"Oh, but I knew I shouldn't lose; I had a sure tip about that, or I wouldn't have done it."
"Who lent you the money—your aunt?"
"My aunt? Catch her at it. No, no, they know nothing about it at home. My friend Jack managed it all for me."
"And gave you the tip, too?" asked Bob. At that moment he felt sorely tempted again, but he bravely told of the promise he had given his mother. "It was the shawl that did it," he explained, and then he told Tom how he had risked every penny he could scrape together on the favourite horse and lost it all.
"It was a pity," said Tom, thinking of Dick's gloves when Bob spoke of his mother's shawl.
"Yes, and I was in a fright when I had to tell mother where the money had gone. But still, it might have been worse, for if I had borrowed money as you did, and lost that, I should have been in a worse fix, and you might be in that hole now, you know, Tom."
Tom turned deadly pale at the suggestion. "Yes, I might," he said. But it was not a pleasant subject to think of, and so he contrived to turn the conversation, and when he had an opportunity turned back to the warehouse for the rest of the dinner hour, instead of going on with the rest of his companions.
He took care to avoid Bob when they went home, for fear he should say any more about the borrowed money. The very mention of it put him into a fright, especially since he had told him that he had not got it from his aunt or uncle.
As soon as he got indoors, his aunt told him that his uncle had left word that he was going to bring the gloves home with him, and he was to write the letter to send with them before he went to bed.
"Very well, aunt," said Tom, trying to speak indifferently, but really wishing he had never heard of the gloves, for he had no money to pay for them, and unless he met Jack that night and got some from him, he would have to tell his uncle that the shilling he had the week before had gone now; and what his aunt would say he hardly cared to think.