CHAPTER VIII
DR. SPIDDERKINS’ POCKETBOOK
Tom tried to keep up a cheerful spirit when he went home that night, tired and discouraged with his fruitless search for work.
“No luck, Tom?” asked his mother, who, in spite of his efforts at concealment, could almost read his thoughts.
“No, but I’ll find a place to-morrow, mother. Is there any work I can take home for you?”
“Yes; here is a skirt I have just finished for Mrs. Wellderly, the minister’s wife. She is usually good pay, and I have written her a little note, asking to please send the money by you.”
“I wish I was earning money for you, mother.”
“Never mind, Tom. I have had an unusual lot of sewing to do lately, and we are making out fairly well. Now here is the skirt. Carry it carefully.”
She handed the bundle to Tom, who grasped it as if it was a package of books, placing it under one arm.
“Mercy! Goodness sakes alike! Don’t do that!” cried his aunt.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom innocently. “Am I spilling any of the fol-de-rols?”