"Come in and bid me good-by before you go, Tom."
"Yes, I will."
Tom went out into the street, when it occurred to him that there was one article he had not yet renewed—his hat. He lost no time in visiting a hat store, where he supplied himself with one of fashionable shape. He could not resist the temptation, also, of purchasing a small, jaunty cane. Being naturally a good-looking boy, I am justified in saying that, in his new outfit, he would have easily passed muster as the son of a man of wealth. In fact, so effectually was he disguised, that he passed some of his old street companions without their recognizing him. Tom was rather amused and pleased at this. As he passed his old rival and enemy, Pat Walsh, it struck him that it would be a good joke to employ him to black his shoes, of which I neglected to say that he had purchased a new pair. Pat was just finishing off a customer, when Tom stepped up.
"Shine yer boots?" asked Pat.
"Yes, boy, and be quick about it," answered Tom, assuming a tone of haughty command.
Pat was at once on his knees, blacking the shoes of his old rival without the slightest suspicion of his identity.
"Humph! do you call that a good shine?" demanded Tom, when the first shoe was finished. "I could black it better myself."
"What do you know about blackin' boots?" said Pat, angrily. "There ain't a boy round here can give you a better shine than that."
"I got my boots blacked yesterday by a boy named Tom. He gave me a better shine."
Just then Pat looked up in his face, and started in surprise.