“Oh, now you are in town you’ll have to look around a bit,” said the slick-looking individual. “You can take a train back to- morrow just as well. Let me show you a few of the sights.”
This tickled the old farmer and he agreed to remain over until the next noon. Then Henry Davis dragged the old man around to various points of interest and grew more familiar than ever.
While they were at the top of one of the big office buildings Henry Davis pretended to drop his pocketbook.
“How careless of me!” he cried.
“Got much in it?” queried Josiah Bean.
“Three thousand dollars.”
“Do tell! It’s a powerful sight o’ money to carry so careless like.”
“It is. Maybe you had better carry it for me, Mr. Bean.”
“Not me! I ain’t goin’ to be responsible fer nobody’s money but my own–an’ Mirandy’s.”
“Better see if your own money is safe.”
Josiah Bean got out his wallet and counted the bills.
“Safe enough.”
“Are you sure? I thought there was only five hundred and fifty.”
“No, six hundred.”
“I’ll bet you ten dollars on it.”
“What! can’t I count straight,” gasped the old farmer, much disturbed. “Six hundred I tell you,” he added, after he had gone over the amount once more.
“If there is I’ll give you the ten dollars,” answered the slick one. “Let me count the bills.”
“All right, there ye be, Mr. Davis.”
Henry Davis took the wallet and pretended to count the bills.
“Hullo, what’s that?” he cried, whirling around.
“What’s wot?” demanded Josiah Bean, also looking around.
“I thought I heard somebody cry fire.”
“Don’t say thet! Say, let’s git out o’ here–I don’t want to look at the sights.”
“All right–here’s your money. I guess it’s six hundred after all,” answered the slick- looking individual, passing over the wallet.
They hurried to the elevator and got into quite a crowd of people.
“Wait for me here,” said Henry Davis, as they walked past the side corridor. “I want to step in yonder office and send a message to a friend.”
He ran off, leaving the old farmer by himself. Josiah Bean looked around him nervously.
“I guess that wasn’t no cry o’ fire after all,” he mused. “Well, if there’s a fire I kin git out from here quick enough.”
The office building was a large one, running from one street to the next. On the street in the rear was a bookstore, the proprietor of which had advertised for a clerk.
Joe had applied for the position and was waiting for the proprietor to address him when, on chancing to look up, he saw Henry Davis rush past as if in a tremendous hurry.
“Hullo, that’s the fellow who was with the old farmer,” he told himself.
“What can I do for you, young man?” asked the proprietor of the bookshop, approaching at that instant.
“I believe you wish a clerk,” answered our hero.
“Have you had experience in this line?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you won’t do. I must have someone who is experienced.”
“I am willing to learn.”
“It won’t do. I want an experienced clerk or none at all,” was the sharp answer.
Leaving the bookstore, Joe stood out on the sidewalk for a moment and then walked around the corner.
A moment later he caught sight of Josiah Bean, gazing up and down the thoroughfare and acting like one demented.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Matter?” bawled the old farmer. I’ve been took in! Robbed! Swindled! Oh, wot will Mirandy say!”
“Who robbed you?”
“Thet Mr. Davis I reckon! He counted the money last, an’ now it’s gone!”
“I saw Mr. Davis a minute ago.”
“Where?”
“Around the corner, walking as fast as he could.”
“He’s got my money! Oh, I must catch him!”
“I’ll help you,” answered Joe, with vigor. “I thought he looked like a slick one,” he added.
He led the way and Josiah Bean came behind. The old farmer looked as if he was ready to drop with fright. The thought of losing his wife’s money was truly horrifying.
“Mirandy won’t never forgive me!” he groaned. “Oh, say, boy, we’ve got to catch that rascal!”