"Never touch my instruments again. If you do I shall discharge you at once; that is, after giving you a sound flogging."

Sam felt that he had got off easily, and determined not to set up again as doctor on his own account.

CHAPTER XXIII.

SAM FALLS INTO BAD COMPANY.

For a time matters went on smoothly. Sam was abashed by the result of his experiment, and discouraged from making another. He felt that he had a good place. Living chiefly at the lodging-house his expenses were small, and four dollars a week were ample to meet them. There was one thing he missed, however,--the freedom to roam about the streets at will. He felt this the more when the pleasant spring weather came on. There were times when he got sick of the confinement, and longed to leave the office.

It was a bright morning in May when Dr. Graham called from the inner office:--

"Sam."

"What, sir?"

"Do you know the way to Brooklyn?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to go over there for me."

"All right, sir."

It may be explained that Dr. Graham, on the first of May, had moved over to Brooklyn, and was occupying a house about a mile from Fulton Ferry.

"I want you to go to my house," said the doctor, "No. -- H---- street, and carry this letter to my wife."

"Yes, sir."

"I forgot entirely to leave her some money to meet a bill; but if you go at once it will reach her in time. Stay, I will give you the address on a card."

"All right, sir."

"Here is a quarter. It will pay your car-fare, and over the ferry both ways. Now, mind you come back as quick as you can."

This Sam readily promised. He was glad to get away for the morning, as he calculated that the expedition would take him nearly, or quite, three hours. He took a car and got out at the Astor House. On his way down to the ferry he met an old street acquaintance,--Jim Nolan.

"How are you, Sam?" said Jim.

"Tip-top!" answered Sam.

"Where do you keep yourself? Are you blackin' boots, now?"

"No," answered Sam, with rather an important air. "I'm in an office."

"How much do you get?"

"Four dollars a week."

"That's good. How'd you get it?"

"Oh, the doctor took a fancy to me, and asked me to come."

"You're in luck. So you're with a doctor?"

"Yes,--Dr. Graham. He's a corn-doctor."

"Where does he hang out?"

"No.--, Broadway."

"Do you have much to do?"

"Not very much."

"How do you come down here, then?"

"I'm takin' a letter to Brooklyn for the doctor."

"Are you?"

"Yes," said Sam; adding unluckily, "There's money in it."

"Is there?" said Jim, p.r.i.c.king up his ears. "How do you know? Let's see the letter."

Sam took the letter from his inside coat-pocket, and pa.s.sed it to Jim.

The latter held it up to the light, and tried to look inside. Fortune favored his efforts. The envelope was imperfectly fastened, and came open.

"There, Jim," said Sam, "now see what you've done."

"Let's look inside, and see how much money there is," suggested Jim.

Sam hesitated.

"It won't do any harm to look at it," said the tempter.

"That's so," said Sam.

He accordingly drew out the enclosure, and disclosed two ten-dollar bills.

Jim's eyes sparkled with greed.

"Twenty dollars!" he exclaimed. "What a lot of good that would do us!"