With that he pulled from his pocket a handful of silver, explaining that when she traveled Mrs. Stark always provided herself with a large quantity of “change” expressly for “tips,” and that she had generously handed the amount on to her son, since she was simply “going home” and wouldn’t need it.
“More in my suit-case, too, Tommy. But—I’m going to give it all away the minute I get back to the hotel.”
Tommy’s eyes almost bulged from his head, as he ejaculated in intense amazement:
“You never!”
“Fact. I’m going to begin right now.”
Tommy nearly fell off the step. There in his own small hand lay the greater part of what had been in Montmorency’s, but he couldn’t believe in his own good fortune. Despite the tips he received at the hotel—they were neither many nor generous—master Thomas Ransom was a very poor little fellow. He held his position at the inn by the fact that he was willing to work “for his board” and whatever the guests might chance to bestow upon him. The landlord had the name of a “skin-flint,” whether justly or not the boarders didn’t know.
It was to his interest, however, to serve them well and he did it; but it was rumored that the “help” fared upon the leavings of the guests’ plates, and in that atmosphere of healthy appetites such leavings were scant. Anyway, Tommy was always hungry, and the fact showed in his pinched, eager little face.
“You’re foolin’. Here ’tis back;” he finally gasped, extending his hand toward Monty with a pitiful attempt at a smile.
“Fooling? Not one bit. You put that where it’s safe, and the first chance you get run into the village to some restaurant and get yourself a good square meal. Then go to the circus, if you want. I see by the placards that one is coming.”
“Oh! Pshaw! I don’t know what to say. But, if you do mean it, I ain’t going to no restaurant. I’m going home to my mother the first leave off I get and give it to her. She can’t make her rent hardly, sewing, and she’ll cook a dinner for me to the queen’s taste! Wish you’d come and eat it with us.”