"Doc Linyard is
certainly in luck. I must hurry back. He will be anxious, I know."
Richard put the slip in his vest-pocket. In doing so he pulled out two
one dollar bills which he had taken from his valise in the morning,
and folded the paper and money together.
As he shoved the roll into his pocket he did not notice that a hungry
pair of eyes, just outside of the swinging glass doors, were watching
his every action.
The hungry pair of eyes belonged to a boy of twelve, though he looked
older--a street urchin--dirty, ragged, with a pinched face and a
starved, ill-clad form. A look of sheer desperation came into these
eyes when their owner saw the money, and he trembled with excitement
as a certain bold and wicked thought came into his mind--a thought
born, not of a bad heart, but of--an empty stomach.
As Richard came out of the door the street boy shoved against him. The
doors were heavy, and for an instant Richard found his way blocked.
He pushed back the opposite door, and attempted to pass.
"Say, mister, dere's a big bug on your collar!" exclaimed the urchin,
pointing to Richard's neck.
Now, as I'm sure every one knows, to merely have such a thing mentioned
is to feel the insect in question. Such was the case with Richard, and
still holding the door with one hand he put the other up to his neck.
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