“Somebody saw it done,” said Gilbert. “Shall I call him?”
The question was addressed to Mr. Sands, who nodded his head.
Gilbert went to the door, and called Tom.
Tom, the boot-black, shuffled in, with his box strapped to his back.
“Tom,” said Gilbert, “did you, one day, see John—that boy there—putting a bill in my coat-pocket?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, “shure I did; but I thought it was his own, and it was no harm, till you told me how you’d lost your place.”
Mr. Sands put two or three questions, which Tom answered in a straightforward manner. Then he turned to the book-keeper.
“What do you say to this, Mr. Moore?” he asked.
“I say that it is all a lie,” returned the book-keeper, angrily. “How much are you paid for lying?” he demanded, sharply, of the boot-black.
“Not a cent,” said Tom, indignantly; “and it isn’t a lie either, you spalpeen! You knew all about it, too. I saw you lookin’ at him when he did it.”