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!" said Farmer Weeks, reaching quickly
for the wallet.

But Mike was too quick for him, and in a moment he had opened the
wallet, and could see that it was empty, except for a few torn pieces of
paper, evidently put in it to stuff it out, and deceive people into
thinking that it contained a wad of bills.

"What sort of game are yez tryin' to put up on us here?" demanded the
policeman, angrily. "Here, take yer book--"