The Camp Fire Girls on the Farm | Page 7

she would have been closer to him, but, as it was,
she could only stand on the corner, looking helplessly about, on the off
chance that she would again catch sight of his well-known figure.
But luck was not with her. Even someone far better used to the bustle
and confusion of the city might well have been at a loss. It was the
luncheon hour, and from all the buildings hundreds of people were
pouring out, making the streets seem fuller than ever. And it was not
long before Bessie decided with a sigh that she must give up, and find
her way home. She was afraid Eleanor Mercer would be worried and
alarmed by her absence, and she determined to return as she had come,
and as fast as she could.
Still, on the way, surely she could peep into one of the beautiful store
windows--and she did. For a moment she stood there, and then,
suddenly, she felt a hand in her pocket. She turned to see whose it
was--and looked up into the evil eyes of Farmer Weeks!

"Stop her!" he cried. "She picked my pocket!"
CHAPTER III
AND AN OLD FRIEND HELPS
Bessie gasped in sheer terror, and for a moment she couldn't open her
mouth. Farmer Weeks, his weather-beaten face twisted into a grin of
malice and dislike, stood looking down at her, his bony hand gripping
her wrist. Even had it been in Bessie's mind to run away, she could not
have done it. And, as a matter of fact, the shock of hearing his voice, of
seeing him, and, above all, of being accused of such a thing, had
deprived her for the moment of the use of her legs as well as of the
power of speech.
Then, while Farmer Weeks lifted his voice again, calling for a
policeman, Bessie got a vivid and sharp lesson in the interest a city
crowd can be induced to take in anything out of the ordinary, no matter
how trifling. The pavement where they stood was densely crowded
already. Now more people seemed to spring up from nowhere at all,
and they were surrounded by a ring of people who pressed against one
another, calling curious questions, all trying to get into the front rank to
see whatever was to be seen.
"Gosh all hemlock!" Farmer Weeks confided to the crowd. "They told
me to look out fer them scalawags when I come to town, but I swan I
didn't expect to see a gal like that tryin' to lift my wallet. No, sir! But
they got to get up pretty early in the mornin' to fool me--they have
that!"
Even in her fright, Bessie divined at once what the old rascal was trying
to do. He was playing the part of the green and unsuspicious
countryman, the farmer on a trip, usually the easy prey of sharpers of
all sorts, and he was doing it for a purpose--to win the sympathy of the
crowd. In her new clothes Bessie looked enough like a city girl to pass
for one easily, while Farmer Weeks wore old-fashioned clothes of rusty
black, a slouch hat, and a colored handkerchief knotted about his neck
in place of a scarf. He carried an old-fashioned cotton umbrella; too, a

huge affair--a regular "bumbleshoot," and he was dressed to play the
part.
"Hey, mister, gimme a nickel an' I'll call a cop for you!" volunteered a
small, sharp-faced boy, with a bundle of papers under his arm.
Somehow he had managed to squirm through the crowd.
Weeks looked at him reproachfully.
"You call a constable--an' I'll give you the nickel when you come back
with him," he said.
In spite of her deplorable situation, Bessie wanted to laugh. It was so
like Farmer Weeks, the miser, to be unwilling to risk even five cents
without being sure that he would get value for his money! The boy
darted off, and Bessie heard half a dozen of the crowd make remarks
applauding the good sense of her supposed victim.
"Ain't it too bad?" said Weeks tolerantly to the crowd, as he waited for
a policeman, still clutching Bessie's hand tightly. "Who'd ever think a
pretty young gal like her would try to rob an old man--hey?"
"Never can tell, Pop," said a keen-eyed youth, who was standing near.
His eyes darted nervously about from one face to another. "Them as
you wouldn't suspect naturally is the worst, as a rule--it's so easy for
them to make a get-away."
Then the crowd gave way suddenly for a man in a blue uniform, but
Bessie, still unable to say anything, saw at once it was not a policeman.
But it was not until he was quite close to her that she recognized him
with a