necessity of investigating the story further, the reporters agreed to
accept his version, and to accord with it they wrote their stories.

As Jack Foster left the police station, his anger at the system which
made it impossible for a person without influence or money to obtain
justice, was strong, and his heart went out to the boy, as he thought
how he would feel, were he himself in his place.

"If that boy isn't honest from the soles of his feet to the top of his
head, I shall be the most surprised man in New York," he said to
himself, "and if my paper has any influence, I am going to get him out
of his trouble."

Occupied with considering various plans for aiding Bob, Foster quickly
reached the store of Len Dardus, but as he entered and caught sight of
an old, gray-haired man, with a face in which craftiness was the chief
characteristic, he wondered if, after all, the police sergeant could
have been right.

"Is this Mr. Len Dardus?" asked Foster, walking up to the counter,
behind which this repelling creature stood.

"That's my name," snapped the proprietor of the store, adding as he
scrutinized his questioner closely:

"What do _you_ want?"

"I want to know if you have a boy working for you by the name of Bob
Chester."