. Track?" asked the lad.

"Oh, it's easy guessing, Tom. We jewelers are good readers of character.
I can size up a young fellow coming in here to buy an engagement or a
wedding ring, as soon as he enters the door. I suppose you'll soon be
in the market for one of those, Tom, if all the reports I hear about you
are true--you and a certain Mary Nestor."

"I--er--I think I don't care for any of these pins," spoke Tom, quickly,
with a blush. "I like the first lot best. I think I'll take the one I
had in my hand when that man alarmed you. Ha! That's odd! What did I do
with it?"

Tom looked about on the showcase, and glanced down on the floor. He had
mislaid the brooch, but the jeweler, with a laugh, lifted it out of a
tray a moment later.

"I saw you lay it down," he said. "We jewelers have to be on the watch.
Here it is. I'll just put it in a box, and--"

With an exclamation, Mr. Track gave a hasty glance toward his big show
window. Tom looked up, and saw a man's face peering in. At the sight of
it, he, too, uttered a cry of surprise.

The next instant the man outside knocked on the glass, apparently with
a piece of metal, making a sharp sound. As soon as he heard it, the
jeweler once more sprang from behind the showcase, and leaped for the
door crying:

"There's the thief! He's trying to cut a hole through my show window and
reach in and get something! It's an old trick. I'll get the police! Tom,
you stay here on guard!" and before the lad could utter a protest, the
jeweler had opened the door, and was speeding down the street in the
gathering darkness.

Tom stared about him in some bewilderment. He was left alone in charge
of a very valuable stock of jewelry, the owner of which was racing after
a supposed thief, crying:

"Police! Help! Thieves! Stop him, somebody!"

"This is a queer go," mused Tom. "I wonder who that man was? He looked
like somebody I know, and yet I can't seem to place his face. I
wonder if he was trying to rob the placer Maybe there's another one--a
confederate--around here."

This thought rather alarmed Tom, so he went to the door, and looked up
and down the street. He could see no suspicious characters, but in the
direction in which the jeweler was running there was a little throng of
people, following Mr. Track after the man who had knocked on the window.

"I wish I was there, instead of here," mused the lad. "Still I can't
leave, or a thief might come in. Perhaps that was the game, an