“I ain’t lookin’ ahead so far as that,” Josiah replied grimly. “The hundred-year part of it’ll be all right; but I’m thinkin’ ’bout the balance of this week.”
“We’ll see you through;” and then Tom dismissed the matter, as if advancing his friend several dollars would be nothing more than an ordinary business transaction to which he was thoroughly well accustomed.
The ride down town in the elevated cars was not as pleasant as the one in the morning had been, owing to the fact that it was now dark, and there was less to be seen, while the visitor was decidedly tired.
The walk from the station to Baker’s Court seemed unusually long, and the supper, even though it was served in the stuffy kitchen, was appreciated to its fullest extent.
Had Josiah consulted his own inclination, he would have retired immediately after the evening meal was brought to a close; but Bob and Tom were eager their friend should view Brooklyn Bridge in the night, when the lights of the city formed a brilliant background, and almost reluctantly Josiah allowed himself to be conducted from the court once more.
“By gracious! If I get used up walkin’ ’round havin’ a good time, what must it be for that little match-girl, who’s on her feet all day, an’ with not half enough to eat?”
“Well, it’s tough, of course,” Tom said thoughtfully; “but there’s a good many of us got the same kind of a snap, an’ I don’t reckon she’s any worse off than lots I could pick up.”
“S’pose she’s had any supper to-night?”
“Now see here, Josiah,” and Tom spoke very decidedly. “It’s no kind of use for you to spoil your good time thinkin’ ’bout her. She’ll get along jest the same’s before you come, an’ won’t have it any harder.”
“I s’pose that’s so,” Josiah said half to himself; “you see, I never thought there could be so much trouble in the city, where it seems as if everybody has money.”