“The fact is,” he continued, “I haven’t got much money, and it would be very convenient to visit somebody. Perhaps you could lend me five dollars?”
“I don’t think I could. I think I shall have to say good-morning.”
“I can’t make anything out of him,” said Jim to himself, philosophically. “I wonder if he’s got any money. Uncle Socrates told me his uncle had cast him off.”
Going up Broadway instead of down, it was not long before Jim met Allan Roscoe and Guy, whom he immediately recognized. Not being troubled with immodesty, he at once walked up to Mr. Roscoe and held out his hand.
“Good-morning, Mr. Roscoe!” he said, in an ingratiating voice.
“Good-morning, young man. Where have I met you?” asked Allan Roscoe, puzzled.
“At Smith Institute. I am the nephew of Mr. Smith.”
“What! Not the nephew who—”
Mr. Roscoe found it hard to finish the sentence. He didn’t like to charge Jim with stealing to his face.
“I know what you mean,” said Jim, boldly. “I am the one whom your nephew charged with taking money which he took himself. I don’t want to say anything against him, as he is your nephew, but he is an artful young—but no matter. You are his uncle.”