“Evenin' Post, Mail, Express!”
“Give me an Express. Here's ten cents.”
“I haven't got but three cents change, mister.”
“Never mind the change,” said Mr. Montgomery, in a fit of temporary generosity, occasioned by his good luck.
“Thank you, sir,” said the newsboy, regarding Mr. Montgomery as a philanthropist worthy of his veneration.
Felix Montgomery leaned back in his seat, and, with a benevolent smile, ran his eyes over the columns of the Express. Among the paragraphs which attracted his attention was one relating to a comrade, of similar profession, who had just been arrested in Albany while in the act of relieving a gentleman of his pocketbook.
“Jerry always was a bungler,” said Mr. Montgomery, complacently, to himself. “He can't hold a candle to me. I flatter myself that I know how to manage a little affair, like this, for instance, as well as the next man. It'll take a sharp detective to lay hold of me.”
It might have been thought that the manner in which he had gained possession of the ring would have troubled Mr. Montgomery, but it was many years since he had led an honest life. He had made a living by overreaching others, and his conscience had become so blunted as to occasion him little trouble. He appeared to think that the world owed him a living, and that he was quite justified in collecting the debt in any way he could.
About twenty minutes brought the car to Amity street and Mr. Montgomery signaled the conductor, and, the car being stopped, he got out.
He walked a few rods in a westerly direction, and paused before a three-story brick house, which appeared to have seen better days.