AN ESCAPE FOR BOB.
"SO you went on Tittlebrat," repeated Bob, as he walked down Fleet Street with Tom after he had recovered from the fainting fit into which he had been thrown by the news.
Bob was wishing more than ever that he had not been laughed out of his principles, for if he had only been firm in holding fast to his Sunday-school, this certainly would not have happened to him, for betting had no temptation for him, until he had given this up and tried to do as the rest did.
"Where did you get the news about Tittlebrat?" he asked, rather ruefully, as they walked along.
"Oh! A friend of mine told me about it," answered Tom.
"Well, you knew I was going to put all my money on the other, you might have given me a hint about this," said Bob in a reproachful tone. "I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for mother's shawl, but I've been saving my overtime money for that all the summer, and she will be vexed when she knows I've just been and thrown it all away; and the way I've lost it will be worse than all to her."
Tom felt sorry, but he was not in the mood to take the blame of Bob's disaster. "Wasn't you all dead-set on Warrior?" he said.
"Well, that may be, but still, if I'd got to know that another horse was sure to win, I would have given you and the other chaps a hint about how the land lay," answered Bob in the same reproachful tone.
"Well, I had to pay for my tip. Business is business, you know."
But Bob could not help feeling hurt at what he regarded a gross breach of friendship on the part of Tom, for he knew well enough that if the case had been reversed, he would have given his own particular friends no peace until they had put their money on the horse he considered was sure to win.