“My old friend, you are foolish to expect anything from a boy of sixteen. Such boys are confident, no doubt; it is a characteristic of that age, but what could one do against a crafty rogue?”
“You may be perfectly right. Still you wouldn’t speak of Tom with such contempt if you knew him. He will make a very smart man.”
“I see he has managed to impress you with a belief in his ability.”
“It is true. I have seldom met a boy who seemed so plucky and self-reliant.”
“That may all be, but he will fail in his mission. Excuse my expressing myself so positively, but it isn’t worth while to deceive yourself. Face all the difficulties of your situation, and form no groundless hopes.”
The merchant was about to reply, when the door of the counting-room opened, and with an elastic step in walks our hero.
“Tom Temple!” ejaculated the merchant in amazement.
“Yes, Mr. Armstrong, it is I,” said Tom. “I am glad you haven’t forgotten me.”
“So this is the young man you sent on a wild-goose chase, Armstrong?” said Hugh Osborn, smiling.
Tom turned toward the speaker.