Left End Edwards | Page 9

shook his head energetically. "Never!" he fibbed.
"Oh!" The confidence-man--for Tom had fully decided that such he
was--seemed disappointed. But he wasn't discouraged. "Which way are
you travelling?" he asked.
Tom did a lot of thinking then in a fragment of a minute.
"Philadelphia," he blurted.
"Philadelphia! Why, say, you're in the wrong station. You ought to go
to the Pennsylvania Terminal. I guess you're a stranger here, eh? Tell
you what I'll do. You come with me and I'll put you on a car that'll take
you right there."
"I--I've got to wait for a friend," muttered Tom desperately, sending an

appealing glance toward the policeman who had now begun to saunter
slowly away.
"That so? Well----" The other got up with a glance at the clock and
reached down for his suit-case. Tom's gaze followed the direction of
that hand closely. It was, he thought, odd that a confidence-man should
carry a suit-case, but that might be only an attempt to avert suspicion.
The bag held the inscription "A. L. M., Orange, N. J." Probably the bag
had been stolen. Tom fixed that inscription firmly in his mind. "I'll
have to be going," said "A. L. M." "Sorry I can't be of assistance to you,
kid. I thought that maybe if you were going my way, out to Brimfield, I
could give you a hand with your bags."
Tom gasped! How did he know about Brimfield?
"Thanks," he muttered. "I--I'll get on all right." Standing there in front
of him "A. L. M." looked very youthful to be such a deep-dyed villain
and Tom felt a bit sorry for him. But the villain was smiling broadly
and, as it seemed to Tom, a trifle mockingly.
"Better keep a sharp lookout for crooks," advised the other. "There are
lots of 'em about here. See that old chap over there with the basket of
fruit in his lap?" The stranger moderated his voice and leaned toward
Tom. Tom, turning his head a trifle to follow the other's gaze, felt one
of the bags between his feet move and made a grab toward it. But the
stranger had not, apparently, touched it, unless with a foot. "That," he
was saying, "is Four-Fingered Phillips, one of the cleverest
confidence-men in New York. Well, so long!"
The other moved away, walking nonchalantly past the station
policeman who had now wandered back to his post. Tom held his
breath. But the policeman, although he undoubtedly followed the youth
with his gaze for a moment, failed to act, and Tom was not a little
relieved. Even if the fellow was a crook he seemed an awfully decent
sort and Tom was glad he hadn't been arrested.
It was getting perilously near a quarter to four now and still Steve had
not returned. Tom watched the long hand crawl toward the figure IX,

saw it reach it and pass. He would, he decided then, give Steve another
five minutes. His gaze fell on "Four-Fingered Phillips" and he viewed
that gentleman perplexedly. He didn't look in the least like a
confidence-man. He appeared to be about sixty years of age, eminently
respectable and slightly infirm. He clutched a basket of fruit and an
ivory-headed cane and seemed quite oblivious to everything about him.
New York, reflected Tom, with something like a shudder, must be a
terribly wicked place! And then, while he was still striving to discern
signs of depravity under the gentle and kindly exterior of the elderly
confidence-man, a young woman, leading a little boy of some three or
four years of age and bearing many bundles, hurried up to
"Four-Fingered Phillips," spoke, helped him to his feet and guided him
away toward the train-shed. Tom sighed. It was too much for him! Of
course he had read of female accomplices, but it didn't seem that a
four-year-old child could be a part of the game! For the first time he
wondered whether "A. L. M.," perhaps chagrined at his failure to decoy
Tom to some secret lair, had deceived him about "Four-Fingered
Phillips"!
Then it was ten minutes to four, good measure, and Tom, in a sudden
panic, seized his bags, gazed about him despairingly and made for the
train-shed. He had given Steve fair warning, he told himself, and now
he could just fend for himself. But his steps got slower and slower as he
approached the gate and when he reached it he set the bags down, got
his ticket out and waited. After all, it would be a pretty mean trick to
leave Steve. At least, he'd wait there until the last moment. The minutes
passed and the hands on the clock further along the barrier crept nearer
and nearer to the time set for the departure of the Brimfield
accommodation. Tom wondered