"Going into the book business," replied Tom, with a smile.
"Where are your books?"
"Down stairs, in the cellar of the steamboat, or whatever you call it."
"Where did you get them?"
"Bought 'em, of course."
"Did you? Where?"
"Well, I don't remember the name of the street now. I could go right there if I was in the city, though."
"Would they trust you?"
Tom hesitated. The lies he had told that morning had done him no good—had rather injured his cause; and, though he had no principle that forbade lying, he questioned its policy in the present instance.
"I paid part down, and they trusted me part."