“Aint this the Washington Bank?” asked the countryman, pointing to the building on the steps of which the three were now standing.

“No, it’s the Custom House.”

“And won’t they give me any money for this?” asked the young man, the perspiration standing on his brow.

“I am afraid the man who gave it to you was a swindler,” said Frank, gently.

“And won’t I ever see my fifty dollars again?” asked the youth in agony.

“I am afraid not.”

“What’ll dad say?” ejaculated the miserable youth.  “It makes me feel sick to think of it.  I wish I had the feller here.  I’d shake him out of his boots.”

“What did he look like?  I’ll call a policeman and you shall describe him.  Perhaps in that way you can get track of your money.”

Dick called a policeman, who listened to the description, and recognized the operator as an experienced swindler.  He assured the countryman that there was very little chance of his ever seeing his money again.  The boys left the miserable youth loudly bewailing his bad luck, and proceeded on their way down the street.

“He’s a baby,” said Dick, contemptuously.  “He’d ought to know how to take care of himself and his money.  A feller has to look sharp in this city, or he’ll lose his eye-teeth before he knows it.”

“I suppose you never got swindled out of fifty dollars, Dick?”

“No, I don’t carry no such small bills.  I wish I did,” he added.

“So do I, Dick.  What’s that building there at the end of the street?”

“That’s the Wall-Street Ferry to Brooklyn.”

“How long does it take to go across?”

“Not more’n five minutes.”

“Suppose we just ride over and back.”

“All right!” said Dick.  “It’s rather expensive; but if you don’t mind, I don’t.”

“Why, how much does it cost?”

“Two cents apiece.”

“I guess I can stand that.  Let us go.”

They passed the gate, paying the fare to a man who stood at the entrance, and were soon on the ferry-boat, bound for Brooklyn.

They had scarcely entered the boat, when Dick, grasping Frank by the arm, pointed to a man just outside of the gentlemen’s cabin.

“Do you see that man, Frank?” he inquired.

“Yes, what of him?”

“He’s the man that cheated the country chap out of his fifty dollars.”

CHAPTER XI

DICK AS A DETECTIVE

Dick’s ready identification of the rogue who had cheated the countryman, surprised Frank.

“What makes you think it is he?” he asked.

“Because I’ve seen him before, and I know he’s up to them kind of tricks.  When I heard how he looked, I was sure I knowed him.”

“Our recognizing him won’t be of much use,” said Frank.  “It won’t give back the countryman his money.”

“I don’t know,” said Dick, thoughtfully.  “May be I can get it.”