It must have been Jim
Travis. In that way he probably found out about your money, and took
the opportunity to-day to get hold of it."
This might or might not be the correct explanation. At all events it
seemed probable.
The boys were just on the point of going to bed, later in the
evening, when a knock was heard at the door, and, to their no little
surprise, their neighbor, Jim Travis, proved to be the caller. He
was a sallow-complexioned young man, with dark hair and bloodshot
eyes.
He darted a quick glance from one to the other as he entered, which
did not escape the boys' notice.
"How are ye, to-night?" he said, sinking into one of the two chairs
with which the room was scantily furnished.
"Jolly," said Dick. "How are you?"
"Tired as a dog," was the reply. "Hard work and poor pay; that's the
way with me. I wanted to go to the theater, to-night, but I was hard
up, and couldn't raise the cash."
Here he darted another quick glance at the boys; but neither
betrayed anything.
"You don't go out much, do you?" he said
"Not much," said Fosdick. "We spend our evenings in study."
"That's precious slow," said Travis, rather contemptuously. "What's
the use of studying so much? You don't expect to be a lawyer, do
you, or anything of that sort?"
"Maybe," said Dick. "I haven't made up my mind yet. If my
feller-citizens should want me to go to Congress some time, I
shouldn't want to disapp'int 'em; and then readin' and writin'
might come handy.
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