A dangerous friend

by Emma Leslie

He blamed himself bitterly now for giving up the money, for the thought that he was a thief would not be put aside, and he wondered what would become of him if he did not get this money back to put in his master's desk, for detection would be certain sooner or later if he failed to restore it.

He reached home silent and moody, and to his aunt's question whether he was going out, he replied, he did not care about it, he felt tired—which was true in a certain sense, for he felt utterly wretched, and wanted to go to bed and to sleep, that he might forget what had happened for a little while at least.

So he went to bed early, but he lay tossing about quite unable to go to sleep, or to think of anything but the events of the afternoon, the taking the money, the commendation of Mr. Phillips, and the meeting Jack and giving him the ten shillings.

He called himself all the fools he could lay his tongue to now for parting with this, for if he had not given it up to Jack, he could have taken it back the next day and replaced it in the desk, and if it was found out that the entry in the book and the date when the bill was receipted did not quite agree, he could tell Mr. Phillips how he had been tempted and had repented, but now there would be no such way of escape for him.

After a miserable, restless night he got up, still feeling unhappy and half afraid to go to the office, for fear something had occurred to bring his guilt to light.

But Mr. Phillips met him with a cheerful nod, and he went to the desk again, but he had no disposition to touch the money which passed through his hands to-day.

At dinner time Bob was full of the coming races, for he and one or two other lads had made up their minds to win some money out of it. Warrior was the favourite with Bob it seemed, and in listening to their talk about this horse and its different points, Tom forgot his misery for a little while. He did not say that he had staked anything on this race, and was sorry to hear that Bob felt so sure Warrior was going to win, that he had parted with all the money he had saved to buy his mother a warm shawl for the winter.

His mother was a widow, he knew, and had to work very hard, Bob had told him. The boy was very fond of his mother, and it would grieve him to have to tell her that he could not buy the shawl, and Tom wished he could give him a hint of how things really were, and that all his money would be lost.

Nothing could be thought of or talked of by the boys out of office hours but the coming race. All that they could possibly scrape together had been staked on the issue, and when at last the day came, they all trooped down to Fleet Street, without regard to their dinner, eating a bit of bread and cheese as they ran, all eager to know the result of the day's race.

Tom felt almost sick with anxiety, he had not been able to eat any breakfast, and now it seemed that the bread and cheese would choke him. But he managed to keep up with the rest, however, and got to the shop window where there was already a crowd waiting. But the result had not been telegraphed from Leicester, where this race was to be run, and so the crowd edged themselves as close together as they could, and prepared to wait until the news came, or they were compelled to leave by the lapse of time.