While the voluble stranger, who had introduced himself as Harry Sawyer,
kept up his innocent flow of language, Deacon Cornhill was speechless.
He saw that the speaker was a well-dressed young man, and his professed
friendship instantly won his confidence.
“I have been robbed!” he exclaimed. “I had my money in my satchel, and
a parcel of boys came along and one o’ ’em stole my money, my clothes,
satchel and----”
“Stole your money?” fairly gasped the stranger, in genuine concern.
“Tell me about it, quick--before it is too late to act.”
In a somewhat disjointed way the other told how he had found the boys
in the midst of a quarrel, and the part he had acted, to be robbed by
the very one he had tried to succor.
“It was a sham fight--a dodge of those contemptible youngsters to throw
you off your guard. And you were fool enough to let them get away with
your money!” turning to leave the unfortunate man in apparent disgust.
“Don’t leave me here alone, mister! They didn’t get all my money, but
my shirt, and----”
“Then you have some of your money left?” catching him by the arm with
a grip which made the strong man wince. “How much did the rapscallions
get?”
“Over thirty dollars.”
“How much have you left?”
“Ninety. But you are hurting my arm like time, mister, the way you hold
on.”
“Excuse me, deacon; I was so excited over your loss that I forgot
myself. But go on. You have ninety dollars left?”
“Jess that, as Mandy and I counted it jess afore I started. You see, I
have come down here to buy our Sunday school library some new books,
and I was to get some new things for Mandy, and she and me ’lowed it
would be better to keep the money in separate places, though I was
shallow enough to put in ten of the church money in my satchel. You
see, my wallet was that crowded I couldn’t do much different. Now that
has gone, with Mandy’s new things and my shirt and----”
“Let me tell you, deacon, you were lucky to have that much safe and
snug in your wallet. Always carry your money in your pocket.”
“We must find the boys afore they can spend it.”
“As well to look for a needle in a haystack, deacon, as to look for a
boy in New York. But come with me, and to-morrow I will see what can be
done.”
“Do you think you can get my money and shirt, and----”
“Quite sure of it, deacon. I’ll put a couple of detectives on their
tracks, who will run them to earth as a hound would a fox. I don’t like
to mention such personal trifles, but it was providential for you that
I came along as I did.”
“I know it, I know it,” replied the deacon, who was in better spirits
now that he felt there was a prospect of getting back his money. “To
think them boys should have played such a trick.”
“Learned their trade young, deacon. But come with me to-night. Nothing
can be gained by following, or rather trying to follow, those slippery
young thieves. The police will know where to look for them.”
Keeping up a continual flow of words, he who called himself Harry
Sawyer led the way along street after street, each one as they advanced
seeming to grow more narrow and crooked. Bewildered as he was, Deacon
Cornhill finally became aware of this. There was an unfavorable aspect
about everything he saw, and he began to feel there was something wrong.
“Hold on, mister, I have forgot your name, but are you sure you are on
the right road? This looks pesky crooked, and----”
In the midst of his speech he saw another man come swiftly out of a
dark alley on the left, and caught sight of an object coming swiftly
toward him. Then the missile struck him on the side of the head, and he
fell to the pavement with a low moan of pain.
“Well done, Bill,” declared Sawyer. “Now, I will pull the old sheep’s
wool in a trice, after which we must run down the precocious youngsters
who have cheated us of a goodly share of our goods.”
The process of “pulling the old sheep’s wool” was evidently the
stealing of the unconscious man’s pocketbook, for the speaker began to
rifle him of whatever he carried of value. But he was interrupted in a
most unexpected manner.
At the very moment his fingers closed on the well-filled wallet, an
agile figure bounded out of the shadows of the alley, striking the
stooping form of the robber with such force as to send him headlong
into the gutter, the newcomer crying at the same time:
“The cop! The cop!”
This so startled the second ruffian that he turned and fled, while
robber No. 1 scrambled to his feet just in season to see the boy who
had given him such a blow seize the plethoric pocketbook and disappear
around a corner.
“Stop thief!” cried the would-be robber. “Bill, where are you? Stop the
youngster!”
The twain then gave furious pursuit.
