“Well, I guess I know as much as the next one,” answered the lad proudly. “Ain’t I been on the ’Xpress since I was so high?” measuring a short space between his thin, and now—thanks to nurse Brady’s attention—very white little hands.
“The dickens you have! Then why were you masquerading in borrowed plumes, my lad? Your story and your clothing don’t agree. What is your name? Give it right, now, mind.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I ain’t ashamed of it, if it isn’t pretty. I’m Towsley. Towsley Towhead, some the Alley folks call me. I’m one the boys on the ’Xpress. That’s who I am, and I can sell more’n any other fellow of my size on the whole force.”
“I believe it. You look as sharp as a razor. But let’s keep to facts. You tacitly admitted that you ran away, and your velvet attire is certainly against you!”
There was something both whimsical and kindly in the doctor’s expression, and Towsley’s confidence was won.
“Don’t you s’pose I know that? Don’t you s’pose I reckoned I was a guy; and that all the fellows would laugh at me when they saw me? But I couldn’t help it, could I? That old black man took my own clothes away and left these, and I couldn’t go out without any, could I? She was a nice old lady and her pie was good. Pretty good, I mean. But she wasn’t going to catch Towsley and adopt him, not if he could help himself! No, siree! So I waited till everybody was asleep, then I lit out.”
“Smart boy! Tell me the whole story; from start to finish.”
“Say, you tell me, first. Was I half dead in the snow? Did you find me and fetch me here, like I heard them say? ’Cause if you did, I—I—I’d like to do something back for you, yourself.”
“Oh! that’s all right, my lad. You’ll have a chance. Don’t fear.”