The Newsboy Partners: or, Who Was Dick Box?

But he could think of no one on whom he might call. Jimmy's acquaintance was not among those capable of signing bail bonds.

A big crowd had gathered when the arrest was made, and Jimmy looked in vain among the throng for some friendly person by whom he could send word to Mr. Snowden of his plight He thought the manager might be able to help him.

Then when the officer led him away quite a number of newsboys and bootblacks followed. Reaching the precinct station-house, Jimmy was taken inside and made to stand in front of the big brass railing surrounding the desk, while the sergeant prepared to hear what the policeman had to say.

"Here's a kid that upset the Italian's cart," explained the bluecoat. "I seen him do it."

"Dat's a'right, Mr. Police," added the peddler. "He badda de boy. Knocka alla de banan in de streeta."

"What's your name?" asked the sergeant, drawing the blotter, or slate, toward him. On this were written the names of prisoners, and Jimmy, who had often been in station-houses when men were locked up, knew what was coming next.

"You're not going to lock me up, are you?" he asked.

"That's what we are," replied the sergeant. "This business of annoying the Italians has got to stop." He was only carrying out the orders of his superiors.

"But I didn't do it."

"Well, you can prove that to the judge in the morning and he'll let you go."

"Sure he done it," repeated the policeman. "I seen him."

Which was true enough as far as it went. The officer was honestly mistaken, as was the Italian. The sergeant wrote down Jimmy's name and other information which the lad gave.

"Anybody go your bail?" and the sergeant looked up on asking the usual question, for in such minor offenses as this he was empowered to take bail for prisoners.

"If you could send to Mr. Snowden, manager of the Newsboys' Lodging House, I'm sure he would," said Jimmy.

"Got any money to pay for a messenger?"

"Sure," and the newsboy hauled out a handful of change.

"All right," remarked the sergeant indifferently. "Doorman, lock him up and then call a messenger for him."

Even though he was to be locked in a cell, Jimmy did not mind it so much, now that there was a chance to get word to Mr. Snowden. He was searched, his money being all that was returned to him, his knife and some other possessions being retained by the sergeant until he should be bailed or discharged. Then the doorman summoned a district messenger boy, to whom Jimmy talked through the bars of his cell, instructing him to inform Mr. Snowden what had happened and ask him to come to the police-station.

Meanwhile the policeman had gone back on his beat, and the Italian, having been instructed to appear at court in the morning, was allowed to go. He had left his cart in front of the station-house, and his stock of bananas was much less when he came out, as the temptation of the fruit had been too much for the crowd of boys.

Mr. Snowden came promptly in response to Jimmy's request, and soon arranged for bail for the lad. So a few hours after he was arrested Jimmy was free again, but he would have to be tried in the morning.

"I'd advise you," said the sergeant, who took more interest in Jimmy's case when he heard from the lodging-house superintendent what sort of a lad the newsboy was, "to hunt up these two chaps you say pushed you. If you see them call a policeman and have them arrested. You can make a charge against them."

"But will a cop – I mean a policeman – arrest them on my say-so?" asked Jimmy.

"I guess so. Wait, I'll give you a note, and you can show it to the officer nearest at hand when you see those two chaps," and the sergeant wrote out a note for Jimmy.

Then with Mr. Snowden the boy left the station-house, his mind made up to search for Mike and Bulldog and cause their arrest. And this was not so much because he was vindictive as that he wanted to be cleared of the unjust charge.

"How's Dick?" asked Jimmy of the lodging-house manager.

"Not quite so well," was the grave answer. "But don't worry. I guess he'll be all right."

"I suppose I'd better go back and take care of him instead of chasing after Mike and Bulldog."

"No, perhaps it will be well for you to stay away. He will be sure to question you, and if he hears of your arrest it might excite him. I will tell him you are all right, but that you have some business to attend to. Meanwhile you can look for those two young rowdies. I hope you find them. I'll look out for Dick; so don't worry."

After a hasty supper Jimmy set out to find the two bullies, with the note from the sergeant safe in his pocket. He knew where Mike and Bulldog usually were to be found at night – in the neighborhood of some of the moving picture shows – and thither Jimmy went.

As he walked down the Bowery he saw a crowd in front of a brilliantly-lighted store, the proprietor of which, to draw trade, had installed a small cage of monkeys. There was quite a throng of men and boys watching the antics of the creatures.

As Jimmy approached the outer line of people he saw, standing close together near the window, the two bullies whom he sought. This was unexpected good luck, and he looked around for a policeman. He saw one not far off, and then seeing a newsboy whom he knew, Jimmy quietly whispered to the latter to summon the officer.

"What fer?" asked the lad.

"You'll see in a minute. There's going to be some fun."

For Jimmy had made up his mind to grab both the bullies and hold them until the officer could arrive, regardless of what they might do to him, though he knew they would beat and kick him in an endeavor to get away. But he calculated it could not last long, as just before he prepared to tackle the two he saw the officer start toward the throng.

"Now for it," said Jimmy in a whisper to himself.

But just then something most unexpected happened. As Jimmy crept closer to the two unsuspecting ones he saw the hand of Mike Conroy slip into the pocket of a man standing near him. Softly and slowly the hand was inserted, and a moment later it was withdrawn, holding a pocketbook.

"He's picking that man's pocket!" thought Jimmy. "Now I can make another charge against him."

He made a sudden grab for Mike. At the same instant the man who had been robbed turned around, for he felt some movement in his pocket.

"Mr. Crosscrab!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he saw the man's face.

"Why, Jimmy, I've been looking for you!" cried the young man. "But what's this? My pocketbook!"

For he saw it in Mike's hand, which Jimmy held in a firm grasp.

"He stole it!" cried Jimmy.

"I did not! I found it on de sidewalk, an' I were jest goin' t' hand it back t' him!" cried the bully.

"Hold him, Mr. Crosscrab!" cried Jimmy, making a grab for Bulldog, who, seeing how matters were going, was trying to sneak away. Mr. Crosscrab acted promptly, and Mike struggled in vain to get loose.

"Let me go or I'll smash youse a good one!" threatened Bulldog, but Jimmy held grimly on.

"What's the row?" asked the policeman, hurrying through the crowd that had encircled the four.

"He tried to rob me," explained Mr. Crosscrab, and it was very evident, for the pocketbook had fallen to the sidewalk when Mike opened his hand.

"All right. I'll take him in. You'll have to come along and make a charge."

"I'll do it."

"And I want this one arrested!" exclaimed Jimmy.