“I’ll tell you what to do,” he said. “If you find Bernard——”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes. Bernard Brooks. If you see him, find out where he lives and come and tell me.”
“What will you do to him, if you catch him?” asked the bootblack, with curiosity.
“Never you mind! I will take him back into my charge. I may send him to a boarding-school.”
“I wish some kind gentleman would send me to a boardin’-school,” said the bootblack, with an angelic expression. “Say, mister, won’t you adopt me?”
“I cannot afford it. Besides, I have trouble enough with the boy I have; but I can’t stand waiting here. You are sure you didn’t see where the boy went?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Somehow that boy continually eludes me,” muttered Puffer, as he walked disappointed away. “I begin to hate him.”
Meanwhile Bernard had not gone very far. He had darted into a narrow street, and, himself screened from observation, watched the interview between the professor and the bootblack. Though he could not hear what was said, he judged that his street friend was not betraying him.