"Perhaps I am; but I know better than to spend my money upon fast horses. If you will go, I can't help it. I am sorry you are going astray."
"What do you mean by that, you young monkey?" said Tom, angrily.
This was Tom Spicer, the bully. It sounded like him; and with a feeling of sorrow Bobby resigned the hopes he had cherished of making a good boy of him.
"We had better part now," added our hero, sadly.
"I'm willing."
"I shall leave Brunswick this afternoon for the towns up the river. I hope no harm will befall you. Good by, Tom,"
"Go it! I have heard your preaching about long enough, and I am more glad to get rid of you than you are to get rid of me."
Bobby walked away towards the house where he had left the trunk containing his books, while Tom made his way towards a livery stable. The boys had been in the place for several days, and had made some acquaintances; so Tom had no difficulty in procuring a companion for his proposed ride.
Our hero wrote a letter that afternoon to Mr. Bayard, in which he narrated all the particulars of his journey, his relations with Tom Spicer, and the success that had attended his labors. At the bank he procured a hundred dollar note for his small bills, and enclosed it in the letter.
He felt sad about Tom. The runaway had done so well, had been so industrious, and shown such a tractable spirit, that he had been very much encouraged about him. But if he meant to be wild again,—for it was plain that the ride was only "the beginning of sorrows,"—it was well that they should part.