“We all do that sometimes,” said his new acquaintance. “I’ve been there myself. Where are you staying?” “At the Albemarle Hotel. Am I going the right way? I’ve got turned round, I think.” “Yes, you are on the right track. I live close by your hotel myself, so I can go along with you just as well as not.” “Thanks; you are really very kind.” “O, don’t mention it.” The other made no objection to the pickpocket passing his arm through his, and the two walked on together. “He means to rob him,” thought Paul. “What can I do to prevent it?” He didn’t quite like to make an accusation, though he remembered the thief’s face perfectly, till he had some ground for warning the intended victim. It might be that the pickpocket was merely taking the part of the good Samaritan, though it was by no means probable. The two men became sociable, and Paul was near enough to hear fragments of the conversation. He gathered that the stranger was from St. Louis--that he was visiting New York on a business errand, representing a firm, of which his father was the head. The pickpocket, who had been waiting only till he could gain the stranger’s confidence, now felt that it was time to be carrying out his plans. With dexterous fingers he managed to explore the pocket of his companion, and Paul caught sight, quick as he was, of his appropriation of his victim’s wallet. “I shall have to leave you here,” said he, abruptly, having no further motive for continuing the companionship. “Good night!” “Good night!” said the stranger. “Sorry to lose your company!” Paul was excited, as he might well be, for he saw that on him alone depended the frustration of the thief’s plans. “Stop thief!” he exclaimed, in a loud voice. The thief looked startled, and turning into Thirty Seventh Street ran towards Fifth Avenue. Paul followed in close pursuit. “Drop that wallet, or it will be worse for you!” exclaimed the undaunted boy. Had the night been dark, the thief would have taken the chances, and retained his booty. But he was sure to attract attention, and might any minute run into the arms of a policeman. The risk was too great. “There, curse you!” he muttered, throwing down the wallet. “Now stop following me!” Paul picked up the pocketbook, and ceased the pursuit. He had accomplished all he intended, and was willing to let the thief go free, now that he had restored his plunder. He retraced his steps to Sixth Avenue, where he found the stranger waiting for him. “Here is your pocketbook,” he said. “You have had a narrow escape.” “By Jove! I should think I had,” answered the young man. “How much money do you think there is in that wallet?” “Is it a large sum?” asked Paul, his curiosity aroused. “Fifteen hundred dollars--perhaps a little more. You’re a brave boy. But for you I should have lost it.” “I am very glad to have been of such service,” said Paul. “If the thief only knew what a purse he had lost he would feel like murdering me.”