sometimes when I carry a lot of boxes round for Mr.
Aronson he gives me my breakfast."

"Nobody else is responsible for you?"

"Nop!" returned the boy with emphasis. "No, sir, I mean."

"I'll attend to all this, Donovan," murmured Mr. Ackerman in an
undertone to the detective. "The lad shall not remain there. I don't
know yet just what I'll do with him but I will plan something." Then
addressing the lad, he continued, "In the meantime, Dick, you are to
consider me your relative. Later I shall hunt you up and we will get
better acquainted. Be a good boy, for I expect some day you are going to
make me very proud of you."

"What!"

In sheer astonishment the boy regarded his benefactor.

There was something very appealing in the little sharp-featured face
which had now lost much of its pallor and softened into friendliness.

"Why shouldn't you make me proud of you?" inquired Mr. Ackerman softly.
"You can, you know, if you do what is right."

"I'm goin' to try to, sir," burst out Dick with earnestness. "I'm goin'
to try to with all my might."

"That is all any one can ask of you, sonny," replied the steamboat
magnate. "Come, shake hands. Remember, I believe in you, and shall trust
you to live up to your word. The officer is going to let you go and none
of us is going to mention what has happened. I will fix up everything
for you and Mrs. Nolan so you can both go back to your work without
interference. Now bid Mr. Tolman and his son good-by and run along.
Before I leave the hotel I will look you up and you can give me Mr.
Aronson's address."

Master Richard Martin needed no second bidding. Eager to be gone he
awkwardly put out his hand, first to Mr. Tolman and then to Steve; and
afterward, with a shy smile to the detective and the policeman and a
boyish duck of his head, he shot into the hall and they heard him
rushing pell-mell down the corridor. Mrs. Nolan, however, was more
self-controlled. She curtsied elaborately to each of the men and called
down upon their heads every blessing that the sky could rain, and it was
only after her breath had become quite exhausted that she consented to
retire from the room and in company with the policeman and the detective
proceeded downstairs in the elevator.

"Well, Tolman," began the New Yorker when they were at last alone, "you
see my heart was my best pilot. I put faith in it and it led me aright.
Unfortunately it is now too late for the matinee but may I not renew my
i