Julius, The Street Boy

“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Julius.

“My watch and chain are gone. Do you know anything about them, boy?”

“I think you had better put that question to the man you’re sittin’ with.”

“What do you mean by that, you young rascal?” demanded Ned Sanders, pale with passion and dismay. “I think, sir, the boy behind you has taken your watch.”

“I don’t see how he could do that,” said the other, regarding him suspiciously. “Can you tell me where my watch is sir?”

“What should I know of your watch? Do you mean to insult me, sir?” blustered the pickpocket.

His manner increased the suspicions of his victim, who recognized, by his appearance and flashy attire, the class to which he belonged. He turned to Julius, and asked, “What made you refer to this gentleman?”

“Because,” said Julius bluntly, “I saw him take it. He held up the paper before him, while he loosened your chain. He’s got it in his pocket now.”

“That is sufficient. Now, sir,” he said sternly, “I command you instantly to return my watch and chain.”

“I haven’t got it. The boy lies,” said Sanders, furiously.

By this time, most of the passengers in the car had gathered around the two. Just at this moment, too, the conductor entered.

“What’s the matter, gentlemen?” he asked.

“This man has stolen my watch,” said the stout man.

“It’s a – lie!” said Sanders.

“Are you willing to show us what you have in your pockets?” said the conductor.

“No, I’m not. I am a New York merchant, and I won’t submit to an impertinence.”

“Where is your place of business?”

“In Pearl Street,” answered Sanders, quite at random.

“Have you one of your business cards with you?”

“I believe so.”

He felt in his pocket, and appeared surprised at finding none.

“I believe I have none with me,” he admitted. “I generally have some.”

“What’s your business?”

“I’m in the clothing business?” said Sanders, with some hesitation.

“What is your name?”

“I won’t answer any more questions,” said the pickpocket, desperately. “You have insulted me enough, all of you. Just make way, will you? I am going to get out.”

The cars had just stopped at a way station.

Sanders attempted to arise, but his victim seized him by the arm.

“You don’t leave this car till you have surrendered my watch,” he said.

“Let go, or I’ll strike you,” said Sanders, losing his prudence in his anger.

“You can’t get out till you have been searched,” said the conductor. “Who is the boy that saw him take the watch?”

“I did,” said Julius.

“Where did he put it? Did you notice?”

“In his left breast pocket.”

“Show us what you have in that pocket.”

Sanders hesitated? and then drew out a handkerchief.

“There, I hope you are satisfied,” he said.

Meantime his neighbor, pressing his hand against the pocket on the outside, exclaimed triumphantly:

“He’s got the watch. I can feel it.”

The thief uttered a profane ejaculation, and made a desperate effort to arise, but three men threw themselves upon him, two holding him down, while the other drew out the watch and chain, and handed them to their owner.

“Now will you let me go?” demanded Sanders, doggedly. He felt that it would do no good to indulge in further protestations of innocence.

“No,” said the conductor. “Gentlemen, will you guard him till we reach the next station? Then I will place him in the hands of an officer.”

“Boy,” said Sanders, turning around, and glaring fiercely at Julius, “I shan’t forget you. Some time I’ll make you repent what you’ve done to-day.”

“Don’t mind him, my lad,” said the stout man, elated by the recovery of his property. “You’ve done exactly right. But how came you to suspect this man?”

“Because I knew him,” said Julius.

Here Sanders turned around, and scanned our hero’s face sharply.

“That’s a lie!” he said.

“It’s not a lie, Mr. Ned Sanders,” said Julius. “I’ve seen you more than once.”

Again Sanders scanned his features sharply. This time a light dawned upon him.

“I know you now,” he said; “you’re Jack Morgan’s boy.”