At this moment the gate clicked. Both men heard the sound, and started for the shrubbery at the side of the path. Almost before the old gentleman was aware that they had gone, their retreating footsteps were echoing down the street.
Mr. Vanderpoel felt that he was saved. He would have risen to his feet but for the fact that his shoes were off. The person who had come in the gate, and who was now standing before him, was a lad dressed, as it seemed to Mr. Vanderpoel's confused sight, in the District Telegraph uniform.
"Well, young man," he exclaimed, "I guess you've saved my life. Just help me on with my shoes, will you, and we'll go into the house."
It was some time before Jim could take in the situation, and he stood gazing at the old man without saying a word.
"What are you staring at?" cried Mr. Vanderpoel, hotly. "Do you suppose I'm sitting here in my stocking feet for amusement? I've been knocked down and robbed—or I would have been robbed if some one else hadn't done it already. If anything could reconcile one to the thought of being robbed by one set of thieves, it would be that they left nothing for the next set. But I certainly believe they would have killed me if you hadn't come up. Easy, now"—as the boy drew the gaiter over the old man's knobby foot—"look out for that corn. Now the other one. There! never mind the buttons. Lend me your arm, will you? I'm lame and bruised where I fell. It was lucky I didn't hit my head. Well, I'm sorry I lost the money, but I'm mighty glad those fellows didn't get it."
"Was it much?" asked the boy, briefly. They had now gone up the steps, and, while Mr. Vanderpoel drew out his latch-key, were standing in the light that gleamed through the door. As Mr. Vanderpoel turned around, he recognized, as he had not done before, the boy's features.
"HE HANDED OVER THE BOOK, WHICH MR. VANDERPOEL SEIZED."
"Hello!" he cried, "you're that train boy. Yes, it was a good deal. Do you know anything about it?"
Jim's face took on a non-committal look.