“That is quite a sum of money for a lad like you to have about him,” added Mr. Jones.  “You must be careful not to lose it.”

“I am very thankful to you, and shall take good care of it,” replied Tom.

“Where are you going to carry it?”

“In my inside coat pocket; then I will button my coat over it.”

“That’s right; and don’t unbutton the coat till you reach your own home.”

The money was put away as Tom indicated, and, thanking his kind friend again, Tom bade him good-by and withdrew.

Chapter VI.

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 safer hands, and I mean that for all of you youngsters.”

It was at this juncture that the two tramps rose to their feet, and slouched down the road in the direction of Tom Gordon’s home.  In the flurry of the moment no one noticed their departure, which indeed might not have attracted attention at any time.

“You’ve got a loaded gun in your house?” was the inquiring remark of the same gentleman.

“Yes, sir; we always keep one.  I fired at the tiger with it, but I didn’t hurt him much,” remarked Tom with a laugh.

“Well, tigers aren’t the only creatures you’ve got to look out for in these times.  There are plenty of people that would break into your house and murder you and your mother and aunt for the sake of that money.”

Tom blanched a little at these words, and one of the bystanders said,—­