While this chase was taking place, a passer-by was attracted by the
prostrate figure of Deacon Cornhill, and thinking murder had been
committed, he was about to give an alarm, when a voice at his elbow
said:
“Don’t stir a noise, Jim.”
Looking abruptly around, the man was surprised to find the young
bootblack beside him whom Deacon Cornhill had met at the outset of
his troubles, and who was none other than the boy who had snatched
his pocketbook away from the thief. He had found little difficulty in
eluding his pursuers.
“’Twon’t do any good to get a mob here. I’ll look arter the old gent,
if you’ll help me get him to Brattle’s.”
“This you, Little Hickory?”
“I reckon, Jim. Does the old gent show any signs of picking up the
leetle sense he had?” and depositing his kit of tools, with the other’s
gripsack, on the sidewalk, he looked closely into his face.
“’Twas a hard clip the sandbagger give him! I could not have got
here---- Hello! He’s starting his breathing machine. He’s soon going to
be on his feet. So’ll the mob soon begin to corner here. Lend a hand,
Jim, and we’ll see if he can stand alone.”
Curious spectators were beginning to gather near at hand, and the
unfortunate man beginning to open his eyes, his friends raised him to
an upright position, where, by their aid, he was able to remain.
“Mandy, where are you?” he asked, putting out his hands. “I vum, I
b’lieve I’m lost!”
“Lean on me, old gent,” said the boy, “and you’ll soon be where you can
ask as many questions as ye like. Just now, the least said the sooner
forgot. I wouldn’t ’vise you to call all New York together. Ef I’d got
sich a biff on my head in sich a silly way, I’d hold my tongue, if I
had to tie a knot in it. Easy on his collar, Jim. Lean on me, old gent,
as much as you wanter.”
“My money!” exclaimed the bewildered man, now recalling his loss with a
vivid memory.
“Ef it’s in your wallet, it’s safe; fer I’ve got that and yer handbag
safe and sound.”
Deacon Cornhill uttered a low thanksgiving, and assisted by the two he
moved slowly down the street, until they came to a cheap lodging house,
with the single word over the weather-beaten door: “Brattle.”
The entrance was about half its size below the sidewalk, and they
descended the old steps, which trembled beneath the weight of Deacon
Cornhill. At the foot Little Hickory opened a door in keeping with
its rusty surroundings, and the three entered a dingy, low-walled
apartment, with a desk at the farther end and a row of seats around the
walls.
“You can go now, Jim,” said the young bootblack.
“That you, Rob?” asked a man behind the desk, leaving his high stool
and coming out into the middle of the floor.
“I leave it with you, Brattle, to say. A body, as far as I know, is not
expected to carry an introduce card pasted in his collar. I can take
care of the old gent, thank you.”
“Been drinking, eh?” asked Brattle.
“Now you insult a good man, Brattle. He got a clip on the side of the
head from some sandbaggers, that’s all. He’s coming ’round slick as a
button. You can tip over on the seat, old gent, if you wanter,” when
Deacon Cornhill sank upon the bench, saying:
“You said you had my money?”
“What I said you can bank on, as the big boodlers say, I reckon you
don’t remember me, so I must introduce myself. I’m the chap who asked
to black your boots a bit ago, and in return you asked me for a place
to hang your hat for the night. Mebbe I didn’t answer you as I oughter,
for your boots did need trimming and shining the wuss kind, and I set
you down as a stingy old duffer from Wayback, who didn’t know what made
a gempleman. Then, when you had gone, and I took ’count of stock and
balanced up what a lamb you would be for the wolves, and seeing one
of the critters follering you, I tuk your tracks, too. I got along in
season to see the kids make off with your grip, when I took arter ’em
tooth and nail. With some lively sprintin’, and a bit of scrimmage I
fetched your old gripsack out’n Sodom, and then I pegged it on your
track ag’in. I didn’t get along in season to save you that clip on the
head, but I did get there in time to play the thief myself. I led them
chaps a wild-goose chase, and here I am with the hull establishment
connected, wired and running in tiptop shape!”
As the youth, who could not have been over seventeen, despite his
daring feats, finished his rather lengthy explanation, he handed Deacon
Cornhill his pocketbook and pushed his gripsack over by his side.