e thought long and with pride how sacredly that little bit of
pasteboard would be treasured by his parents--how proudly they would
show it to their neighbors, and the comments that it would bring forth.

Then he took one over to Bob Hunter, who exhibited no little surprise as
he read it admiringly.

Later in the evening he and the newsboy went as usual to visit Tom
Flannery, who now, poor boy, seemed to be yielding to that dread
disease--consumption. How his face brightened up as he looked at the
card with scarcely less pride than if it had been his own!

"I wish I could get into that business, Herbert, when I get well," said
he, turning the card languidly in his thin, emaciated fingers; "you'n'
me'n' Bob. Yes, I would like that, for we always had such good times
together, didn't we, Bob?"

"Yes, we did, Tom," answered Bob, tenderly. "I guess as good times as
anybody ever had, even if we didn't have much money."

"So I think, Bob. I've thought of it a good many times while I've been
sick here--of the detective business and all, and how grand you managed
the whole thing. But then you always done everything grand, Bob. None er
the boys could do it like you."

"You do some things much better than I could, Tom," said Bob.

"No, Bob. I never could do nothing like you."

"You bear your sickness more patiently than I could, and that is harder
to do than anything I ever did," replied Bob.

"Well, I have to do it, you know, Bob. There ain't no other way, is
there, Herb----"

The last part of the word was lost in violent coughing that racked the
boy's feeble frame terribly.

"I am afraid you are talking too much, Tom," said Herbert. "We must not
allow you to say any more at present."

Ten days later, and Tom had grown too weak to be dressed. Part of the
time he lay bolstered up in bed, but even this taxed his strength too
heavily. He had become very much wasted, and was little more than a
skeleton. All hope of his recovery had been given up, and it was now
simply a question of how long he could be kept alive. Bob and Herbert
brought him choice fruits, and drew liberally from their slender purses,
to buy for him whatever would tend to make him more comfortable or would
gratify his fancy.

Poor Mrs. Flannery was almost overcome with sorrow as she saw her boy
wasting away and sinking lower and lower as each day passed by. He was
her only child, and she loved him with all the force of her great
mother's heart.

At l