Left End Edwards | Page 8

such a scarecrow! Come on!"
But Tom was obdurate. "You go if you want to," he said, "but I'm
going to sit down right here and wait. You can leave your bag and I'll
look after it. Only, if you don't get back by a quarter to four I'm going
to the train, and I'll take your bag with me."
"All right. I just want to go out front awhile. I'll be back in ten minutes.
You stay here. And keep your eye on the bags, Tom. I guess there's a
lot of sneak-thieves around here." And Steve looked about him
suspiciously, his glance finally falling on Tom's left-hand neighbour, a
youth of perhaps nineteen years upon whose good-looking face rested
an amused smile. Instantly, however, the paper he was holding was
raised to hide his face, and Steve frowned. The fellow was, thought
Steve, altogether too well-dressed and slick-looking to be honest, and
that smile disturbed him. He leaned down and whispered in Tom's ear:
"Look out for the fellow next to you! I think he's a crook!"
Tom turned an alarmed glance to his left and a disturbed one on Steve.
"I--I guess," he said with elaborate carelessness, "I'll sit over there
where it's lighter." Whereupon he gathered the bags up and literally
fled across the waiting-room, Steve at his heels. In his new location,
out of sight of the suspected youth, he said hoarsely: "I reckon he was a
pickpocket, don't you?"
"You can't tell," responded Steve, shaking his head knowingly.
"Anyway, you want to keep an eye on those bags every minute. I'll be
right back, though. Want to see my paper?" And Steve handed an
Evening Sun, purchased on the car, to his chum and wound his way

through the throng toward the entrance.
Left to himself, Tom looked at the clock and saw that the hour was
three-thirty-two, glanced apprehensively about him in search of
possible malefactors, dragged the bags closer to his feet and unfolded
the paper. But he couldn't find much to interest him in it. Besides, he
had to look at the clock every few minutes, and whenever a man in a
uniform appeared with a megaphone and announced the impending
departure of a train Tom had heart disease, seized both bags and
crouched ready for instant flight until he was assured that the word
"Brimfield" was not among the list of stations enunciated through the
trumpet. It was after he had sunk back with a sigh of relief on finding
that a train for "Pittsburgh, Chicago and the West" was not his that he
discovered that an empty seat at his right had been occupied during his
strained interest in the announcer. Glancing around he saw that the
occupant was the well-dressed, good-looking youth who had been
seated next to him before. The youth seemed very interested in the
paper he was reading, his gaze being apparently fixed on a column
headed "Tiger's Football Players Report," but Tom refused to be
deceived. Only the fact that a grey-coated station policeman was
standing within hail kept him from a second flight. Steve, he reflected
nervously while he wound both feet around the bags, would return in a
minute or two and then they could go to the train. Tom devoutly wished
himself and the bags there now. Once he was conscious of the fact that
the youth beside him was glancing his way, but he pretended not to be
aware of it. Then his neighbour spoke.
"Princeton ought to have a pretty good team this year," he observed
genially. Tom, his heart in his mouth, nodded.
"Y-yes," he said.
"Interested in football?" went on the other. Tom dared a quick glance at
the smiling face and shook his head.
"No, thank you. I mean--yes, a little." He didn't want to talk because he
had read that confidence men always engaged their victims in
conversation before selling them counterfeit money or leading them to

gamble away their savings. Tom's eyes darted anxiously about in
search of Steve and he wondered how soon the smooth-voiced stranger
would call him by name or ask after the folks in Tannersville. He hadn't
long to wait!
"It's a great game," pursued the other. Then, after a short pause: "Say,
I've met you before, haven't I? Your face looks familiar."
"No," answered Tom shortly, digging his feet convulsively against the
bulging sides of the bags on the floor.
"My mistake, then. I thought perhaps you were from Tannersville,
Pennsylvania."
Tom almost jumped, although he had been expecting some such remark.
It was, he reflected agitatedly, absolutely marvellous the way these
fellows learned things! In a moment the fellow would tell him his
name!
The fellow didn't, though. He only said:
"Tannersville is a fine town. Ever been there?"
Tom