"You're quite welcome," said the old gentleman, kindly. "You'd better report your loss to the police."
"So I shall, as soon as I return to-night."
James Martin looked round among the other passengers, hoping that some one else might be induced to follow the example of the charitable old gentle man. But he was disappointed. There was some thing about his appearance, which was not exactly engaging or attractive, and his red nose inspired suspicions that his habits were not quite what they ought to have been. In fact, there was more than one passenger who had serious doubts as to the reality of his loss.
When the cars reached the entrance of Fourth Avenue, Martin descended, and walked up the street.
"Well," he said, chuckling, as he drew out the bill from his pocket, "I'm in luck. I'd like to meet plenty as soft-headed as that old chap that gave it to me. He swallowed down my story, as if it was gospel. I'll try it again some time when I'm hard up."
Martin began to consider whether, having so large a sum on hand, he had not better give up the idea of working till the next day; but the desire to find himself in a position in which he could regain Rose prevailed over his sluggishness, and he decided to keep on.
He had not far to walk. He soon came in sight of a row of wooden houses which were being erected, and, looking about him, he saw the man he had met in the streets of New York only a day or two before.
"Hallo, Martin!" he called out, seeing the new arrival; "have you come over to help us?"
"Do you need any help?" asked Martin.
"Badly. One of my men is sick, and I am shorthanded."