“Bob Holton is my name, and this is my friend, Joe Lewis.”
A small hand was extended.
“I’m Spike Weaver, the son of a horse thief.”
The youths burst out in laughter.
“A horse thief?”
“Yes,” the boy said. “That’s what the old man used to be. I’m not onto him now, I been away from home so much.”
Another outburst of laughter followed. The youths were beginning to take a liking to this small wanderer.
One thing stood out in the young men’s minds: the family to which this boy belonged was evidently of a very low type morally. Little wonder that young Spike had turned out to be a worthless ne’er-do-well. There was apparently little hope for his future.
“Why don’t you go to school and try to make something out of yourself?” asked Bob. “Wouldn’t you like to be a big business man, or doctor, or merchant, or naturalist?”