Weeks soon saw that he had better not try to save a nickel, much as he valued it, and, reluctantly enough, he drew a purse from his trousers pocket and gave the boy his money, counting out five pennies.

“Here, here; what’s all this fuss about?” asked the policeman.  He was responsible for keeping order on his post, and before Weeks could answer his question he drove the crowd away with sharp orders to move on and be quick about it.  Then he turned back to the farmer, Bessie, and the conductor, who had taken Bessie’s hand.

“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 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.