“I shan’t apologize to anybody,” said the lady, whose temper was not of the best; “least of all to such whipper-snappers as they are.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Dick, comically; “your handsome apology is accepted. It aint of no consequence, only I didn’t like to expose the contents of my valooable pocket-book, for fear it might excite the envy of some of my poor neighbors.”
“You’re a character,” said the gentleman who had already spoken, with a smile.
“A bad character!” muttered the lady.
But it was quite evident that the sympathies of those present were against the lady, and on the side of the boys who had been falsely accused, while Dick’s drollery had created considerable amusement.
The cars had now reached Fifty-ninth Street, the southern boundary of the Park, and here our hero and his companion got off.
“You’d better look out for pickpockets, my lad,” said the conductor, pleasantly. “That big wallet of yours might prove a great temptation.”
“That’s so,” said Dick. “That’s the misfortin’ of being rich. Astor and me don’t sleep much for fear of burglars breakin’ in and robbin’ us of our valooable treasures. Sometimes I think I’ll give all my money to an Orphan Asylum, and take it out in board. I guess I’d make money by the operation.”
While Dick was speaking, the car rolled away, and the boys turned up Fifty-ninth Street, for two long blocks yet separated them from the Park.