case was called. The policeman who had arrested Dick
presented himself with our hero.

Dick was so neatly dressed, and looked so modest and self-possessed,
that the judge surveyed him with some surprise.

"What is this lad charged with?" he demanded.

"With taking a wallet from a gentleman's pocket," said the policeman.

"Did you arrest him?"

"I did."

"Did you take him in the act?"

"No; I did not see him take it."

"What have you to say, prisoner? Are you guilty or not guilty?" said the
judge, turning to Dick.

"Not guilty," said Dick, quietly.

"State why you made the arrest," said the judge.

"I saw him with the wallet in his hand."

"Is the gentleman who had his pocket picked, present?"

"He is."

"Summon him."

The red-faced man came forward, and gave his testimony. He stated that
he was standing on the sidewalk, when he felt a hand thrust into his
pocket, and forcibly withdrawn. He immediately felt for his wallet, and
found it gone. Turning, he saw a boy running, and immediately gave
chase.

"Was the boy you saw running the prisoner?"

"I suppose it was."

"You suppose? Don't you know?"

"Of course it was, or he would not have been found with the wallet in
his hand."

"But you cannot identify him from personal observation?"

The red-faced man admitted with some reluctance that his eyesight was
very poor, and he did not catch sight of the boy till he was too far off
to be identified.

"This is not so clear as it might be," said the judge. "Still,
appearances are against the prisoner, and as the wallet was found in his
possession, he must be found guilty, unless that fact can be
satisfactorily explained."

"I have a witness who can explain it," said Dick.

"Where is he?"

Tim Ryan, who understood that his evidence was now wanted, came forward.

After being sworn, the judge asked, "What is your name?"

"Tim Ryan, sir."

"Where do you live?"

"In Mulberry Street."

"Tell what you know of this case."

"I was standing in Chatham Street, when I saw the ould gintleman with
the red face (here the prosecutor scowled at Tim, not relishing the
description which was given of him) standing at the corner of Pearl
Street. A boy came up, and put his hand into his pocket, and then run
away as fast as his legs could carry him, wid the wallet in his hand."

"Who was this boy? Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell his name."

"It was Micky Maguire," said Tim, reluctantly.

"And who