"Why, this is just the money you had to place on Tittlebrat, there is two pounds five more coming to me."
"Is there, and what about my commission—you don't suppose I can go about and do this sort of business for nothing, do you?"
"You never said anything about commission before. I gave you the shilling for that, I thought," added Tom.
"I tell you what it is," said the other, after a pause, "you ain't fit to be about London at all, you're only just fit to run errands about a country village. Carry mangling clothes home, and wait for the money before you hand over the basket, that's what you're fit for, Tom; and you ought to go home to your mother to-morrow."
This was said in such a tone of withering contempt, that poor Tom felt half inclined to hand back the half-sovereign merely to get back Jack's good opinion again, but fear, lest if he did this he should never get the chance of restoring it, prevailed, and he went home with it secure in his pocket, though he and Jack parted very coolly through it.
[CHAPTER VI.]
A FRIGHT FOR TOM.
TOM'S cold was not much better the next morning, but he went to work as usual, for it might be the last chance he would have of putting back the ten shillings that had caused him far more anxiety than any pleasure he might get out of his winnings would ever compensate for. And if he had found that the lad who usually took the desk had returned to his employment, then he would have been in worse trouble than ever.