Part 12 (1/2)
Frank looked sober.
”You ought not to have cheated him, d.i.c.k,” he said, reproachfully.
”Didn't he want to cheat me?”
”I don't know.”
”What do you s'pose there is in that pocket-book?” asked d.i.c.k, holding it up.
Frank surveyed its ample proportions, and answered sincerely enough, ”Money, and a good deal of it.”
”There aint stamps enough in it to buy a oyster-stew,” said d.i.c.k.
”If you don't believe it, just look while I open it.”
So saying he opened the pocket-book, and showed Frank that it was stuffed out with pieces of blank paper, carefully folded up in the shape of bills. Frank, who was unused to city life, and had never heard anything of the ”drop-game” looked amazed at this unexpected development.
”I knowed how it was all the time,” said d.i.c.k. ”I guess I got the best of him there. This wallet's worth somethin'. I shall use it to keep my stiffkit's of Erie stock in, and all my other papers what aint of no use to anybody but the owner.”
”That's the kind of papers it's got in it now,” said Frank, smiling.
”That's so!” said d.i.c.k.
”By hokey!” he exclaimed suddenly, ”if there aint the old chap comin' back ag'in. He looks as if he'd heard bad news from his sick family.”
By this time the pocket-book dropper had come up.
Approaching the boys, he said in an undertone to d.i.c.k, ”Give me back that pocket-book, you young rascal!”
”Beg your pardon, mister,” said d.i.c.k, ”but was you addressin' me?”
”Yes, I was.”
”'Cause you called me by the wrong name. I've knowed some rascals, but I aint the honor to belong to the family.”
He looked significantly at the other as he spoke, which didn't improve the man's temper. Accustomed to swindle others, he did not fancy being practised upon in return.
”Give me back that pocket-book,” he repeated in a threatening voice.
”Couldn't do it,” said d.i.c.k, coolly. ”I'm go'n' to restore it to the owner. The contents is so valooable that most likely the loss has made him sick, and he'll be likely to come down liberal to the honest finder.”
”You gave me a bogus bill,” said the man.
”It's what I use myself,” said d.i.c.k.
”You've swindled me.”
”I thought it was the other way.”
”None of your nonsense,” said the man angrily. ”If you don't give up that pocket-book, I'll call a policeman.”