“Yes, mine is all right yet.  How is it with yours, my dear young friend?  I hope your money is in a safe place, that is, if you have any with you?”

“Yes, I have two dollars and some small money; but better than all, I have a gold piece that I keep in the safest place in my pocketbook.  I am not intending to spend it for I have enough without it, but my father said that one ought to have more money with him than he thinks he will need.”

“Your father is evidently a kind and sensible man.”

“Yes, he certainly is.  He told me to keep my nickels in my vest pocket that I need not take out my pocketbook when with strangers.”

“That is true in most cases, my boy, but from long experience in living in a city I would advise that you put it all in one place.  If all your money is in your pocketbook you can guard it much better than if your attention was divided by having to guard two places.”

Fritz took the advice and his nickels to the value of two marks were taken from his vest pocket and put in his purse, and the purse returned to the pocket of his pants.

“Now that is right, and you may thank this notice which has warned you.  Just see how easily one expert pick-pocket could have gotten your money had you not been warned,” and he showed Fritz how it could be done.

Pixy had kept his eyes upon the stranger and when he saw his hand glide down to the pocket, he gave a low growl.

“Be quiet, Pixy!” said his master.  “Don’t you know a friend from an enemy?  Excuse my dog’s bad manners, please; he is not in a good humor.  Some street boys attacked us, and he had to fight them off.”

“Don’t say a word, my dear boy.  He is a faithful servant.  If he is jealous of a friend, he would have a still sharper eye upon an enemy if one should happen along.  Now, Pixy, good, brave dog, eat this piece of candy, and let us be friends.”

He took the candy from his vest pocket and offered it, but Pixy scorned the gift, and gave an angry growl.

“Oh well, doggie, I will not trouble you any longer,” and he put the candy back in his pocket.  “Now I must away.  Bye-bye, my boy, and beware—­of—­pick-pockets,” and he disappeared around the corner.

Pixy sprang up to follow, but the boy called him back.

“Franz was right, Pixy, when he said you have no sense,” complained Fritz, as the dog continued to give dissatisfied growls.  “You don’t know a kind, good man from a thief and dislike him only because he is a stranger.  Yes,” he said to himself, as he walked along back to the store, “it was real kind in him to warn me, for he did not know but I was a stupid country boy who had never heard of pocket-took thieves.  I would like to see a thief that could put his hand in my pocket without my knowing it.  Stupid people are yet to be found, for with all the reports of thieves in the papers, there are people who allow themselves to be robbed, but they are generally women.  People like me would know a thief the moment they saw him.”