“The eldest are all girls,” answered poor Mr. Sprague, “and they have to stay at home and help their mother with the little ones. My eldest boy, Alex, is only nine years old.”
“Just the age to get him off your hands—just the age to get him into the Downham Foundation School.”
“Oh, sir, what a relief that would be, both to his poor mother and me! The same thought has struck me, sir, many a time, but I have no influence—none whatever.”
“But it is possible that I may have a little,” said Tom, kindly.
“Oh, Mr. Bristow!” gasped the chemist, and then could say no more.
“Supposing—merely supposing, you know,” said Tom, “that I were to get your eldest boy into the Downham Foundation School, and were, in addition, to put a hundred-pound note into your hands with which to pay off your arrears of rent, you would be willing to do a trifling service for me in return?”
“I should be the most ungrateful wretch in the world were I to refuse to do so,” replied the chemist, earnestly.
“Then listen,” said Tom. “You are summoned to serve as one of the jury in the great murder case to-morrow.”
Mr. Sprague nodded.
“You will serve, as a matter of course,” continued Tom. “I shall be in the court, and in such a position that you can see me without difficulty. As soon as the clock strikes three, you will look at me, and you will keep on looking at me every two or three minutes, waiting for a signal from me. Perhaps it will not be requisite for me to give the signal at all—in that case I shall not need your services; but whether they are needed or no, your remuneration will in every respect be the same.”