"The advertising column was my one hope," Mr. Ackerman replied. "I felt sure that any honest person who picked up the purse would advertise it. It was not the honest people I was worrying about. It was the thought that I had dropped the bill book in the street where any Tom-Dick-and-Harry could run away with it that concerned me. Moreover, even if your boy had found it on the bus, he might have turned it in to an employee of the coach line who was not honest enough to give it in turn to his superiors. So I wanted to know where I stood; and now that I do I cannot tell you how grateful I am both to Stephen and to this officer here for the service they have rendered me." Then, turning toward Mr. Tolman, he added in an undertone, "I hope neither you nor your son have suffered any annoyance through this unfortunate incident."
"Not in the least," was the prompt response. "I confess we were a trifle disconcerted at first; but Mr. Donovan has performed his duty with such courtesy that we entertain toward him nothing but gratitude."
"I am glad of that," Mr. Ackerman replied, "for I should deeply regret placing either you or your boy, even for a moment, in an uncomfortable position, or one where it might appear that I—"
But Mr. Tolman cut him short.
"You took the quickest, most sensible course, Ackerman," said he. "Too much was at stake for you to risk delay. When a pocketbook filled with negotiable securities disappears one must of necessity act with speed. Neither Stephen nor I cherish the least ill-will about the affair; do we, son?"
"No, indeed."
Then smiling ingenuously up into the face of the New York man, he said:
"Don't you want to look in your pocketbook and see if everything is all right, sir?"
The steamboat financier laughed.
"You are a prudent young man," declared he. "No, I am quite willing to risk that the property you have so kindly guarded is intact."