Steve and the Steam Engine

by Sara Ware Bassett

"Yes, sir, I am," returned Steve with surprise. "My father and I are staying here just for a few days."

"I hope you will have a jolly good time during your visit," the man said, rising.

Stephen murmured his thanks and watched the erect figure descend from the coach and disappear into a side street. It was not until the New Yorker was well out of sight and the omnibus on its way that his eye was caught by the red bill book lying on the floor at his feet. None of the few scattered passengers had noticed it and stooping, he picked it up and quietly slipped it into his pocket.

What should he do with it?

Of course he could hand it over to the driver of the bus and tell him he had found it. But the man might not be honest and instead of turning it in to the company might keep it. There was little doubt in Steve's mind that the pocketbook belonged to the stranger who had just vacated the place and it was likely his address was inside it. If so, what a pleasure it would be to return the lost article to its rightful owner himself. By so doing he would not only be sure the pocketbook reached its destination but he might see the steamboat man again.

He longed to open the bill book and investigate its contents. What was in it, he wondered. Well, the top of a Fifth Avenue coach was no place to be looking through pocketbooks, there was no question about that. Let alone the fact that persons might be watching him, there was danger that in the fresh morning breeze something might take wing, sail down to the Hudson, and never be seen again. Therefore he decided to curb his impatience and wait until he reached a more favorable spot to examine his suddenly acquired treasure. Accordingly he tucked the long red wallet farther down into the breast pocket of his ulster, and feeling assured that nothing could be done about it at present, gave himself up to the pleasure and excitement of the drive.

It was not until he had rejoined his father at the hotel and the two were sitting at lunch in the great dining room that the thought of it again flashed into his mind.

"Gee, Dad!" he suddenly exclaimed, looking up from his plateful of fried chicken with fork suspended in mid-air. "I meant to tell you I found a pocketbook in the bus this morning."

"A pocketbook!"

"Yes, sir. I think the man who had been sitting beside me must have dropped it when he stooped over to get his bag. At any rate it was lying there after he got out."