“Thank you, sir,” said Carl, gladly. “I have got to make a call at the next house, not on business, though. There is an old schoolmate lying there sick. I am afraid he is rather poor, too. You can walk on slowly, and I will overtake you in a few minutes.” “Thank you, sir.” “After walking half a mile, if I have not overtaken you, you may sit down under a tree and wait for me.” “All right, sir.” “Before I leave you I will tell you a secret.” “What is it, sir?” “The two dollars you picked up, I dropped on purpose.” “On purpose?” asked Carl, in amazement. “Yes; I wanted to try you, to see if you were honest.” “Then you had noticed me?” “Yes. I liked your appearance, but I wanted to test you.” CHAPTER XIII. AN UNEQUAL CONTEST. Carl walked on slowly. He felt encouraged by the prospect of work, for he was sure that Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if possible. “He is evidently a kind-hearted man,” Carl reflected. “Besides, he has been poor himself, and he can sympathize with me. The wages may be small, but I won’t mind that, if I only support myself economically, and get on.” To most boys brought up in comfort, not to say luxury, the prospect of working hard for small pay would not have seemed inviting. But Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible ideas about labor. It was no sacrifice or humiliation to him to become a working boy, for he had never considered himself superior to working boys, as many boys in his position would have done. He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at the end of ten minutes thought he had better sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings. But he was destined to receive a shock. There, under the tree which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter, reclined a figure only too well-known. It was the tramp who the day before had compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill. The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed with savage joy. “So it’s you, is it?” he said, rising from his seat. “Yes,” answered Carl, doubtfully. “Do you remember me?” “Yes.” “I have cause to remember you, my chicken. That was a mean trick you played upon me,” and he nodded his head significantly. “I should think it was you that played the trick on me.” “How do you make that out?” growled the tramp. “You took my money.” “So I did, and much good it did me.” Carl was silent. “You know why, don’t you?” Carl might have denied that he knew the character of the bill which was stolen from him, but I am glad to say that it would have come from him with a very ill grace, for he was accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances. “You knew that the bill was counterfeit, didn’t you?” demanded the tramp, fiercely. “I was told so at the hotel where I offered it in payment for my bill.” “Yet you passed it on me!” “I didn’t pass it on you. You took it from me,” retorted Carl, with spirit. “That makes no difference.”