"Thank you, sir, I didn't like to trouble you. Mr. Murdock was very kind."

"Have they got the real thief?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, 'all's well that ends well.' You can afford to laugh at it now."

Mr. Gilbert listened to this colloquy with very little satisfaction.

It seemed to show such a good understanding between d.i.c.k and his employer that he perceived that it would be a very difficult thing to supersede him.

"Mr. Rockwell seems to be infatuated with that boy," he muttered to himself.

"I think I won't resign just yet," said d.i.c.k, in a low voice, to the book-keeper.

"You'll be found out some day," said Gilbert, snappishly. "Go to the post-office, and mind you don't stop to play on the way."

d.i.c.k started on his errand, and, in pa.s.sing out into the street, encountered Roswell Crawford, who, attired with extra care, had just come down the street from Broadway. On seeing d.i.c.k, he started as if he had seen a ghost.

"Good-morning, Roswell," said d.i.c.k, pleasantly.

"Good-morning," said Roswell, stiffly.

"Your cousin is in the counting-room. I am in a hurry, and must leave you."

"I thought he was on his way to the Island by this time," thought Roswell, perplexed. "What can it mean?"

It occurred to him all at once that d.i.c.k might just have been discharged, and this thought cheered him up considerably. He entered the counting-room with a jaunty step.

"Good-morning, Cousin James," he said.

Gilbert turned round, and said, in a surly tone, "You may as well take yourself off. There's no chance for you here."

"Hasn't the boot-black been discharged?"

"No; and isn't going to be."

"How is that?" asked Roswell, looking very much disappointed.

"I can't stop to tell you now. You'd better go now, and I'll tell you this evening."

"Just my luck!" said Roswell to himself, considerably crest-fallen. "I wish I hadn't said a word to Edward McLean about the place."

CHAPTER XIX.

ANOTHER ARREST.

Micky Maguire, as the reader will remember, was by no means satisfied with the compensation he received from Gilbert for his share in the plot which came so near proving disastrous to our friend d.i.c.k.

He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch.

But, in spite of his disappointment, he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon d.i.c.k, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of d.i.c.k's conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial; but he had unpleasant a.s.sociations connected with the court-room at the Tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity.

As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpy Jim, came up.

"Mornin', Jim," said Micky. "What luck?"

"None at all," said Jim. "I haven't had a shine yet, and I'm precious hungry."

"Come and take breakfast with me," said Micky, in an unusual fit of generosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated than to treat.

"Have you got stamps enough?"

"Look at this," and Micky displayed the bill which he had received from Gilbert.

"You're in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by shines?"

"Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you're hungry."

Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheap restaurant on Na.s.sau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory.

"I've got some news," said Micky, after he had drained his cup of coffee. "You haven't forgot Ragged d.i.c.k, have ye?"

"He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue."

"Well, he's set up for something else now."

"What's that?"

"A pick-pocket."

"What?" asked Jim, amazed.

"He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station."

"That's where he gets his good clo'es from?" suggested Jim.

"Most likely. I expect he's on his way to the Island by this time."

"Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now."

"Wonder what Tom Wilkins'll say? He's a great friend of d.i.c.k's."

"He's a sneak," said Micky.