“I’ll hammer you for that!”

“What did he do, Dick?”

“Knocked the glue over me. You country jay, you!” howled Dick Lenning, and, leaping up, he bore down on Jerry.

Lenning was a good deal of a bully. He was tall and strong, and evidently he thought he could make our hero submit to his will easily.

“Take that!” he fairly hissed, and aimed a blow at Jerry’s ear. The youth dodged it and caught his arm.

“Hold on!” Jerry ejaculated. “I don’t want to fight. You will only make trouble.”

“Let go!”

“Not until you promise to keep quiet.”

“I’ll promise nothing,” stormed Lenning, and began to struggle more excitedly than ever.

But he soon wore himself out, when Jerry got behind him and clasped hands over his breast. The bully was about to call on his friends to assist him, when a cry went up.

“Cheese it! Grice is coming this way.”

As if by magic the boys who had gathered around ran off to their work, leaving the bully and Jerry alone. Our hero released his opponent, and, turning around, Lenning glared at him vindictively.

“I’ll get even with you for this, see if I don’t,” he muttered in a hoarse whisper.

Then he followed his friends; and Mr. Grice came up and took Jerry to another part of the shop.

“I have changed my mind about letting you work here,” he said. “I want you to get used to the place before I put you among those other boys.”

Evening found our hero a good deal worn out, not so much by the work as by the close confinement of the bindery. How different life in the great metropolis was to life in the green fields of the country!

After supper Jerry determined to take a walk uptown, to get the outdoor exercise and also in hope of seeing something of the tramp who had taken the packet. He knew that looking for the tramp in the metropolis was a good deal like looking for a pin in a haystack, but imagined that even that pin could be found if one looked long and sharp enough for it.

The young oarsman sauntered forth toward Broadway, and thence past the Forty-second Street depot and up to Central Park. It was a long walk, but he did not mind it; in fact, it seemed to do him good, for it rested his mind.

The window displays interested Jerry not a little, and he took in everything that came along. So the time flew quickly, until, coming to a jeweler’s window, he saw it was after ten o’clock.

“I’ll have to be getting back,” he said to himself, and was on the point of returning when he saw that which surprised him greatly. A cab whirled past the corner upon which he was standing, and on the back seat he recognized Mr. Wakefield Smith.

The pickpocket was alone, and ere Jerry could stop him the cab rolled down the side street out of hearing.

Our hero did not stop long to consider what was best to do, but took to his heels and followed the cab as best he could.

The cab gained a distance of nearly two blocks, and Jerry was almost on the point of giving up, when it came to a halt in front of what looked like a private club-house. Wakefield Smith alighted and paid the cabman, who went about his business without delay.

“Stop there!” cried Jerry to the pickpocket, as the man mounted the steps of the house. But whether the man heard our hero or not, he paid no attention. When Jerry reached the spot he was standing on a low porch.

“Did you hear me?” went on Jerry, and, to prevent Smith from entering the place, our hero caught him by the button of his coat.

To Jerry’s surprise, the rascal offered no resistance. Instead, he came down the steps backward, and fell on his back on the sidewalk, his hat rolling toward the gutter.

“Shay, waz you do that fer?” he hiccoughed.

Jerry gazed at the pickpocket in wonder. Then the truth flashed over our hero. The man who had robbed him was beastly intoxicated.