That night the boys and the dog went again to Mr. Coburn's store; not because Tim proposed to spend any of his two dollars, but because there was a great fascination about the place for Sam. He delighted to lounge around there at a time when he ought to have been in bed, listening to the conversation of older loafers, believing he was gaining wisdom and an insight into the ways of the world at the same time.
On that particular night there were not as many loafers present as usual, and the conversation was so dull that Mr. Coburn found plenty of time to question Tim as to every little particular about himself.
Tim saw no reason why he should gratify the store-keeper's curiosity, and perhaps let some one know his story who would think it his duty to send information to Captain Babbige, so he contented himself by simply saying that he had come there in the hope of getting some work to do.
"Want to work, do yer?" asked a stout man with a very red face and gruff voice, who had been listening to the conversation.
"Yes, sir," replied Tim, a trifle awed by the gruffness of the voice.
"What can you do?" and the red-faced man now turned to have a better view.
"'Most anything, sir."
"Where are yer folks?"
"My father an' mother are dead," said Tim, sadly, as he stooped to pat Tip's head in a loving way.
