He had sold all his books but twenty, and had that day remitted eighty dollars more to Mr.Bayard.It was Wednesday, and he hoped to sell out so as to be able to take the next steamer for Boston, which was advertised to sail on the following day.
He had heard nothing from Tom since their parting, and had given up all expectation of meeting him again; but that bad penny maxim proved true once more, for, as he was walking through one of the streets of Augusta, he had the misfortune to meet him--and this time it was indeed a misfortune.
"Hallo, Bobby!" shouted the runaway, as familiarly as though nothing had happened to disturb the harmony of their relations.
"Ah, Tom, I didn't expect to see you again," replied Bobby, not very much rejoiced to meet his late companion.
"I suppose not; but here I am, as good as new.

Have you sold out ?" "No, not quite." "How many have you left ?" "About twenty; but I thought, Tom, you would have returned to Boston before this time." "No;" and Tom did not seem to be in very good spirits.
"Where are you going now ?" "I don't know.

I ought to have taken your advice, Bobby." This was a concession, and our hero began to feel some sympathy for his companion--as who does not when the erring confess their faults?
"I am sorry you did not." "I got in with some pretty hard fellows down there to Brunswick," continued Tom, rather sheepishly.
"And spent all your money," added Bobby, who could readily understand the reason why Tom had put on his humility again.
"Not all." "How much have you left ?" "Not much," replied he, evasively.

"I don't know what I shall do.

I am in a strange place, and have no friends." Bobby's sympathies were aroused, and without reflection, he promised to be a friend in his extremity.
"I will stick by you this time, Bob, come what will.