LITMIR.BIZ

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think a man must be inexcusably careless or simple," returned the spinster, "to allow a man to steal a ring from his finger. Do you suspect anybody?"

      "Yes; I sat beside a young man dressed up as a countryman. He was such a good imitation, that I was positively taken in. He looked as if he had been driving the plow all his life."

      "And he stole the ring?"

      "He must have done it. There was no one else near who had the chance."

      "But how could he slip it off your finger without your knowing it?"

      "The fact is, I fell into a doze, and when I was half asleep the ring was taken. After he had got it he got out at some station, and I am afraid I never shall see him again."

      "I am not satisfied with your explanation, Ferdinand."

      "You don't mean to say you doubt my word, Josephine?"

      "I paid fifty dollars for that ring at a jeweler's on Sixth Avenue, and I don't feel like losing so much money."

      "But it is my loss, as you gave it to me."

      "You forget that in case our engagement was broken, it was to be returned."

      "But you really don't think of breaking the engagement? You don't want to drive me to despair?"

      "Do you really love me so much, Ferdinand?" said the spinster, smiling complacently.

      "Can you doubt it? It makes me very unhappy to have you find fault with me."

      "But you must admit that you were very careless."

      "I confess it, but the man looked so innocent."

      "Do you think you shall ever meet him again?"

      "I think so. He may be in another disguise."

      "I will give you four weeks to do so, Ferdinand. If you don't succeed I shall require you to buy another in its place."

      "I will do my best," said Morris.

      "I really thought you were sharper, Ferdinand. No pickpocket could rob me."

      "I may try it some time," thought Morris. "It would be rather a satisfaction to do it too."

      "I wonder if I shall meet that country fellow again," thought Morris as he left the house. "If I do I'll see if I can't frighten him into returning my ring."

      The very next evening, in passing the Standard Theater, near the corner of Thirty-Third Street Morris saw and instantly recognized the tall, rustic figure and slouching walk of Joshua Bascom. He paused a moment in indecision, then summoning up all his native bravado, he stepped forward, and laid his hand on Joshua's shoulder.

      "Look here, my friend," he said in tone of authority, "I have some business with you."

      CHAPTER VIII.

      MR. BASCOM'S SAD PLIGHT

      Joshua turned in alarm, fearing that he was in the hands of a policeman.

      "What have I done?" he began. Then recognizing Morris, he said, "Why, it's the man who stole my wallet."

      "You must be crazy," rejoined Morris. "I charge you with theft."

      "Well, that beats all!" ejaculated Joshua. "Just give me back my ten dollars."

      "I admire your cheek, my friend," said Morris, "but it won't go down.

      Where is that ring you stole from my finger?"

      "You left it in my pocket when you put in your hand and stole my wallet."

      "Ha, you confess that you have got it. Where is it?"

      "Give me back my wallet and I may tell you."

      "My rural friend, you are in great danger. Do you see that policeman coming up the street? Well, I propose to give you in charge unless you give me back my ring."

      "I haven't got it," said Joshua, beginning to feel uneasy.

      "Then give me fifty dollars, the sum I paid for it."

      "Gosh all hemlock!" exclaimed Joshua impatiently. "You talk as if I was a thief instead of you."

      "So you are."

      "It's a lie."

      "Of course you say so. If you haven't fifty dollars, give me all you have, and I'll let you off."

      "I won't do it."

      "Then you must take the consequences. Here, policeman, I give this man in charge for stealing a valuable ring from me."

      "When did he do it – just now?"

      "Yes," answered Morris, with unexpected audacity. "He looks like a countryman but he is a crook in disguise."

      "Come along, my man!" said the policeman, taking Joshua in tow. "You must come with me."

      "I hain't done nothing," said Joshua. "Please let me go, Mr.

      Policeman."

      "That's what they all say," remarked Morris, shrugging his shoulders.

      "I see, he's an old offender," said the intelligent policeman, who had only been on the force three months.

      "He's one of the most artful crooks I ever met," said Morris. "You'd swear he was a countryman."

      "So I be," insisted Joshua. "I came from Barton, up Elmira way, and I've never been in the city before."

      "Hear him!" said Morris, laughing heartily. "Ask him his name."

      "My name's Joshua Bascom, and I go to the Baptist church reg'lar – just write and ask Parson Peabody, and he'll tell you I'm perfectly respectable."

      "My friend," said Morris, "you can't fool an experienced officer by any such rigmarole. He can read you like a book."

      "Of course I can," said the policeman, who felt the more flattered by this tribute because he was really a novice. "As this gentleman says, I knew you to be a crook the moment I set eyes on you."

      They turned the corner of Thirtieth Street on their way to the station house. Poor Joshua felt keenly the humiliation and disgrace of his position. It would be in all the papers, he had no doubt, for all such items got into the home papers, and he would not dare show his face in Barton again.

      "Am I going to jail?" he asked with keen anguish.

      "You'll land there shortly," said Morris.

      "But I hain't done a thing."

      "Is it necessary for me to go in?" asked Ferdinand Morris, with considerable uneasiness, for he feared to be recognized by some older member of the force.

      "Certainly." replied the policeman, "you must enter a complaint against this man."

      Morris peered into the station house, but saw no officer likely to remember him, so he summoned up all his audacity and followed the policeman and his prisoner inside. There happened to be no other case ahead, so Joshua was brought forward.

      "What has this man done?" asked the sergeant.

      "Stolen a ring from this gentleman here," answered the policeman.

      "Was the ring found on his person?"

      "No, sergeant. He has not been searched."

      "Search me if you want to. You won't find anything," said Joshua.

      "He has probably thrown it away," said Ferdinand Morris, sotto voce.

      "No, I hain't."

      "What is your name, sir?" asked the sergeant, addressing Morris.

      "My name is Clarence Hale," answered Morris, boldly, taking the name of a young man of respectable family whom he had met casually.

      "Where do you live?"

      "On Fourth Avenue, sir, near Eleventh Street."

      "Do you swear that this man stole your ring?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Where?"

      "In front of the Standard Theater."

      "How could he do it?" continued

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