“Did you say some one was stealing my books?” he asked. “Are you a policeman? I’m much obliged to you. I hope the fellow didn’t get my first folio Shakespeare.”
“No, I’m not a policeman! No books have been stolen!” cried Tom. “I’m from Townsend’s book store.”
“Oh, yes. You’re Theopholus—no—I remember now; you’re Tom Baldwin. Wait; I’ll be right down. Have you some more books for me?”
Before the boy could answer, the window was shut again, but in less than a minute the front door opened, and Dr. Spidderkins, holding a candle in his hand, for he liked that old-fashioned method of going about the house after dark, was inviting Tom to enter. The story of the mishap was soon told.
“I thought maybe I might have dropped the envelope here,” the boy finished.
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Dr. Spidderkins, as he reached for his pocketbook. He searched hurriedly through it. Then he uttered an exclamation. “There! It’s all my fault. I knew I’d forget about it!”
“What?” asked Tom hopefully.
“Why, I gave you the wrong thing! There wasn’t any ten-dollar bill in that envelope!”
“There wasn’t?” and Tom’s heart grew light again.
