A dangerous friend

by Emma Leslie

Tom had often heard his father speak of putting good work into whatever job he did, but he did not see that there was any connection between putting a horse-shoe on safely and securely, and doing such work as he had to do at the warehouse. And the talk with his friend Jack had given him the impression that in London to be sharp and look out for "Number One" was a good deal better than plodding work.

With this had come a desire for more spending money. His wages were but six shillings a week, which he took home to his aunt every Friday, and from which she gave him threepence for himself, but out of this he had to buy his own boot and shoelaces.

Threepence a week had seemed a large sum to him at first, but since he had become acquainted with Jack, who spent more than that every evening, it had seemed very small, especially as he sometimes had to spend half of it in replacing broken boot-laces.

As it was, he could very seldom produce a penny for the nightly consumption of cakes, and as Jack was too good-natured to eat and see him go without, he found money for both, remarking, when Tom protested against this arrangement, that he should stand treat by-and-by when he was in luck, as he would certainly be before long.

In Tom's first letters home, when he knew that he was to have threepence a week, he had written to tell Dick that he meant to send him something from London at Christmas. But now he had been here three months and Christmas was drawing near, Tom wanted money for himself, and there seemed little chance of Dick getting his promised present.

The luck promised by Jack had not come to him, although he heard every now and then of one and another among his companions at the office doubling or trebling their week's pocket-money in a few minutes. Sometimes it was at card-playing, sometimes on a game of pitch-and-toss, for it seemed that when they could not gamble on horse-racing, the lads found out another way of betting.

But Tom never seemed to have money enough to risk in this way, and he was complaining of this to his bosom friend Jack one day, when he offered to lend him five shillings for a month, if he liked to accept it.

"You have brought me luck, if you haven't had it yourself," he said laughing, "so it's only fair you should share in it."

But Tom would not borrow if he could help it, he shook his head rather sadly, though, as he thought of a letter that had just come from his sister Polly, suggesting that he should send Dick a pair of warm gloves, as he had very bad chilblains on his hands this winter.

"Bother his chilblains," said Tom, half aloud, as he read the letter one morning at breakfast time.