"Perhaps he ran away," suggested another, drily.
Tom Smith glowered at him sullenly. "What should he run away for?"
he asked, sharply.
"Well, that's more'n I can say," answered the man, calmly.
"It seems to be his way, by the look of him just now. Dogs do it
sometimes, when they think they'd like a change."
"I know he didn't run away; he was stolen, and I'd give five
shillings to know who'd got him, and where he lives."
He did not mean what he said, and he never intended to part with five
shillings, but he did want to find Dick, and he meant to do it, too.
For once he was taken at his word.
"Hand over your five bob. I can tell you where the dog lives."
The voice came from over by the window, and all eyes were turned in
that direction. A young man, a stranger to all there, was standing
leaning eagerly towards Tom Smith, his hand held out. He had been
sitting silent until this moment, but listening attentively to all
that was being said.
Tom Smith turned towards him, looking very foolish; and, as usual,
when he felt small he began to bluster. "Likely tale I'm going to
hand over five shillings now! How do I know you knows anything about
the dog; what one I means, or where he lives, or anything at all
about him? Besides, I don't give the five bob unless I actually gets
hold of the dog.
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