THE MERCHANT stared at Tom in undisguised amazement.

“Send you!” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom composedly. “My time is at my disposal, and it is necessary for me to do something.”

“Necessary to do something? Have you no other property than that which I have lost for you?”

“No,” said Tom, “or very little. I too have met with losses.”

He set forth the condition of his affairs briefly. The merchant listened attentively.

“I am very sorry for you,” he said. “Without any fault of your own, you are reduced to comparative poverty.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “but I don’t let it trouble me. I am sorry, of course, but I can make my way.”

“I think you can,” said Mr. Armstrong, observing him attentively. “You look like one who is destined to succeed. If I were where I was a month ago, I would take you into my employ, and give you a start in life.”

“Can’t you do it now, sir?”

“I shall be compelled to wind up my business.”

“I mean, can’t you employ me to find the clerk who has defrauded you?”

“How old are you, Tom?” asked the merchant abruptly.

“Sixteen, sir.”

“And you really think a boy of sixteen can succeed in such a difficult task?” demanded the merchant incredulously.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom confidently. “He would have one advantage over an older person.”

“What is that?”

“He would be less likely to excite suspicion of his errand.”

“That is true,” said Mr. Armstrong thoughtfully.

“Then, sir, are you willing to send me?” asked Tom eagerly.

“I am afraid I am not in a position to send anybody,” said the merchant.

“Why not, sir?”

“Do you forget that my estate belongs to my creditors? I am a bankrupt.”

“But your creditors are interested in your finding the clerk.”

“True; but they may consider it a wild-goose chase.”

“I don’t, and I am one of them.”

“If I could recover that money,” said the merchant reflectively, “I could pay my creditors dollar for dollar.”

Tom pricked up his ears.

“Then you could pay me back ten thousand dollars?”

“Yes, and with interest.”

“Then I’ll go on speculation,” said Tom resolutely.

“How can you go? It will cost money.”

“I know that, sir, but I have a few hundred dollars left.”

“You will have more, my boy. I feel confident, even as it is, of paying thirty cents on the dollar.”

“Why,” said Tom, “that would be three thousand dollars.”

“You are right.”

“Capital!” exclaimed our hero. “I feel rich already. Mr. Sharp thought you would only pay five per cent.”

“Mr. Sharp was misinformed.”

“I am glad to hear it. Suppose, then, I spend the four hundred dollars cash I take with me, I shall have something to fall back upon.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll do it—that is, if Mr. Sharp consents.”

“I am afraid you will soon get to the end of your small stock of money, Tom.”

“Oh, I mean to earn money as well as spend it. When I get to California I shall see what I can find to do.”

“You seem to be an energetic young man.”

“I hope I shall prove so. It is time, for I never earned a penny in my life; but if you are willing, I should like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Armstrong?”

“Go on.”

“How shall I know this clerk if I happen to come across him?”

“You want me to describe him? Let me see. He is about five feet six in height, of rather stout build, dark in complexion, has a cast in the left eye.”

“Wait a moment, sir. I should like to write that down.”

And Tom, producing a pencil, wrote down the description.

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“He usually wears an emerald ring on the middle finger of his right hand, but it might occur to him to throw this aside. However, there is one thing that he could not lay aside.”

“What is that, sir?”

“He had a scar on the back of his left hand, the result of a burn. This is a permanent mark.”

“Good,” said Tom. “He will be easily recognized. How old is he?”

“Probably about thirty-five.”

“What colored hair?”

“Black.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ve given me all the information I need, except the name.”

“His name is Samuel Lincoln, but as he will undoubtedly change it, the information will do you little good.”

“It is as well to know it,” said Tom, noting it down.

“Yes, no information will come amiss; but Tom I must warn you that I may be mistaken in thinking he has gone to California.”

“I’ll risk it,” said Tom. “Something tells me that he is there. If I had stolen money that is where I would go.”

Mr. Armstrong laughed.

“I hope you’ll never be under the necessity,” he said. “When do you propose to start?”

“Next Monday,” answered Tom, “if I can. I must go and see Mr. Sharp first.”

“Shall I see you again?”

“I will come if I need any more information. I will write you from California. Good-morning, sir.”

“Good-morning, Tom, and good luck, for both our sakes.”

As Tom passed through the outer room he saw the clerk who had admitted him surveying him curiously.

“Good-by,” said Tom. “You see I had some business here after all.”

“I shouldn’t think Mr. Armstrong would waste his wind with a boy like you.”

“Shouldn’t you? He has intrusted me with a confidential mission.”

“I don’t believe any such nonsense.”

“Just as you like,” said Tom carelessly.

“I’d like to have that boy under me,” muttered the clerk. “I’d cure him of his impudence.”