gone. He has a bad cough, and I am afraid it will go hard with him.
"Is he a newsboy, too, Luke?" asked Bennie Walton.
"No; he is a bootblack."
"I shouldn't like to black boots."
"Nor I, Bennie; but if a boy is lucky there is more money to be made in that business."
"Where does he live?" asked Mrs. Walton.
"On Ohio Street, not very far from here. There's another boy I know lives on that street Tom Brooks; but he isn't a friend of mine. He wanted me to keep five dollars, and treat him and some other boys to an evening at the theater, and a supper afterwards."
"I hope you won't associate with him, Luke."
"Not more than I can help."
Luke took his hat and went downstairs into the street.
In the hall he met Nancy. She waylaid him with an eager look on her face.
"Who was the letter from, Luke?" she asked.
"From a friend of the family, who is now dead," answered Luke, gravely.
"Good gracious! How could he write it after he was dead?" ejaculated Nancy.
"It was given to a person to mail who forgot all about it, and carried it in his pocket for a year."
"My sakes alive! If I got a letter from a dead man it would make me creep all over. No wonder your ma came near faintin'."
CHAPTER IV
AN ATTACK IN THE DARK
Luke turned into Milwaukee Avenue, and a few steps took him to West Ohio Street, where his friend lived. On his way he met Tom Brooks, who was lounging in front of a cigar store, smoking a cigarette.
"Good-evening, Tom," said Luke, politely.
"Evenin'!" responded Tom, briefly. "Where you goin'?"
"To see Jim Norman. He's sick."
"What's the matter of him?"
"He's got a bad cold and is confined to the house?"
Tom shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't go much on Jim Norman," he said, "He ought to be a girl. He never smoked a cigarette in his life."
"Didn't he? All the better for him. I don't smoke myself."
"You have smoked."
"Yes, I used to, but it troubled my mother, and I promised her I wouldn't do it again."
"So you broke off?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't be tied to a woman's apron strings."
"Wouldn't you try to oblige your mother?"
"No, I wouldn't. What does a woman know about boys? If I was a gal it would be different."
"Then we don't agree, that is all."
"I say, Luke, won't you take me to the theayter?"
"I can't afford it."
"That's all bosh! Haven't you got five dollars? I'd feel rich on five dollars."
"Perhaps I might if it were mine, but it isn't."
"You can use it all the same," said Tom, in an insinuating voice.
"Yes, I can be dishonest if I choose, but I don't choose."
"What Sunday school do you go to?" asked Tom, with a sneer.
"None at present."
"I thought you did by your talk. It makes me sick!"
"Then," said Luke, good-naturedly, "there is no need to listen to it. I am afraid you are not likely to enjoy my company, so I will walk along."
Luke kept on his way, leaving Tom smoking sullenly.
"That feller's a fool!" he muttered, in a disgusted tone.
"What feller?"
Tom turned, and saw his friend and chum, Pat O'Connor, who had just come up.
"What feller? Why, Luke Walton, of course."
"What's the matter of him?"
"He's got five dollars, and he won't pay me into the theayter."
"Where did he get such a pile of money?" asked Pat, in surprise.
"A gentleman gave it to him for a paper, tellin' him to bring the change to-morrer."
"Is he goin' to do it?"
"Yes; that's why I call him a fool."
"I wish you and I had his chance," said Pat, enviously. "We'd paint the town red, I guess."
Tom nodded. He and Pat were quite agreed on that point.
"Where's Luke goin'?" asked Pat.
"To see Jim Norman. Jim's sick with a cold."
"What time's he comin' home?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Do you think he's got the money with him – the five-dollar bill?"
"What are you up to?" asked Tom, with a quick glance at his companion.
"I was thinkin' we might borrer the money," answered Pat, with a grin.
To Tom this was a new suggestion, but it was favorably received. He conferred with Pat in a low tone, and then the two sauntered down the street in the direction of Jim Norman's home.
Meanwhile we will follow Luke.
He kept on till he reached a shabby brick house.
Jim and his mother, with two smaller children, occupied two small rooms on the top floor. Luke had been there before, and did not stop to inquire directions, but ascended the stairs till he came to Jim's room. The door was partly open, and he walked in.
"How's Jim, Mrs. Norman?" he asked.
Mrs. Norman was wearily washing dishes at the sink.
"He's right sick, Luke," she answered, turning round, and recognizing the visitor. "Do you hear him cough?"
From a small inner room came the sound of a hard and rasping cough.
"How are you feeling, Jim?" inquired Luke, entering, and taking a chair at the bedside.
"I don't feel any better, Luke," answered the sick boy, his face lighting up with pleasure as he recognized his friend. "I'm glad you come."
"You've got a hard cough."
"Yes; it hurts my throat when I cough,
