day or two afterwards Dick was walking leisurely through Chatham
Street, about half past one o'clock. He was allowed an hour, about noon,
to go out and get some lunch, and he was now on his way from the
restaurant which he usually frequented. As it was yet early, he paused
before a window to look at something which attracted his attention.
While standing here he became conscious of a commotion in his immediate
neighborhood. Then he felt a hand thrust into the side-pocket of his
coat, and instantly withdrawn. Looking up, he saw Micky Maguire dodging
round the corner. He put his hand into his pocket mechanically, and drew
out a pocket-book.

Just then a stout, red-faced man came up puffing, and evidently in no
little excitement.

"Seize that boy!" he gasped, pointing to Dick. "He's got my
pocket-book."

Contrary to the usual rule in such cases, a policeman did happen to be
about, and, following directions, stepped up, and laid his hand on
Dick's shoulder.

"You must go with me, my fine fellow," he said "Hand over that
pocket-book, if you please."

"What's all this about?" said Dick. "Here's the pocket-book, if it is
yours. I'm sure I don't want it."

"You're a cool hand," said the guardian of the public peace. "If you
don't want it, what made you steal it from this gentleman's pocket?"

"I didn't take it," said Dick, shortly.

"Is this the boy that stole your pocket-book?" demanded the policeman of
the red-faced man, who had now recovered his breath.

"It's the very young rascal. Does he pretend to deny it?"

"Of course he does. They always do."

"When it was found on him too! I never knew such barefaced impudence."

"Stop a minute," said Dick, "while I explain. I was standing looking in
at that window, when I felt something thrust into my pocket. I took it
out and found it to be that pocket-book. Just then that gentleman came
up, and charged me with the theft."

"That's a likely story," said the officer. "If any one put the
pocket-book into your pocket, it shows you were a confederate of his.
You'll have to come with me."

And poor Dick, for the first time in his life, was marched to the
station-house, followed by his accuser, and a gang of boys. Among these
last, but managing to keep at a respectful distance, was Micky Maguire.

CHAPTER XIII.

DICK IN THE STATION-HOUSE.

Poor Dick! If Trinity Church spire had suddenly fallen to the ground, it
could scarcely have surprised and startled him