"Hullo, Johnnie Greybreeks! Why, my little man, I've been looking for you for the last six months."
It was Tom Morgan himself the two friends had run up against at the corner of Jamaica Street—big Tom Morgan, brown waving beard and all.
"Why did you never come and see me?"
"Please, sir, mother wouldn't let me. You see, sir, you were very good to me that Christmas eve, and mother said if I went back it would look just like—begging, you know, sir."
"Fiddlesticks, Johnnie Greybreeks! But talking about fiddlesticks, who is your little friend here carrying the fiddle?"
Johnnie told him.
"Now, come along, both of you," said Tom. "I know an eating-house near here where they have such capital beef."
And a splendid feed Tom ordered them; and it seemed to do the honest fellow's heart good to see them eat.
"Now," said Tom, "will you play me a tune, Peter? and then I'll be off, for time is precious."
Peter gladly did as suggested; but I am sure that big Tom Morgan merely asked him to play that he might have an excuse for giving the poor lad that half-crown.