more closely about him, he made a motion to continue on in the
service of his fellow-men.

"But wait, my good man," said Harry. "Am I to suppose, from what you
said, that 'Bold Bill' is the perpetrator of this base crime?"

"Precisely so," was the laconic reply; and the man moved on in
execution of his benevolent designs.

"He should be brought to justice," said Harry, as he turned to
enter. No sooner, however, had he closed the door, than he burst
forth in a loud laugh. This was soon changed to seriousness, for he
became confident that his friend Bill was in danger. To shield him,
if guilty, from detection, and protect him, if innocent, was now his
great object. But where should he find him? That was a problem he
could not solve. The boy was sleeping soundly; he must awaken him,
he must go out in search of his friend.

With this intention, he dressed himself in a stout, heavy overcoat,
and, locking the door hurriedly, walked up the street. On he went,
as though his life depended upon whether he reached a certain square
at a certain time. He looked at nothing save some far-distant
object, from which, as it approached, he withdrew his eyes, and
fixed them on an object yet distant. Turning a corner, a collision
took place between him and another man, who appeared to be in as
much haste as himself. He was about to proceed, when he who had met
him so abruptly struck him very familiarly upon the shoulder,
saying, as he did so, "Harry, how are you?-good luck-tin-lots of
it-watch-haste."