It was right on the point of Tom’s tongue to tell Oscar to bundle up that suit of warm clothing and the overcoat, and take them to Guinea, or some other place under the equator—not because he did not need the clothing, but because he wanted money more, and it made him angry to know that he could not get it.
If Oscar had been able to comply with his demands, every cent would have been squandered, and his brother would have started out in his threadbare suit to face the winter’s storms.
Tom did not utter the words that arose to his lips. He paced back and forth for some minutes, with his eyes fastened on the ground, when suddenly a daring project suggested itself to him.
Without stopping to dwell on it, he strode up and faced his brother. There was a wild look in his eyes, and his fingers worked convulsively.
“How much money have you got in your pocket?” he asked, in as steady a tone as he could command.
“Not a red cent,” was the reply. “I left it all at the fort. I thought it would be safer there.”
“And I wasn’t mistaken, either,” said Oscar, to himself, as he looked up at his brother. “No honest face ever wore an expression like that. I think I would be safer at the fort myself.”
Tom could not meet his brother’s gaze. He turned away his head and resumed his seat on the log.
Oscar had never before come so near being robbed as he had that day. Tom was really in terrible straits, and so very much in need of money that he would not have hesitated to knock his brother senseless, if he had been sure that by so doing he could secure possession of his well-filled pocket-book.
If the latter had not been thoughtful enough to place all his money in his trunk before setting out on his ride, there would have been a desperate battle on the banks of that little stream; and it is possible that before it was ended Tom would have discovered that he had undertaken more than he could accomplish.