“Will your father like your giving away this money?” he asked.
“He will be glad to have me assist a friend, particularly you. He likes you, Tom, and is always willing I should come to visit you.”
“Then I will tell you what I will do, Harry—I will take the money, and use it if I am absolutely obliged to. But I shall expect to pay it back some time.”
“All right, Tom. You may pay it back when you are twenty-one. That will be soon enough. What a mean man that Simpson is. What an awful thing that was last night—I mean the tramp burning up in the old barn.”
“Yes, it was. I suppose I was the only one who saw him besides Squire Simpson. Harry, he said he knew my father in California, and that he, father, was worth at one time twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Harry, in surprise.
“Yes, and I believe the story.”
“I wish you had it now, Tom.”
“So do I; but it’s no use wishing.”
Tom went home considerably encouraged. True, he had no prospect of a place, but the sympathy and kindness of Harry Julian had made the world seem brighter to him. Boys, as well as men, when in trouble crave sympathy. They like to feel that they are not standing alone, but have some one’s good wishes.