It would be hard to express Jerry’s feelings when he found Mr. Wakefield Smith was suffering heavily from intoxication. For the moment he could do nothing but stare at the man as he lay helpless on the pavement.

“Waz you mean, boy?” went on Smith, and he tried in vain to get up. “Waz you knock me down for, I demand to know?”

“Do you recognize me?” said our hero sharply, as he looked the pickpocket squarely in the face.

“No—don’t know you from Adam, ’pon my word.”

“I am Jerry Upton, the boy you robbed the other night.”

At the words Smith straightened up for a moment and a look of alarm crossed his face.

“Jerry Upton,” he repeated, slowly.

“Yes. What have you done with my money?”

“Ain’t got a dollar of your money.”

“If you haven’t, you’ve drank it up,” Jerry ejaculated. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Zat’s all right, m’boy, all right, I assure you. Come on and have a good time with me.”

With great difficulty Wakefield Smith arose to his feet and staggered towards the house he had been on the point of entering. Jerry pulled him back and held him. As our hero did this he saw Smith drop a ten-dollar bill. Jerry picked it up.

“You are not going in there—you are going with me.”

“Where to?”

“To the nearest station-house.”

The pickpocket gave a hiccough and a cry of alarm that was very much like a whine.

“To the station-house?”

“Yes; come on.”

“Never.”

Smith struggled feebly to get away, but the boy held him with ease. Overcome, the man finally sat down on the curbstone and refused to budge.

“Shay, let us compromise,” he mumbled. “It was all a mistake.”

“It was no mistake.”

“If I give you ten dollars, will you call it off?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t git a cent, see?”

And with great deliberation the pickpocket closed one bleared eye and glared at Jerry.

“We’ll see about that later,” cried our hero, hotly, and catching the rascal by the collar the youth yanked him to a standing position. “Now come on, and no nonsense.”

Seeing that the youth was not to be fooled with, Wakefield Smith tried to dicker again, getting himself badly twisted in his plea that he would make everything all right. Jerry would not trust him and forced him to walk along until the nearest corner was reached. Here he suddenly made a clutch at an electric-light pole and held fast.

“Help! help! help!” he cried out at the top of his lungs. “Police!”

The young oarsman did not know what to make of this appeal for assistance, for it seemed to him that the authorities were the very people Mr. Wakefield Smith wished to avoid. He was destined, however to soon learn a trick that was brand new to him.

The pickpocket had hardly uttered his cry when a bluecoat put into appearance and came running to the spot.

“What’s the trouble here?” he demanded.

“Shay, officer, make that young fellow go away,” hiccoughed Mr. Wakefield Smith.

“What is he up to?”

“Trying to rob me, officer; reg’lar slick Aleck.”

At this cool assertion Jerry was dumbfounded.

“So you’re trying to rob this gent, eh?” said the bluecoat, turning to our hero and catching his arm. “I reckon I came just in time.”

“It’s a falsehood; he is the pickpocket,” rejoined Jerry as soon as he could speak.

“He looks like it,” said the officer, sarcastically.

“He didn’t rob me now, he robbed several nights ago. I just ran across him.”

“He’s a slick Aleck,” went on Mr. Wakefield Smith. “Don’t let him take my watch, officer!”

“No fear of that. Come along with me, young man.”

“If I have to go I want him to go, too.”

At these words Mr. Wakefield Smith’s face changed color.

“I can’t go, officer; have an important engagement at the—er—club.”

“He is a pickpocket and I’ll prove it at the station house,” said Jerry, warningly. “It is your duty to make him go along. I’ll help you carry him if it’s necessary.”

“And you’ll skip out, too, if you get the chance,” remarked the policeman, grimly.

“If you think that, handcuff me to this fellow.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do, sir.”

“Hang me if I don’t think you are honest, after all.”

“He’s a big thief!” bawled Mr. Wakefield Smith.

“Keep quiet and come along. They can straighten matters out at the precinct.”

The officer took Mr. Wakefield Smith by the arm and started to walk the prisoner away. With a dexterous twist the intoxicated man cleared himself and plunged down the street.

The bluecoat and Jerry made after him as quickly as they could, but a drawing school in the neighborhood had just let out, and they were detained by the crowd. Mr. Wakefield Smith stumbled across the street and down a side thoroughfare that was very dark. The officer and our hero went after him, but at the end of the second block he was no longer to be seen.

“Now you’ve let him escape,” said Jerry to the policeman. “I have a good mind to report you.”

“Go on with you!” howled the officer in return. “I reckon it was a put up job all around. Clear about your business or I’ll run you in for disorderly conduct!”

And he made such a savage dash at the young oarsman with his long club that our hero was glad to retreat.

He continued the hunt for the pickpocket alone, but without avail, and, much disheartened, finally returned to his boarding-house. He was afraid he had seen the last of Mr. Wakefield Smith, and was glad he had gotten at least ten dollars from the pickpocket.