"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