would not allow too much _temptashun_ to get in that boy's way. The man
turned to me and says:

"Stranger, this is your pocket-book, for I'le swear I saw you drop it."

What could a poor helpless old man like me do in euch a case, Mister
PUNCHINELLO? That man was willin' to sware that I dropped it, and I
larnt enuff about law, when I was Gustise of the Peece, to know I
coulden't swear I diden't drop it, and any court would decide agin me;
at the same time my hands itched to get holt of the well filled wallet.

I trembled all over for fear a policeman, who was standin' on the
opposite corner, mite come over and stick in his lip.

But no! like the wooden injuns before cigar stores, armed with a
tommyhawk and scalpin' knife, these city petroleums, bein' rather
slippery chaps, hain't half so savage as they look.

When the boy heerd the man say I owned the pocket-book he caved in, and
began to blubber. Said he, whimperin':

"Well--I--want--a--re--ward--for--findin' the--pocket-bo--hoo--ok."

The well dressed individual, still holdin' onto the boy, then said to
me:

"My friend, I'me a merchant, doin' bizziness on Broadway, at 4-11-44.
You've had a narrer escape from losin' your pocket-book. Give this rash
youth $50, to encourage him in bein' honest in the futer, and a glorious
reward awaits you. Look at me, sir!" said he, vehemently; "the turnin'