Where could that money have gone to, though? Some one must have taken it; but who, and when? It wouldn’t have been Mr. Ames, of course; nor the porter of the sleeping-car. No; his very face was a guarantee of honesty. Could it have been Simon Goldollar? It must have been; he was just the mean, low-down fellow who would do such a thing; still, what chance had he had? Phil couldn’t remember that he had had any. Still, the money must have been taken by some one, and while the pocket-book was in some other place than the one provided for it by his aunt Ruth, too. Oh, why had he forgotten her warnings and neglected her advice! Dear Aunt Ruth! How much better she knew him than he knew himself. Well, this was a lesson that should last him his life time. Never again would he get into such a scrape through carelessness. Never!
At length the unhappy boy fell asleep, and when he awoke it was daylight. An officer brought him a bowl of strong black coffee and a plain but plentiful breakfast of porridge. Phil drank the coffee, but could not eat. Then he waited, pale with anxiety, for the unknown fate in store for him. After a while he was summoned outside and conducted to a court-room. There he was placed in the prisoners’ dock, together with the previous night’s occupants of the station-house cells, men and women. He shrank as far as possible from contact with them, and they jeered at him. His case was one of the first called, but as no one appeared against him he was ordered to step aside and wait awhile longer.
Finally, last of all, Phil’s turn came again.
“What is the charge against this prisoner?” demanded the judge.
“It is a case of assault, your Honor,” answered the officer who had made the arrest.
“Let me look at the warrant. H’m, yes. Well, is the complainant Goldollar here in person, or represented by counsel?”
To this no one made reply, but another officer whispered something to the judge.
“H’m! Left the city, has he, without making arrangements to press the charge? Very well, then, the case is dismissed. You may go, young man, but I warn you that you have had a narrow escape, a very narrow escape, and you had better never let me see you here again.”
A minute later poor bewildered Phil found himself out in the sunlight, once more free to go where he pleased and do what he liked. For a few blocks he walked mechanically, without taking note of where he was going. Then, with a forlorn hope that the steamer might still be waiting, he directed his steps towards the outer wharf. The walk was a long one, and at its end his worst fears were confirmed. The Alaskan steamer had indeed come in, and gone out again during the night. There would not be another for at least ten days. His trunk had gone, too, as he discovered by finding a porter who distinctly remembered seeing one marked “Philip Ryder, Sitka, Alaska,” put aboard the ship. Mr. Ames—Judge Ames, they called him—had also departed for his northern home, as several persons could testify.