"Selling 'em off cheap," cried the vender, putting several volumes in Richard's hands. "Take 'em right along. You'll miss the opportunity of a lifetime if you don't."
"They are very nice," replied the boy. "But I guess I won't take any to-night."
"You'd better. They may be all gone by to-morrow. This is only a job lot, and dirt cheap."
"No, I guess not," and Richard put the books reluctantly back on the stand.
"Give you a special discount of ten per cent," persisted the dealer.
"No; I haven't the money."
"Oh! Well, come around to-morrow. I'll lay the books aside for you."
"No, don't do that. I may not be back," and without waiting for further words, Richard hurried off.
Meanwhile Doc Linyard, all unconscious of what was transpiring, had gone on ahead, and when Richard looked around for him, the old sailor was nowhere to be seen.
Rather startled, the boy hurried along to catch up. But under the Elevated Railroad and down by the Brooklyn Bridge all was confusion and jam, and in a moment Richard realized that he had lost his friend.