” asked Matt, deeply interested.
“I have never heard of him since he went away.” Mrs. Inwold put her handkerchief to her eyes to dry the tears which had started. “One reason I wished these goods delivered was because I thought I might get a chance to talk to you about Tom. You intend to travel from place to place, do you not?”
“Yes, madam; we shall remain here but a few days.”
“Then, perhaps, in your travels you may run across Tom. If you do I wish you would tell him to send word home. He ought to come home of himself, but I suppose he won’t do that, he is so headstrong.”
“I should think he would prefer a good home to traveling around with a cheap jewelry man,” was Matt’s comment, as he looked around at the comfortable 122 house Mrs. Inwold occupied. “I know I would.”
“Boys do not always know what is best for them,” sighed the lady. “Tom generally had his own way, and that made him headstrong. He is my only son, and as his father is away most of the time, I suppose I treated him more indulgently than was good for him.”
“You have no idea where he and the jewelry man went?”