He was destined to have one more adventure before the day closed.
On leaving the hospital Tom directed his course to Broadway. It was the busiest part of the day, and the street was crowded with stages, drays, and other vehicles, making it difficult to cross.
A hump-backed seamstress stood on the sidewalk, looking helplessly across, but not daring to venture on the perilous passage. There was no policeman in sight.
"I wish I could get across," she said, loud enough to be heard. "Mother won't know what has become of me."
Tom saw her anxious face, and stepped up at once.
"I will take you across, miss," he said, politely.
"Will you?" she asked, her face brightening. "I shall be very much obliged to you. My poor mother is sick at home, waiting for some medicine I went out to get for her, and I have been standing here ten minutes, not daring to cross. I don't know when Broadway has been so full."
"Take my arm," said Tom, "and don't be afraid."
She had scarcely taken our hero's arm, when a rude street-boy called out, in derision:
"Is that your girl, Tom? Ask her what she will take for her hump."