said Tom, and he mentally wished he might be as well paid every day for answering questions.
Tom shouldered his box, and walked a few steps down Broadway. It was some time before another customer appeared, and meanwhile another bootblack came up. The name of the newcomer was Pat Walsh. He enjoyed a bad reputation among his comrades – as one who would take a mean advantage, if he dared, and was at all times ready to bully a smaller boy. He had long cherished an ill feeling toward Tom, because the latter had interfered, on one occasion, to protect a smaller boy whom Pat tried to cheat out of a job. As Tom's prowess was well known, Pat had contented himself hitherto with uttering threats which he hesitated to carry into execution. It was shrewdly suspected by his companions that he was afraid to contend with Tom, and they had taunted him with it. Finding his authority diminishing, Pat decided to force a quarrel upon Tom at the first opportunity. He had no great appetite for the fight, but felt it to be a disagreeable necessity.
Just as he came up a gentleman approached with a valise in his hand. His boots were decidedly dirty, and he was hailed as a prize by the bootblacks.
"Shine yer boots?" exclaimed Tom and Pat, simultaneously.
"I don't know but they need brushing," said the traveler.
Instantly both bootblacks were on their knees before him, ready to proceed to business.
"I don't need both of you," he said, smiling.
"Take me," said Pat; "I'll give you a bully shine."
"I'll give you the bulliest," said Tom, good humoredly. "I spoke first."
"Lave wid yer, or I'll mash yer!" said Pat.
"Better not try it," said Tom, not in the least intimidated. "The gentleman will choose between us."
"I'll choose you," said the traveler, decidedly more prepossessed by Tom's appearance than by that of his competitor.
There was no appeal from this decision, and Pat rose to his feet, his face wearing a very ugly scowl. He remained standing near, while Tom was engaged with his job, watching him with an aspect which betokened mischief.
"Thank you, sir," said Tom, as he received pay for his services.
The customer had no sooner left the spot than Pat strode up to Tom.
"I want that money," he said, menacingly.
"Do you?" returned Tom, coolly, as he thrust it into his vest pocket, for, unlike the majority of his companions, he indulged in the luxury of a vest.
"Yes, I do. It was my job."
"I don't see it."
"I spoke first."
"The gentleman chose me."
"You stuck yourself in where you wasn't wanted. Give me the money."
"Come and take it," said Tom, unconsciously making the same answer that was once returned by a heroic general to an insolent demand for surrender.
"I'll do it, then," said Pat, who had been nursing his rage till he was grown reckless of consequences.
He threw down his box and sprang at Tom. The latter also quickly rid himself of the incumbrance, and the two were soon wrestling at close quarters. Pat, by his impetuous onset, came near upsetting his adversary; but, by an effort, Tom saved himself.
Then commenced a determined contest. Both boys were unusually strong for their ages, and were, in fact, very evenly matched. But at length Tom, by an adroit movement of the foot, tripped his opponent, and came down on top of him. He did not hold him down, for he was fond of fair play, but rose immediately.
"You didn't do it; I slipped," said Pat, in anger and mortification, and he instantly threw himself upon Tom again. But our hero kept cool, while Pat was excited, and this placed him at an advantage. So the second contest terminated like the first.
Cheers from a crowd of boys greeted this second victory – cheers to which Pat listened with mortification and rage. He was half tempted to renew the battle, but a cry from the boys, "A cop! a cop!" warned him of the approach of his natural enemy, the policeman, and he walked sullenly away, breathing threats of future vengeance, to which Tom paid very little attention.
Five minutes later little Mike Flanagan came up, and pulled Tom by the arm.
"What's the matter, Mike?" asked Tom, seeing that the little boy looked excited.
"Your grandfather's been run over wid a horse," said the little boy, not very intelligibly.
"Run over!" exclaimed Tom. "How can that be, when he was at home on the bed?"
"He went out soon after you, and was beggin' on Broadway."
"Where is he now?" asked Tom, quickly.
"He was took to the hospital," said Mike.
CHAPTER IV.
AT THE HOSPITAL
On a neat bed, at the Bellevue Hospital, old Jacob was stretched out. He had been in considerable pain, but opiates had been administered, and he was in an uneasy slumber.
Tom presented himself at the office below as soon as he could after hearing of the accident.
"Is he much hurt? Is he in danger?" he asked, anxiously, for Jacob was nearer to him than any one else.
"He is now sleeping, and must not be disturbed. Come tomorrow, and we can tell you more," was the reply.
"You can tell me if he was much hurt."
"One leg is broken, but we cannot yet tell whether he has received any internal injury. All depends upon that."
Tom presented himself the next day. This time the physician looked grave.
"We have reason to think that he is injured internally. His life is uncertain."
"Poor Jacob!" murmured Tom, moved by pity for the old man.
"Is he your grandfather?" asked the physician.
"No; but I have lived with him for some years. Can I see him?"
"Yes."
Tom followed the doctor into a long hall lined with beds. About midway, on the left hand side, he recognized the form of his old companion.
"I am sorry to see you here, Jacob," said Tom, gently.
"I'm almost dead," said the old man, peevishly. "The man drove over me on purpose."
"I hope not."
"I tell you he did!" said Jacob, irritably.
"Well, Jacob, it can't be helped. You must try to get well."
"I'm an old man. I'm afraid I shall never get well again," and he looked eagerly into Tom's face.
Having heard what he did from the doctor, Tom was placed in an awkward position. He was too honest to give false hopes, and he remained silent.
"What did the doctor tell you?" demanded
