“I don't propose to stay here and be insulted. Let the boy give me my money, and I won't have him arrested.”
“Don't be in too much of a hurry, young man! I want to see about this thing. What bank did you draw the money from?”
“From the Merchants' Bank—the boy has got things reversed. He saw me draw it, inveigled himself into my confidence, and picked my pocket.”
“Look here—stop right there! Your story doesn't hang together!” said the tall Westerner, holding up his finger. “You said you met this boy in a horse car.”
“We came over together in a Charlestown horse car,” said the rogue, abashed.
“You've given yourself away. Now make yourself scarce! Scoot!”
The rascal looked in the face of the tall, resolute man from the West, and thought it prudent to obey. He started to descend, but a well-planted kick accelerated his progress, and he fell down several steps, bruising his knees.
“Thank you, sir!” said Herbert, gratefully. “It was lucky you came up just as you did. The rascal had got his hand on the money.”
“He is a miserable scamp!” answered Herbert's new friend. “If there'd been a police-man handy, I'd have given him in charge. I've come clear from Wisconsin to see where Warren fell, but I didn't expect to come across such a critter as that on Bunker Hill.”
Herbert pointed out to his new friend the objects in view, repeating the information he had so recently acquired. Then, feeling that he could spare no more time, he descended the stairs and jumped on board a horse car bound for Boston.