The Camp Fire Girls on the Farm | Page 8

little thrill of joy. And at the same moment he recognized her,
too, as well as Farmer Weeks. It was Tom Norris, the friendly train
conductor who had helped Zara and herself to escape to Pine Bridge,
and out of the state in which Hedgeville was situated.
"Come, come; what's this?" asked the train conductor sharply. "Let go
of that girl's arm, you Weeks!"

"What business is it of your'n!" asked Weeks, angrily.
"You let her go," said Norris, with determination, "or I'll pretty soon
show you what business it is of mine--I'll knock you down, white hair
and all! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, pickin' on the girl this
way!"
He advanced, threateningly, and none of the crowd undertook to protect
Weeks from his obvious anger. Norris was a big, strong man, and, for
all his kindly ways, it was evident that he could fight well if he saw any
reason for doing it. And now, it was plain, he thought the reason was
excellent, and he was entirely ready to back up what he had to say with
his sturdy fists. Weeks saw that plainly, and he had reason to fear the
burly conductor. Quickly he released Bessie's wrist, and a moment later
Norris would have had her out of the crush had not the arrival of
another man in uniform created a diversion. This time it really was a
policeman, and he came at the heels of the newsboy who had run after
him.
"Here's yer cop, mister! Now gimme the nickel!" said the boy shrilly to
the farmer.
"Run along! I never promised you no nickel," said Farmer Weeks,
looking nervously at Norris. But at that the crowd, which had been
disposed to side with him, transferred its sympathies suddenly to the
cheated newsboy, who was pouring out a stream of angry words, the
while he clung to Weeks' arm, demanding his money.
Weeks soon saw that he had better not try to save a nickel, much as he
valued it, and, reluctantly enough, he drew a purse from his trousers
pocket and gave the boy his money, counting out five pennies.
"Here, here; what's all this fuss about?" asked the policeman. He was
responsible for keeping order on his post, and before Weeks could
answer his question he drove the crowd away with sharp orders to
move on and be quick about it. Then he turned back to the farmer,
Bessie, and the conductor, who had taken Bessie's hand.

"Now then, whose pocket was picked? Yours, young lady?"
"No, consarn ye, mine!" said Farmer Weeks, angrily, as he heard the
question. "And she done it, too--she's a slick one, she is! An' this fresh
railroad man here was tryin' to help her get away. Like as not they work
together, an' he was fixin' to have her give him half of what she got."
Norris smiled at the policeman.
"You know me, Mike," he said. "Think I'm in that sort of business?"
"Begorra, an' I know ye're not!" said the policeman, indignantly. "Talk
straight, now, you old rube, an' tell me what it is you're tryin' to say.
What sort of a charge ye're after makin'?"
"She put her hand in my pocket--an' she stole my wallet," said Farmer
Weeks. "She's got it in her pocket now--her right-hand pocket!"
"How do you know that?" asked the policeman, sharply.
"How--why shouldn't I know? Look and see for yourself--"
But there was no need. Bessie herself, tears in her eyes, plunged her
hand into the pocket Weeks had named--and, to her consternation, the
wallet came out in her hand. She stared at it in stupefaction.
"I don't know how it got there! I never saw it before!" she exclaimed.
"H'm! This looks pretty bad, Tom," said the policeman. "Is this young
lady a friend of yours?"
"She is that," said Tom, stoutly. "And I'll go bail for her anywhere. She
never picked that old scalawag's pocket. I know him well, Mike, and
I've never known any good of him. He never rides on my train without
tryin' to beat the company out of the fare--uses every old trick you ever
heard of. Many's the time I've had to threaten to put him off between
stations before he'd fork over the money."
But Mike, the policeman, looked doubtful, as well he might, and there

was a gleam of evil triumph in the farmer's eyes.
"Listen here!" said Tom, suddenly. "He says that's his wallet, and he's
makin' enough fuss for it to have a thousand dollars inside. But when
he paid the boy he took a purse from his pocket to get the money."
"That's right. I seen him myself," said Mike, still scratching his head.
"I'll just have a look inside that pocket-book."
"Ye will not--that's my property!"