Part 18 (1/2)

”Stop a minute,” said d.i.c.k. ”Don't you keep your money in the Was.h.i.+ngton Bank?”

”I don't know any such bank. I'm in a hurry, young man, and I can't stop to answer any foolish questions.”

The boat had by this time reached the Brooklyn pier, and Mr. Ephraim Smith seemed in a hurry to land.

”Look here,” said d.i.c.k, significantly; ”you'd better not go on sh.o.r.e unless you want to jump into the arms of a policeman.”

”What do you mean?” asked the man, startled.

”That little affair of yours is known to the police,” said d.i.c.k; ”about how you got fifty dollars out of a greenhorn on a false check, and it mayn't be safe for you to go ash.o.r.e.”

”I don't know what you're talking about,” said the swindler with affected boldness, though d.i.c.k could see that he was ill at ease.

”Yes you do,” said d.i.c.k. ”There isn't but one thing to do. Just give me back that money, and I'll see that you're not touched. If you don't, I'll give you up to the first p'liceman we meet.”

d.i.c.k looked so determined, and spoke so confidently, that the other, overcome by his fears, no longer hesitated, but pa.s.sed a roll of bills to d.i.c.k and hastily left the boat.

All this Frank witnessed with great amazement, not understanding what influence d.i.c.k could have obtained over the swindler sufficient to compel rest.i.tution.

”How did you do it?” he asked eagerly.

”I told him I'd exert my influence with the president to have him tried by _habeas corpus_,” said d.i.c.k.

”And of course that frightened him. But tell me, without joking, how you managed.”

d.i.c.k gave a truthful account of what occurred, and then said, ”Now we'll go back and carry the money.”

”Suppose we don't find the poor countryman?”

”Then the p'lice will take care of it.”

They remained on board the boat, and in five minutes were again in New York. Going up Wall Street, they met the countryman a little distance from the Custom House. His face was marked with the traces of deep anguish; but in his case even grief could not subdue the cravings of appet.i.te. He had purchased some cakes of one of the old women who spread out for the benefit of pa.s.sers-by an array of apples and seed-cakes, and was munching them with melancholy satisfaction.

”Hilloa!” said d.i.c.k. ”Have you found your money?”

”No,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the young man, with a convulsive gasp. ”I shan't ever see it again. The mean skunk's cheated me out of it. Consarn his picter! It took me most six months to save it up. I was workin'

for Deacon Pinkham in our place. Oh, I wish I'd never come to New York! The deacon, he told me he'd keep it for me; but I wanted to put it in the bank, and now it's all gone, boo hoo!”

And the miserable youth, having despatched his cakes, was so overcome by the thought of his loss that he burst into tears.

”I say,” said d.i.c.k, ”dry up, and see what I've got here.”

The youth no sooner saw the roll of bills, and comprehended that it was indeed his lost treasure, than from the depths of anguish he was exalted to the most ecstatic joy. He seized d.i.c.k's hand, and shook it with so much energy that our hero began to feel rather alarmed for its safety.

”'Pears to me you take my arm for a pump-handle,” said he. ”Couldn't you show your grat.i.tood some other way? It's just possible I may want to use my arm ag'in some time.”

The young man desisted, but invited d.i.c.k most cordially to come up and stop a week with him at his country home, a.s.suring him that he wouldn't charge him anything for board.

”All right!” said d.i.c.k. ”If you don't mind I'll bring my wife along, too. She's delicate, and the country air might do her good.”