“No; I won’t tell him. I want you to stay here.”
Tony was assigned to a room in the attic. There were two beds in this chamber, one being occupied by James. He slept soundly, and was up betimes in the morning. After breakfast Mr. Bickford, the tin peddler, made ready to start.
Good-by, Tony,” he said, in a friendly manner, “I’m glad you’ve got a place.”
“I wouldn’t have got it if I hadn’t you to refer to.”
“The landlord didn’t ask how long I’d known you,” said Bickford, smiling. “Good luck to you.”
As the peddler drove away, Tony noticed a big, overgrown boy, who was just entering the hotel yard.
That’s Sam,” said the hostler. “He don’t know he’s lost his place.”
Sam was about two inches taller than Tony, red-haired, and freckled, with a big frame, loosely put together. He was a born bully, and many were the tricks he had played on smaller boys in the village.
Sam strutted into the yard with the air of a proprietor. He took no particular notice of Tony, but accosted James. The latter made a signal to Tony to be silent.
Well, have you just got along?” asked the hostler.