"She had her revenge! She turned dressmaker and never had her work done when she promised!" and Tommy gave a whoop and a shrill laugh. "There my boy," he continued, patronizingly patting Ben on the back, "you didn't look for that windup, did you? Never mind. When your fair maid rejects you, you and I'll join hands and tramp all the rest of our lives together. But I'm a true prophet, Ben; I told you you should see those people here, and so you shall. And now in return for the service I am about to render you, you must promise that you will ask no questions. Do you promise?"
Ben promised most faithfully, and the boy contined:
"You shall see her to-day."
"But what is her name, Tommy?" asked our hero.
"There you go, breaking your promise already. I'll forgive you this time, only don't do it again. I don't know her name—at least only her Christian name. That is Bertha. A woman, to-day, gave me a note to deliver to her. I am to be on Olive Street, between Eighth and Ninth this afternoon, at five o'clock, and hand it to her as she comes along. The woman gave me ten cents for doing it. I transfer the duty to you and we will go and dine off of the ten cents. Come on."
The two friends thereupon dined with the aid of the ten cents. To be sure it was not an extravagant repast, consisting simply of two great sheets of ginger-bread, known on the levee as "stage-planks"; but keen appetites made them palatable, and with plenty of water they possessed filling properties to a remarkable degree.
Ben then turned up Olive Street alone, and as he walked along the thronged thoroughfare felt, for the first time during his tramp, thoroughly ashamed of himself. Could it be that the dirty, ragged, slouching, unshaved, unkempt reflection he saw in the plate glass windows, was the Benjamin Cleveland he had known in other days? Impossible! And yet too true. The effects of his tramp had altered him wonderfully.
The elements, combined with coal dust and dirt, had bronzed his skin. A nine days' growth of beard stuck out in prickly profusion on his face. The hat, that had been shapely in New York, resembled a felt pouch on which an elephant had stepped. His clothes hung on him strangely. Altogether he hardly recognized himself.
"And she," thought he, "what will she think? I've ten cents and I'll have a shave if it sends me into bankruptcy, and look a little more human."
When he came out of the barber's hands he certainly did look greatly improved and his clothes seemed to fit him better.