He looks as if he'd heard bad news from his
sick family."
By this time the pocket-book dropper had come up.
Approaching the boys, he said in an undertone to Dick, "Give me back
that pocket-book, you young rascal!"
"Beg your pardon, mister," said Dick, "but was you addressin' me?"
"Yes, I was."
"'Cause you called me by the wrong name. I've knowed some rascals,
but I aint the honor to belong to the family."
He looked significantly at the other as he spoke, which didn't
improve the man's temper. Accustomed to swindle others, he did not
fancy being practised upon in return.
"Give me back that pocket-book," he repeated in a threatening voice.
"Couldn't do it," said Dick, coolly. "I'm go'n' to restore it to
the owner. The contents is so valooable that most likely the loss
has made him sick, and he'll be likely to come down liberal to the
honest finder."
"You gave me a bogus bill," said the man.
"It's what I use myself," said Dick.
"You've swindled me."
"I thought it was the other way."
"None of your nonsense," said the man angrily. "If you don't give up
that pocket-book, I'll call a policeman."
"I wish you would," said Dick. "They'll know most likely whether
it's Stewart or Astor that's lost the pocket-book, and I can get 'em
to return it."
The "dropper," whose object it was to recover the pocket-book, in
order to try the same game on a more satisfactory customer, was
irritated by Dick's refusal, and above all by the coolness he
displayed.
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