Bob Chesters Grit | Page 3

me? I'll stay here and wait, though I must say I am
getting tired."
"Oh, no," said Bob. "I gave my word that I would stay, and I will."
The countryman's suggestion that he be intrusted with the money
aroused Bob's suspicion, for he remembered that the others had placed

five hundred dollars in the envelope, and he thought it was a scheme on
the part of Simpkins to get possession of this money. So that after this
interchange of words, both lapsed into silence.
As the quarter hour lengthened into a half, then to three-quarters, and
finally to an hour, without the re-appearance of the two well-dressed
New Yorkers, Bob's dread of his guardian's anger outweighed his
desire to earn the dollar, and he finally exclaimed:
"I can't wait any longer; honest I can't." And then, chancing to catch
sight of a policeman standing on the corner about a hundred feet away,
a way out of the difficulty suggested itself, and he said to the
countryman:
"I tell you how we can fix it. We will go over to that policeman and
explain the matter to him, and I'll ask him to hold the envelope until
those men come back."
And without giving Simpkins time to protest, Bob picked up his basket,
and led the way to where the guardian of the law was standing,
indolently surveying the crowd.
Casting a contemptuous glance at the two ludicrous figures that
approached him, the policeman first listened to the excited explanation
of the boy indifferently, then with incredulity, and finally with
amusement.
"I have heard of such easy marks, but I never expected to see them in
flesh and blood," exclaimed the officer, when Bob stopped speaking.
"So you think you are holding some money in that envelope, do you,
kid? Well, I'll bet a year's pay that there is nothing in it but old paper."
And while the countryman and the boy gazed at him in speechless
dismay, the policeman took the envelope from Bob's hand, opened it,
and drew forth to their startled gaze a roll of tissue-paper.
"I told you so," grunted the policeman, but further comment was
interrupted by the actions of Simpkins.

No sooner had he discovered that he had been swindled than he shouted
at the top of his lungs:
"I've been robbed! I've been robbed! They've stolen seven hundred and
fifty dollars from me!"
The loud, excited words and the gesticulations of the
grotesquely-garbed man quickly drew the attention of the passersby,
and in a trice the victims of the swindlers and the policeman were the
center of a curious throng of people.
"I want my money! I want my money!" bellowed Simpkins.
"You stand a fine chance of getting it," returned the policeman, "but I
will do what I can for you. I'll take you around to the police station, and
you can make a complaint to the sergeant and give him a description of
the 'con' men."
As word of the swindle was passed among the crowd, various were the
comments and bits of advice offered.
At first Bob had been too stunned by the discovery that he had been
made an innocent party to the swindle even to think, but as he gradually
recovered from the unpleasant surprise, his one thought was to get
away from Simpkins, to deliver his groceries and get back to the store
as quickly as possible. In order to carry out this plan, he began to worm
his way through the constantly increasing crowd.
One of the men who were offering advice chanced to see him, and
cried:
"There goes the boy! He was probably standing in with the swindlers.
Why don't you arrest him, Mr. Officer?"
"That's the thing to do," agreed several others, and the policeman,
evidently thinking that it would be a wise procedure for him to seize
some one in connection with the swindle, leaped after Bob, grasped
him roughly by the shoulder, and started for the station-house, followed

by Simpkins and those of the crowd who had nothing better to do.
Arrived at the police station, the countryman and the patrolman both
talked at once, while Bob stood in silence, overcome by the disgrace of
his arrest.
Taking his pencil, the sergeant stopped the countryman's torrent of
words, and began to ask him questions as to his meeting with the
strangers, eliciting the information that he had met them coming over
on the ferry-boat from Jersey City, and that the business deal they had
proposed was the betting of fifteen hundred dollars on a race horse that
was sure to win.
"It's a pity there isn't a law to keep you country people out of the
cities," grunted the sergeant, when the details of the story had been told
him, and then, turning to