Ben lost no time in calling at Simpson’s and redeeming his watch. He felt very fortunate in recovering it so soon.

Mr. Snodgrass dropped a hint that he should be glad to have Ben redeem his watch too, but the young actor did not feel that his prosperity was sure to be permanent, and ignored the suggestion. In fact his engagement continued but four weeks, as at the end of that time Mr. Wilkins’s play had to give place to another attraction at the People’s Theater.

“I hope, Ben,” said Mr. Wilkins, “that the piece may go on the road soon, but just at present we have not been able to find a capitalist willing to advance the necessary sum. If a new company is organized I shall try to get your old part for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilkins. Of course I should like it. But the four weeks I have played have been of great service to me. Besides paying a debt and getting my watch out of pawn, I have been able to save up sixty dollars, which are safely deposited in the Union Dime Savings Bank.”

“That is good. And what do you propose to do, Ben?”

“I shall go back to my old business.”

“Selling papers on the Bowery?”

“Yes.”

“It must be slow after being a popular favorite on the stage.”

“It will be, but I don’t want to be idle.”

“Perhaps you are right. I will be on the look-out for you, and if I find something more congenial I will inform you at once.”

Ben did find it slow work following his old business. He missed the nightly applause, and the pleasant consciousness that he was earning three times his necessary expenses.

But it was agreeable to think that he had some money in the savings bank to fall back upon. Mr. Snodgrass urged him to use a part of it, and even hinted that he should be glad to borrow ten dollars, but Ben knew the novelist too well to feel that it would be a safe investment.

It was about this time that a young man of twenty took an unoccupied room at Mrs. Robinson’s house. He professed to be earning twelve dollars a week in a counting house on Pearl Street as assistant bookkeeper.

He was dressed in quite a pretentious style, and had a large stock of flashy neckties. He had seen Ben on the stage at the People’s Theater, and this led him to cultivate his acquaintance.

“You must have saved up a lot of money while you were acting,” he said one day.

“A little, Mr. Grayson,” Ben admitted. “I have sixty dollars in the Union Dime Savings Bank.”

“Humph! I don’t think much of savings banks.”

“What do you consider better?”

“I’ve got a friend doing business in Wall Street. Give it to me and I’ll get him to buy a few shares of stock for you on a margin.”

“I think I would prefer to leave the money where it is.”

“All you will get there is a paltry four per cent.”

“The interest doesn’t amount to much, to be sure, but the money is safe.”

George Grayson did not press the matter, but invited Ben out to play pool at a place on Sixth Avenue. “I never played the game,” said Ben.

“No matter; you’ll pick it up directly.”

“But I can’t afford to play it.”

“It only costs five cents.”

Knowing nothing of the game, Ben accepted this as true, and curiosity led him to accompany his new acquaintance.

“I’ll coach you,” said Grayson.

They made choice of tables and commenced playing. Two other young men, friends of Grayson, joined them.

The game occupied only about ten minutes. Ben succeeded in pocketing one ball, and naturally stood last.

“Well, Ben, you’re beaten!” said Grayson. “The rule is to pay at the end of each game.”

Ben took a nickel from his pocket and handed it to the attendant.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“My friend told me that the game cost five cents.”

“Yes, five cents a cue.”

“Well, I only used one cue.”

“Come, young feller, no fooling! There were four played, and as you were beaten you pay for the whole. Fifteen cents more.”

“That’s straight, Ben,” said Grayson. “But you told me it would be only five cents.”

“Don’t argue the matter or all the boys will be laughing at you.”

Ben saw that he had been deceived, but took the advice of his tricky companion.

“Now for another game!” said Grayson.

“You can count me out,” said Ben.

“What! Does it worry you so much to get beaten?” sneered his companion.

“No, but I can’t afford to play.”

“You say that with sixty dollars in the bank!”

“I shouldn’t have it there long, if I played pool every evening.”

Grayson whispered some words in the ear of the next player and he laughed rather derisively. Ben thought he caught the word “miser.” At any rate he had had enough of pool playing, and soon after left the hall.

He did not feel very cordial towards Grayson, but the latter made friendly advances, and as he said no more about pool Ben gradually admitted him to companionship.

Two or three times he asked Grayson the street and number of the business firm which employed him, but only received an evasive answer.

There came a dull time, so far as news was concerned, and Ben found that the sale of papers fell off, so that he was no longer able to earn seventy-five cents a day. This was the very smallest sum on which he could live even with the strictest economy, and, reluctant as he was to do it, he found that he must draw some money from the savings bank.

During Ben’s career as an actor he had increased his stock of underclothing, and, having only a gripsack, had invested in a small sized trunk, which he found much more convenient.

In the tray of this trunk he had placed his savings bank book. He opened the trunk and looked confidently for the book. But to his surprise it was not to be found.

“Perhaps I put it in the lower part of the trunk,” he said to himself, though he felt sure it had been in the tray. He continued his search, but it proved to be vain.

Ben sat down before the open trunk and tried to recall all the incidents connected with the last time of opening it. But the more he thought the more puzzled he became.

Then it flashed upon him that the book might have been stolen. He went at once to the room of his literary friend, Sylvanus Snodgrass, and told him of his discovery.

“It has been stolen!” said Sylvanus instantly. “I introduced an incident like this into my last serial story for the Bugle.”

“But who could have stolen it?” asked Ben, perplexed. “The servant wouldn’t do it I am sure.”

“No, she is an honest Swedish girl. She wouldn’t be capable of it.”

“I agree with you, but some one must have taken it from the trunk.”

“Of course! Let me think,” and the novelist leaned his head on his hand and wrinkled up his forehead in the throes of mental speculation.

“I have it!” he exclaimed suddenly.

“What! the bank book!”

“No; I begin to understand the mystery.”

Ben regarded him patiently. He knew that Sylvanus would soon impart to him his suspicions.

“Last evening I took a walk with Grayson,” said the novelist. “I noticed a new and handsome ring upon his finger. I asked him where it came from. He said, ‘It was given me by a friend,’ but he spoke hesitatingly. ‘It must have cost as much as ten dollars,’ I said. ‘Fifteen!’ he answered. ‘That is, I saw a ring like it in a shop window for fifteen dollars.’

“Depend upon it, Ben, that ring was bought with your money, and George Grayson opened your trunk and stole your bank book.”

“I don’t like to think so,” said Ben, troubled.

“I feel sure of it.”

“What would you advise me to do?”

“Go to the bank, give notice of your loss, and find out whether any money has been drawn from the bank on your account.”

This seemed to be sensible advice, and Ben acted upon it the next morning. Mr. Snodgrass accompanied him to the banking house at the junction of Broadway and Sixth Avenue at Thirty-second Street.

Ben went up to one of the windows—the one where the paying teller pays over the money—and gave notice of the loss of his book—giving the number.

“When did you see the book last?” asked the official.

“Wednesday.”

“And to-day is Friday.”

“I should like to know if any money has been drawn on it?” asked Ben.

The books were referred to, and the answer came, “Forty dollars were drawn day before yesterday. Didn’t you sign the order?”

“No.” The receipt was looked up, and the signature examined.

“Isn’t that your signature?”

“No, sir.”

“Then it must have been imitated. The resemblance is very close.”

Ben was forced to admit that it was.

At this moment Sylvanus, who had been looking out of the front window, came up and said hurriedly, “Grayson is coming, and he has a bank book in his hand.”