"Do you know him?" "Shure I do. I know him as if he was my own bye." "I don't know about that," said Tom, in his natural voice, raising his hat, which he had worn slouched down over his eyes. "You didn't seem to know him when you saw him." "Shure it's Tom himself!" exclaimed Mrs. Flanagan. "Why, Tom, dear, what's come to you? You're lookin' quite the gintleman." "Of course I am," said Tom. "That's the new business I've gone into." "Where did you get them new clo'es, Tom?" "I bought them with the money old Jacob left me. And now, Mrs. Flanagan, I'm goin' to leave you." "Where are you goin', Tom?" "I'm goin' out West, to seek my fortune." "Shure I hope you'll find it." "So do I, Mrs. Flanagan. I know it's there, and mean to get it, if I can." "Are you goin' now?" "Not till to-morrow. I've got some more things to buy first." "I'm sorry to lose you, Tom. I'll miss you and old Jacob. I hope the poor man's better off." "So do I, Mrs. Flanagan. I won't hide it from you--but he left me a paper, tellin' me that there is a man out West that's cheated me out of my fortune." "What's his name?" "Grey. He's my father's cousin." "Where does he live?" "I don't know." "Then how will you find him?" "I know how he looks. He was in New York a little while ago, and I blacked his boots. When I come into my fortune, I'll make you a handsome present, Mrs. Flanagan." "Shure I hope you'll get it widout the present." "Now I must be goin'. I've got to buy a carpet-bag and umbrella." "Come in and bid me good-by before you go, Tom." "Yes, I will." Tom went out into the street, when it occurred to him that there was one article he had not yet renewed--his hat. He lost no time in visiting a hat store, where he supplied himself with one of fashionable shape. He could not resist the temptation, also, of purchasing a small, jaunty cane. Being naturally a good-looking boy, I am justified in saying that, in his new outfit, he would have easily passed muster as the son of a man of wealth. In fact, so effectually was he disguised, that he passed some of his old street companions without their recognizing him. Tom was rather amused and pleased at this. As he passed his old rival and enemy, Pat Walsh, it struck him that it would be a good joke to employ him to black his shoes, of which I neglected to say that he had purchased a new pair. Pat was just finishing off a customer, when Tom stepped up. "Shine yer boots?" asked Pat. "Yes, boy, and be quick about it," answered Tom, assuming a tone of haughty command. Pat was at once on his knees, blacking the shoes of his old rival without the slightest suspicion of his identity. "Humph! do you call that a good shine?" demanded Tom, when the first shoe was finished. "I could black it better myself." "What do you know about blackin' boots?" said Pat, angrily. "There ain't a boy round here can give you a better shine than that." "I got my boots blacked yesterday by a boy named Tom. He gave me a better shine."