"Of course I will, and I am very much obliged to you," said Al, surprised at this unexpected offer.
"Here you are, then."
And the man handed him a small roll of bills.
"Give me your address," said Al, "and I'll return this to you within a day or two, with something to boot."
"I don't want anything to boot. I'll write down my address, if you'll lend me a pencil a minute."
Al handed him a pencil. The man was about to write the address on the back of an envelope, when, to his amazement, his companion made a rush for a cab that stood at the curbstone, gave the driver a few hasty directions in a low tone, and then leaped into the vehicle, which immediately started off at a rapid pace. Before the brakeman could recover from his astonishment, the cab had turned a corner and disappeared.
"Well," gasped the man, "if I haven't been buncoed myself, and by a kid at that. I'll bet he and the other fellow were pals. And I never suspected it! Well, I'll get my ten dollars back if it costs me a hundred to do it. This is the last time I'll ever lend money to a stranger. I wish I could hire some one to kick me round the block."
The brakeman could scarcely be blamed for forming this opinion of Al, erroneous though it was. Appearances were certainly against the boy, and the reader is, perhaps, wondering if he had suddenly become insane or developed into a kleptomaniac.
The reason for our hero's strange action was this: Just as he handed the brakeman the pencil a carriage was passing the depot, from the window of which peered the face of the very man for whom Al was seeking—Jack Farley.
There was no time for explanations; the carriage was going at a rapid rate. Al rushed out to the cab that stood at the entrance and said to the driver: