Blue had not proceeded far on his way to the Courant office before he discovered that all at once he had become of unusual interest to his companions.

“How’d you hear anything about it?” he queried, as Billy Frick ran alongside, eagerly begging for particulars of the arrest.

“Huh! where d’ ye s’pose I keep myself? My, but ain’t you th’ lucky one!”

“Oh, it wasn’t such a great! Kind o’ fun to see ’em caught. Doodles thought of the triangle; I never should have.”

“Then’ll he git th’ money?”

“What money?”

“Aw, how innercent we be!”

“I don’t know what you’re drivin’ at,” protested Blue.

Billy caught his arm.

“See here, Blue Stick’! just you look me straight, an’ say that again!”

“Sure, I don’t!” Blue laughed.

Three boys came running across the street, and Billy turned to them.

“Say, fellers! he’s pertendin’ he ain’t on to that three thousand ’t Old Flemin’—”

“Ho! what a good one!”—“By ter-morrer he’ll be so swell he won’t know us!”—“Say, whin they goin’ ter pay ut?”

“I wish you’d say plain out what you mean, an’ stop talkin’ blind!” Blue was becoming irritated.

“Honest, don’t ye know ther’ ’s three thousand dollars comin’ to ye—”

“No, I don’t!” snapped Blue. “And you might as well stop right now tryin’ to stuff me! I ain’t a kid!”

“Hear him!” shouted Billy, doubling over with glee. “Come on in, an’ I’ll show yer whether we’re stuffin’ or not!”

Blue was pulled towards a grocery, and in a moment he and Billy were foremost of a group facing the proprietor of the shop.

“Say, Mr. Grumley, how much’d they offer for that Flemin’ kid?”

“Three thousand dollars. But you’re too late, Bill! They’ve just found the child an’ the hull of ’em up in The Flatiron, an’ the reward’s goin’ to a boy ’t lives there.”

“A—h! wha’ do ye say to that?” shrieked Billy delightedly. Then, to the grocer, “He’s the feller! An’ he would have it we was tryin’ to fool him! Do ye b’lieve it now?” with a sharp slap on Blue’s back.

The boy nodded dazedly, and then fled, the others close at his heels.

Three thousand dollars! It spun through his brain, it thumped in his breast, it shouted itself in his ears until he felt that everybody must hear it,—“Three thousand dollars! Three thousand dollars!” What would Doodles say? And his mother? Pshaw, it couldn’t be true! The money—if there really were any—would go to the police. He was a fool for harboring the hope of it—he, a penniless nobody who only showed the way!

Yet, notwithstanding all this, with his last paper delivered he was speeding back to The Flatiron, excitedly longing to see how astonished Doodles would be. But one glance at his brother’s face told him that the news was already there.

Doodles was sitting motionless, his big eyes round and radiant, yet with a hint of awe in them which reminded Blue of the time when he first clasped his violin.

Granny O’Donnell and Mrs. Homan were still discussing the affair, the younger woman with eager gestures, Granny placid as usual.

“Wal,” exclaimed Mrs. Homan, as the boy dashed in, “I s’pose yer’ll be such a big bug now ’t yer won’t think of ’sociatin’ with th’ rest of us!” Her little shrill laugh rang through the room.

Granny rose to her feet, and grasped Blue’s hand before he had time to answer.

“It’s glad I be f’r ye, glad as if ye was me own b’y!”

“Then it’s really true?” he queried.

“My, yes, true as sundown!” giggled Mrs. Homan. “I don’t wonder yer can’t b’lieve it. It’s just like things happen in books. ‘Land!’ I says, the minute I heard of it, ‘won’t that be s’lendid for the Stickneys! To think of havin’ a Rockefeller right here in The Flatiron!’”

Blue gave a bit of a chuckle, and went over to Doodles.

“Feelin’ all right, old man?”

A smiling, comprehensive nod contented him, and throwing a leg across the corner of the table he sat and answered Mrs. Homan’s questions, while he swept occasional glances round the room, glances which included the clock, and wished that the hour would hurry his curious visitor home.

It did at last, and Granny also; but he and Doodles had scarcely more than begun to exchange wonderings about what was foremost in their minds when Mrs. Homan ran up the stairs with a little apple pie.

“I says when I was makin’ it, I did n’ know what in th’ world I sh’d do with ’t, for Jud ain’t on speakin’ terms ’ith apple pie, an’ they’s on’y me ’n pa to ’nihilate ’em. But there was th’ crust, so I flung it together, ’n’ when I see ’t just now I says, ‘That’s who I made it for—th’ Stickneys! They’s ’nough f’r their supper, ’n’ ’t’ll jibe right in ’ith th’ fun. I’ll trot it straight up to ’em.’ No, land, don’t oust it off th’ plate now! I got ’nough dishes. Bye-bye again!”

“Isn’t that lovely of her!” smiled Doodles, as his brother, with a guilty pang, set the pie on the table.

“Guess she wouldn’t have brought it if she’d known how I’d been achin’ to have her get up and go,” was the soft-toned answer.

“Yes,” responded Doodles with an understanding sigh, “she does generally stay a good while. But I s’pose she means all right, and if folks’ hearts are good it doesn’t make so much difference about the rest of ’em, does it?”

Blue started to make a laughing reply, when the mother’s step was heard on the stairs, and he ran to open the door for her.

“Well!” she began.

“Heard about it?” he grinned.

“It’s on the bulletin board, but I couldn’t believe it!”

“We nabbed ’em all right!” Blue nodded emphatically. “I do’ know anything ’bout the reward ’cept what I hear.”

“The bulletin says it’s—” she hesitated to speak the figures which yet seemed so unwarrantably linked with her boy’s name.

“Three thousand dollars,” finished Blue glibly. It had been in his ears too much that afternoon for him to be shy in voicing it himself. “They say ther’ ’s been lots about it in the papers, but I never see the papers—that is, read ’em. My, but I wish we could have it!”

“Wish!—oh!” The mother’s voice quivered as she dropped into the rocker and put her hands to her face.

“For goodness’ sake, don’t cry! We haven’t got it yet!” Blue walked off towards the table, whistling softly. “Oh, say!” he burst out, “Mrs. Homan brought you this.” He held up the pie.

“How good everybody is!” Mrs. Stickney wiped her eyes, and pulled off her gloves. “Come and sit down, Blue, and tell me all about it! What made you think they were in the triangle?”

“I didn’t; ’twas Doodles. He wondered if they could be there, and I scouted the idea—didn’t I, old feller? Oh, if anything comes, it’s for Doodles, sure!”

Of course, the small boy protested; but Blue only laughed, while he proceeded with his account of the afternoon’s excitement.

For a full half hour the apple pie waited. Then Doodles suggested supper. Pies did not occur every day on the Stickney table.