Here the conductor tapped Tom on the shoulder.
“He pays for me,” said Tom, pointing back at Captain Barnes.
“I suppose he’s your grandfather,” said the driver, jocosely.
“I wish he was. He’s a trump. He gave me a stunnin’ breakfast.”
“So you like him better than your granny?”
“You can bet on that.”
Captain Barnes, sitting near the door, heard a part of this conversation, and it amused him.
“I wonder,” he thought, “whether my sister will be willing to assume charge of this wild little girl? There’s enough in her to make a very smart woman, if she is placed under the right influences and properly trained. But I suspect that will require not a little patience and tact. Well, we shall see.”
After a while the car reached Sixteenth Street, and the captain left it, with Tom following him. They turned down Sixteenth Street from the avenue, and finally stopped before a fair-looking brick house. Captain Barnes went up the steps, and rang the bell.
“Is Mrs. Merton at home?” he asked.