"Who is he?" somebody asked Bryant.
"I don't know and don't care," was the blunt reply. "He hit me in the face after tumbling down on my head."
By this time the policeman on duty at the Stock Exchange pushed his way through the crowd of brokers and called out:
"What is it? What's the trouble here?" and he looked at the pickpocket, who was slowly pulling himself together.
"This man is a pickpocket," said Fred. "He took those ladies' purses up there, and when I caught him at it he tried to throw me over the gallery. He did throw me, but I brought him down with me."
"Good–good!" cried a broker. "Three cheers for the kid!"
The brokers cheered and then laughed.
"I am no pickpocket," exclaimed the thief, as soon as he saw the officer had him. "The boy lies. I merely—"
"Officer, search him!" cried the elder of the two ladies up in the gallery. "He has my purse and that of my daughter."
"Yes, search him! Search him!" called out a dozen at once.