Tom Gordon could not be blamed for failing to note several suggestive
occurrences during this memorable visit to Briggsville.

Seated on the porch of the hotel, while he was talking to the group of
young persons and acquaintances, were two strangers, whose dilapidated
dress, frowzy heads, and surly faces, showed they belonged to that
pestiferous class of vagrants known as tramps. They sat apart, after
taking a drink in the bar-room, and with scowling but interested looks
listened to the chatter going on around them. It did not take them long to
catch the drift of matters. They talked together in low tones, with
furtive glances at the young hero, and kept their places, with a few
muttered remarks that no one else could catch, while Tom was inside.

When the smiling lad reappeared, his friends besieged him with inquiries.

"Did he give you the money, Tom? How much is it?"

Being a sturdy boy, Tom naturally did not wish to appear too much elated
over his good fortune.

"Yes," he replied, with an assumption of indifference; "he paid me the
hundred dollars like a gentleman, and I've got it in my pocket."

"What are you going to do with so much money?" asked a mischievous
acquaintance; "buy a farm, or go in partnership with Vanderbilt?"

"I'm going to give every cent of it to my mother," replied Tom, with a
compression of his fine lips and a flash of his eye.

"That's right!" commented an elderly gentleman; "you couldn't put it into