All that day Tom was kept busy, and he was acquiring more confidence in himself with every sale he made. At the close of the day, when Mr. Townsend looked over the slips made out by the different clerks, he congratulated Tom on the success he had had. “I hope he keeps me after the holidays are over,” thought our hero. “That’s what I want, a good, steady job, so I can earn money, and then mother and Aunt Sallie won’t have to work so hard.” Toward the end of that week Dr. Spidderkins paid another visit to the Emporium. He wandered in, and was soon examining volumes in that part of the shop given over to rare and costly books. “Ah!” he exclaimed as Tom passed him on his way to get some wrapping-paper. “Here is just what I have been looking for. It is a rare old copy of Shakespeare. When did this come in? Why, bless my soul! If it isn’t the boy who prevented me from carrying off books without paying for them the other day,” he added as he recognized Tom. “How are you, young man?” “Very well, sir.” “I must have this book,” went on the old doctor. “Let’s see--it will just match that volume of Milton I bought the same day I got the copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. No, it wasn’t, either. It was the day I bought Darwin’s volume on evolution, or the day after. I declare, I can’t remember which. But I must take this book along with me. What’s the price?” “Ten dollars,” answered Tom, after a look at the mystic letters on the fly-leaf. “Ah, very reasonable--very reasonable, indeed.” Tom thought it very unreasonable, for the book was an old one, and he knew of whole shelvesful of brand-new books at much lower prices than that. Dr. Spidderkins, however, seemed to think he had a bargain. “I’ll take it,” he said, putting his hand in his pocket. Then a blank look came over his face. “Bless my soul, I’ve lost my pocketbook!” he exclaimed. “Lost it?” repeated Tom. “Do you think you dropped it here?” “I don’t know, I’m sure. Maybe I left it at home. I’m so forgetful.” “We have a telephone here--you could call up your house and ask if it’s there,” suggested Tom. “So I could. I never thought of that. But I can’t talk very well over the wire, and my sister-in-law can’t hear me as well as she can some persons. Suppose you call up for me? I’ll give you the number. It’s 2256 Back Bay.” “I’ll call up for you,” said Tom. “Shall I wrap up this book?” “Yes. I’ll take it, anyhow, and send Mr. Townsend the money. Queer I can’t remember when I last had my pocketbook.” CHAPTER IV STRANGE ACTIONS The experience Tom had once had, as a clerk in a grocery store, where he took orders over the telephone, had made him fairly expert in the use of the instrument. He soon got the aged doctor’s house on the wire, and was inquiring of Mrs. Barton Sandow (which the physician gave as his sister-in-law’s name) whether the pocketbook had been left there.