“No,” answered the policeman, coming back from a fruitless search. “Better keep nearer the lights, young fellow. All kinds of rough characters hang around here, on the lookout for somebody to rob.”
Frank walked with the policeman to the depot rotunda. He stayed outside, however. Once or twice he walked the whole breadth of the rotunda, peering down the passenger tracks and wishing he could find the boy who had beaten off the thief.
“There is some one now,” suddenly exclaimed Frank to himself.
He made a dash down a lonely platform and ran across a couple of tracks.
“Yes, it’s him,” declared Frank. “Hey, just a minute. Why, what are you running away from me for?”
The person Frank was after had started up quickly at the first hail. Frank overtook him, cornering him where some milk cars blocked the way south.
The strange boy braced back against the side of a car, pulled his cap down further over his eyes, and said.
“Want me?”
“Sure, I want you,” cried Frank spiritedly. “First, to shake hands with you and thank you for your bravery in my behalf.”