suspiciously.
"He said he could not tell whether you would get well or not."
"He thought I was going to die?" said the old man, nervously.
"He didn't say that."
"I don't want to die," moaned the old man, terrified. "I'm only sixty-five. My father lived to be seventy-five."
"You may live, Jacob."
"I – I'm not ready to die. Ask the doctor to do all he can."
"He will be sure to do that."
There was a pause. The old man's features were convulsed. He had not till now thought that he was in danger of dying. He was trying to realize the terrible fact. Tom stood by in silence, for he had some idea of Jacob's feelings, and he pitied him.
At length the old man turned his face again toward him, and said:
"Tom?"
"What is it, Jacob?"
"I want you to ask the doctor every day if he thinks I am going to die; and, when he says there is no hope, tell me."
"Yes, Jacob."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"There is something I must tell you before I die – something important. Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear."
"It's something you ought to know. Now you can go. I want to sleep."
"Perhaps it is something about my father," thought Tom, with vague curiosity.
It was a matter that he had never troubled himself much about, but now it did occur to him that he should like to know a little more about himself. He determined to keep faithfully the promise he had made the old man.
He was destined to have one more adventure before the day closed.
On leaving the hospital Tom directed his course to Broadway. It was the busiest part of the day, and the street was crowded with stages, drays, and other vehicles, making it difficult to cross.
A hump-backed seamstress stood on the sidewalk, looking helplessly across, but not daring to venture on the perilous passage. There was no policeman in sight.
"I wish I could get across," she said, loud enough to be heard. "Mother won't know what has become of me."
Tom saw her anxious face, and stepped up at once.
"I will take you across, miss," he said, politely.
"Will you?" she asked, her face brightening. "I shall be very much obliged to you. My poor mother is sick at home, waiting for some medicine I went out to get for her, and I have been standing here ten minutes, not daring to cross. I don't know when Broadway has been so full."
"Take my arm," said Tom, "and don't be afraid."
She had scarcely taken our hero's arm, when a rude street-boy called out, in derision:
"Is that your girl, Tom? Ask her what she will take for her hump."
"I'll lick you when I come back," retorted Tom. "Don't mind what he says, miss."
"I don't," said the seamstress; "I'm used to it," she added with a patient sigh.
"Don't think about it," said Tom.
"You are not ashamed to be seen with a hunchback?"
"There ain't no cause."
By this time Tom had skillfully threaded his way with his companion across the street, and landed her in safety on the other side.
"I am very much obliged to you," she said, gratefully. "You're a gentleman."
With these words she nodded, and walked hastily away.
"A gentleman!" repeated Tom, thoughtfully. "Nobody ever called me that before. My clo'es don't look much like it. Maybe it ain't all in the clo'es. I'd like to be a gentleman, and," he added, impulsively, "I mean to be one, some time. I'll have to change my business fust, though. Gentlemen don't generally black boots for a livin'."
It was a passing thought that came to him by chance, his desire to grow up a gentleman, but he was more than half in earnest. He had not thought much about the future hitherto, but now his ambition was kindled, and he thought he should like to fill a respectable place in society.
What road should he take to the success which he coveted?
CHAPTER V.
THE LAST INTERVIEW
Two weeks passed away. Tom went about his business, as usual; but every day he made it a point to call at the hospital to inquire how Jacob was getting on. At first the answers were moderately encouraging, but a turn came, and the doctor spoke less hopefully. Finally Tom was told that the old man could not live.
"How soon will he die?" he asked.
"He may live forty-eight hours, but it is possible that the end may come sooner."
"Then I must see him and tell him. I promised him I would."
"It may be well to do so. If he has anything to tell you before he dies, no time should be lost."
When Tom approached Jacob's bedside he saw, from his changed appearance, that the doctors had told him truly. He was not used to the sight of those who were very sick, but soon, to an inexperienced observer, the signs of approaching death were plain. Tom, in the full vigor of perfect health, regarded his old companion with awe and pity.
"How do you feel this morning, Jacob?" he asked.
"I am very weak," said the old man, faintly.
"Are you in much pain?"
"No; the pain has gone away. If I can get stronger I shall soon be out again."
He did not realize that this relief from pain was only a sign that Nature had succumbed at last, and that Death had gained the victory. Tom hated to dispel the illusion, but it must be done.
"Jacob," he said, slowly and sadly, "I have got something to tell you."
"What is it?" said the old man, in alarm.
"It is something that the doctor told me just now."
"He – he didn't say I was going to die?" asked Jacob, agitated.
"Yes; he said you could not live."
A low and feeble wail burst from the old man's lips.
"I can't die," he said. "I'm not ready. I'm only sixty-five. He – he may be mistaken. Don't you think I look better this morning?"
"You look very sick."
"I don't want to die," wailed the old man. "It's only a little while since I was a boy. Did – did he say how long I could live?"
"He said you might live forty-eight hours."
