Returning to the City Hall Park, Dick soon fell in with Tom Wilkins.
"How are you, Tom?" he said. "How's your mother?"
"She's better, Dick, thank you. She felt worried about bein' turned
out into the street; but I gave her that money from you, and now she
feels a good deal easier."
"I've got some more for you, Tom," said Dick, producing a two-dollar
bill from his pocket.
"I ought not to take it from you, Dick."
"Oh, it's all right, Tom. Don't be afraid."
"But you may need it yourself."
"There's plenty more where that came from."
"Any way, one dollar will be enough. With that we can pay the rent."
"You'll want the other to buy something to eat."
"You're very kind, Dick."
"I'd ought to be. I've only got myself to take care of."
"Well, I'll take it for my mother's sake. When you want anything
done just call on Tom Wilkins."
"All right. Next week, if your mother doesn't get better, I'll give
you some more."
Tom thanked our hero very gratefully, and Dick walked away,
feeling the self-approval which always accompanies a generous and
disinterested action. He was generous by nature, and, before
the period at which he is introduced to the reader's notice, he
frequently treated his friends to cigars and oyster-stews. Sometimes
he invited them to accompany him to the theatre at his expense. But
he never derived from these acts of liberality the same degree of
satisfaction as from this timely gift to Tom Wilkins.
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