"Will you?" she asked, her face brightening. "I shall be very much obliged to you. My poor mother is sick at home, waiting for some medicine I went out to get for her, and I have been standing here ten minutes, not daring to cross. I don't know when Broadway has been so full." "Take my arm," said Tom, "and don't be afraid." She had scarcely taken our hero's arm, when a rude street-boy called out, in derision: "Is that your girl, Tom? Ask her what she will take for her hump." "I'll lick you when I come back," retorted Tom. "Don't mind what he says, miss." "I don't," said the seamstress; "I'm used to it," she added with a patient sigh. "Don't think about it," said Tom. "You are not ashamed to be seen with a hunchback?" "There ain't no cause." By this time Tom had skillfully threaded his way with his companion across the street, and landed her in safety on the other side. "I am very much obliged to you," she said, gratefully. "You're a gentleman." With these words she nodded, and walked hastily away. "A gentleman!" repeated Tom, thoughtfully. "Nobody ever called me that before. My clo'es don't look much like it. Maybe it ain't all in the clo'es. I'd like to be a gentleman, and," he added, impulsively, "I mean to be one, some time. I'll have to change my business fust, though. Gentlemen don't generally black boots for a livin'." It was a passing thought that came to him by chance, his desire to grow up a gentleman, but he was more than half in earnest. He had not thought much about the future hitherto, but now his ambition was kindled, and he thought he should like to fill a respectable place in society. What road should he take to the success which he coveted? CHAPTER V. THE LAST INTERVIEW. Two weeks passed away. Tom went about his business, as usual; but every day he made it a point to call at the hospital to inquire how Jacob was getting on. At first the answers were moderately encouraging, but a turn came, and the doctor spoke less hopefully. Finally Tom was told that the old man could not live. "How soon will he die?" he asked. "He may live forty-eight hours, but it is possible that the end may come sooner." "Then I must see him and tell him. I promised him I would." "It may be well to do so. If he has anything to tell you before he dies, no time should be lost." When Tom approached Jacob's bedside he saw, from his changed appearance, that the doctors had told him truly. He was not used to the sight of those who were very sick, but soon, to an inexperienced observer, the signs of approaching death were plain. Tom, in the full vigor of perfect health, regarded his old companion with awe and pity. "How do you feel this morning, Jacob?" he asked. "I am very weak," said the old man, faintly. "Are you in much pain?" "No; the pain has gone away. If I can get stronger I shall soon be out again."