Ben related the adventures already known to the reader and moreover told Tommy of the object of his tramp to New Orleans, and how he had lost his wager.
"It's all up with me now, Tom," said he sorrowfully. "I have a great mind to put on the old clothes, and you and I will go tramping again."
"No, no, Bennie, don't do that. Do something noble and worthy of yourself. You are young, the world is before you; it has honors and happiness for those who earn them; be true to yourself, Ben, dear. Don't sink to the horrid level of an outcast, a tramp, when you may live to honor yourself and do good to your fellowmen."
Ben gazed at him in blank amazement. He could not believe his ears.
"Tommy, what—what in the world's come over you? You speak like—like the top line of a copy book!"
"Ben," and he gently laid a hand on Ben's arm; "Ben, I speak what I feel. I like you, Ben—more than you know or understand. I want to see you worthy of yourself, so that I may be proud of you. And then, sometime, maybe, when the little tramp comes to you and says: 'Hi, Bennie, old boy; remember old times?' you'll think kindly of your little partner—that once was—perhaps, maybe, you'll love him, just a little bit, for the sake of old times, and—and—"
"Why Tommy, what are you crying about? My dear boy, there's something wrong with you. Tell me what it is. If money can be of any assistance, Tom, I've four hundred dollars and you're welcome to the whole of it."
"No, no, Ben," said Tommy, checking his tears, "I do not want money. I—I want you to like me Ben—to—to—Ben, I haven't any one to love me!" and the tears came again.
"There, there, my dear boy, don't give way that way. I love you, Tommy, and I always will. Why little one, I have nobody to love me. I'm alone in the world myself. And—and—"
"'And' what, Ben?"