"I felt giddy—I've got a bad cold," said Tom rather incoherently.
"Where do you work?" asked the policeman, laying his hand on his shoulder, and turning him round to the light of the neighbouring gas lamp, but whatever the suspicion was in the man's mind, Tom's appearance convinced him that his statement was correct, for he was shivering as if struck with ague now, and he said in a more kindly tone, "You ought to be in bed, not out of doors such a cold night as this."
"I'm going home now," replied Tom very meekly, for he felt he dare not give a policeman a saucy answer just now.
"Yes, you get home as fast as you can, or you'll be worse," said the policeman in a tone of compassion, for it was easy to see that the boy was not fit to be out in the chill evening air.
How Tom staggered home and kept up an appearance of being pretty well during tea time he alone knew, but he did manage it, and went out afterwards to see if he could find Jack.
To-night he was not disappointed, though he rather disgusted his friend by the way he ran to him exclaiming, "Oh, Jack, Jack, why didn't you come last night?"
"Come last night," repeated Jack coolly, "what would have been the good of that?"
"The money, Jack, the money!" said Tom, in an imploring tone.
"Well, the money's all right. I suppose you found out that Tittlebrat was first, as I said he would be. I suppose you will believe another time that my tips are worth more than I charge for them," he said, in a sneering tone.
"Oh, never mind the tips now, it's the ten shillings I stole."