Tom took it, disappeared for a few minutes, and when he came back to the chair he was resplendent in his new necktie which he had adjusted in the dressing-room, adding to it a Rhine-stone pin bought at the jewelry counter.  Howard’s vanity told him he was complimented, and that restrained the laugh which sprang to his lips at the incongruity between Tom’s dress and the satin necktie bought for a grand occasion in Boston, which Howard had attended a few months before.  On his way back to the group to which he felt he belonged Tom had stopped at the candy table and inquired the price of the fanciful boxes, his spirits sinking when told the pounds were fifty cents and the half-pounds twenty-five.  Money was not very plenty with Tom, and what he had he earned himself.  The necktie had made a heavy draft on him, and twenty cents was all he could find in either pocket.

“I say, Tim, lend me a nickel.  I’ll pay it back.  I hope to die if I don’t,” he said to Tim, who was hurrying past him on some errand for his mother.

“I hain’t no nickels to lend,” was Tim’s answer, as he disappeared in the crowd, leaving Tom hovering near the candy table and looking longingly at the only half-pound box left.

“I say,” he began, edging up to the girl in charge, “can’t you take out a piece or two and let me have it for twenty cents?  All the money I have in the world!  ’Strue’s I live, and I want it awfully for the new schoolmarm over there in the chair with them swells standin’ by her.”

It was the last half-pound box and the girl was tired.

“Yes, take it,” she said, and Tom departed, happier if possible with his candy than with his necktie.

“I bought it for you.  It’s chocolate.  I hope you like it,” he said, depositing his gift in Eloise’s lap, where Jack’s box was lying open and half empty, for Eloise’s weakness was candy.

“Oh, thank you, Thomas,” she said, beaming upon him a smile which more than repaid him for having spent all his money for her.

She was really very happy and thought a good deal of Rummage Sales.  She had the best place in the hall;—­a good many people had spoken to her.  She had won Tom Walker, body and soul, and she knew that her escorts, Howard and Jack, added eclat to her position.  She had scarcely thought of her foot, which at last began to ache a little.  She was getting tired and wondered how much longer the sale would last.  Jack wondered so, too; not that he was tired.  He could have stood all night looking at Eloise and seeing the people admire her; but he was rather stout and apt to get very warm in a room where the atmosphere was close as it was here, and he wanted to be out in the fresh air again.  He could take his time wheeling Eloise home, and if Mrs. Biggs staid at the rooms, as he heard her say she was going to do “till the last dog was hung,” he could stay out in the porch and enjoy the moonlight with Eloise’s eyes shining upon him.  But where was that apron?  Perhaps it hadn’t come after all.  He’d inquire.  But of whom?  Mrs. Biggs was in the supper-room.  He did not care to go there again, for every time he appeared somebody was sure to get off on him a cup of chocolate or coffee, and he could not drink any more.