"Give me my money, then." "If you don't stop that, I'll knock you down," repeated the pickpocket, shaking off Ben's grasp, and moving forward rapidly. If he expected to frighten our hero away thus easily, he was very much mistaken. Ben had too much at stake to give up the attempt to recover the letter. He ran forward, and, seizing the man by the arm, he reiterated, in a tone of firm determination, "Give me my money, or I'll call a copp." "Take that, you young villain!" exclaimed the badgered thief, bringing his fist in contact with Ben's face in such a manner as to cause the blood to flow. In a physical contest it was clear that Ben would get the worst of it. He was but a boy of sixteen, strong, indeed, of his age; but still what could he expect to accomplish against a tall man of mature age? He saw that he needed help, and he called out at the top of his lungs, "Help! Police!" His antagonist was adroit, and a life spent in eluding the law had made him quick-witted. He turned the tables upon Ben by turning round, grasping him firmly by the arm, and repeating in a voice louder than Ben's, "Help! Police!" Contrary to the usual custom in such cases, a policeman happened to be near, and hurried to the spot where he was apparently wanted. "What's the row?" he asked. Before Ben had time to prefer his charge, the pickpocket said glibly:-- "Policeman, I give this boy in charge." "What's he been doing?" "I caught him with his hand in my pocket," said the man. "He's a thieving young vagabond." "That's a lie!" exclaimed Ben, rather startled at the unexpected turn which affairs had taken. "He's a pickpocket." The real culprit shrugged his shoulders. "You aint quite smart enough, boy," he said. "Has he taken anything of yours?" asked the policeman, who supposed Ben to be what he was represented. "No," said the pickpocket; "but he came near taking a money letter which I have in my pocket." Here, with astonishing effrontery, he displayed the letter which he had stolen from Ben. "That's _my_ letter," said Ben. "He took it from my pocket." "A likely story," smiled the pickpocket, in serene superiority. "The letter is for Mrs. Abercrombie, a friend of mine, and contains fifty dollars. I incautiously wrote upon the envelope 'Money enclosed,' which attracted the attention of this young vagabond, as I held it in my hand. On replacing it in my pocket, he tried to get possession of it." "That's a lie from beginning to end," exclaimed Ben, impetuously. "He's tryin' to make me out a thief, when he's one himself." "Well, what is your story?" asked the policeman, who, however, had already decided in his own mind that Ben was the guilty party. "I was ridin' in the Fourth Avenue cars along side of this man," said Ben, "when he put his hand in my pocket, and took out the letter that he's just showed you. I jumped out after him, and asked him to give it back, when he fetched me a lick in the face."