“Then that’s how it happened, I guess,” said Bob, with a very thoughtful air. “But you must have found somebody’s pocket book——”
“What do you mean?” interrupted Herbert suspiciously.
“Mean—why what could I mean? Wasn’t it plain what I said? Wasn’t I speaking good English, I’d like to know?” said Bob, apparently injured.
“Your language was plain, to be sure, and your English was good enough,” apologized Herbert; “but I can’t see why I should find anybody’s pocket book.”
the benevolent old gentleman presses money on the
country boy.
“Jest what I thought, but you see you don’t know the ways of New York. You will learn, though, and you will be surprised to see how easy it is to pick up a pocket book full of greenbacks and bonds—perhaps a hundred thousand dollars in any one of ’em—and then you will take it to the man what lost it, and he will give you a lots of money, maby a thousand dollars or so—’twouldn’t be much of a man as would do less than a thousand. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. I cannot understand you, Bob Hunter.”
“That’s ’cause you don’t know me, and ain’t posted on what I’m saying. Maby I am springin’ it on you kinder fresh for the first day, though I guess you will stand it. But tell me, Vermont, about the runaway horse that you stopped.”