Not so, however, one of the occupants of the press bed in the kitchen. This small person opened his ferrety blue eyes, wriggled his freckled face above the bed-clothes, and darted a quick, sly glance round the apartment.
“Oh, jiminy!” he murmured, “I ’ope as Bob won’t wake till I ’as done it. Oh, my eyes and stars! what a chance is here.”
He crept quietly out of bed, and with the light agile movements of a little cat went across the kitchen. He reached the bureau, and bending down pulled the drawer open, which contained Jill’s hard-earned savings.
Tom was a little person who possessed neither conscience nor fear. He soon emptied the contents of the stocking into his eager little palm. The brown-paper parcel which contained Nat’s five sovereigns was clutched in his other hand. He then ran across the room, slipped the coins into his trousers pockets, put his trousers on and returned to the bureau.
His mother’s letter, wide-open and exposed to the view of all who cared to read, attracted his attention. Thanks to the board-school which he attended, Tom could both read and write. He soon acquainted himself with the contents of the letter, and murmuring “jiminy!” once again under his breath, went up to the bed where Bob still slept.
Tom stood on one leg, and contemplated Bob’s sleeping face with its upturned nose, and its thick crop of freckles, for half a minute. Then taking up an old shoe, he flung it at the sleeper and awaited the result.
Bob started up with a howl.
“Hold your noise this minute,” said Tom, falling upon Bob, and half throttling him. “Hold your noise, and I’ll tell yer some’at. See here, Bob, I ha’ got some swag, and ef you make a row Jill ’ull hear us.”
The word “swag” had a magical effect on Bob. He stopped crying, wiped his dirty face, and looked at his brother with a world of wonder and desire lighting up each insignificant feature.
“Oh, my word, Tom!” he said, “is it gingerbread?”