Marcus devised a speedy plan for approaching Spofford and engaging him in conversation. He took bold risks, but he succeeded in his venture. He went to the next table and sat down opposite to Spofford. “Say, mister,” he said, “could you help me to a few cents?” “Eh? Who are you? What did you say?” muttered Spofford, arousing himself from a fit of abstracted thought. “I’m in hard luck.” “Why don’t you work?” “What at?” “Your trade.” “They don’t pick oakum here,” said Marcus. “Hey?” and Spofford started intelligently. “So you’re a graduate, eh?” “Yes.” “From the reform school?” “I am, for a fact,” replied Marcus, affecting a brazen recklessness. “Aha! and need money, and out of work?” murmured Spofford reflectively. “That’s just it.” Spofford studied the grimed, ragged specimen of humanity before him keenly. Marcus chuckled to himself. He had completely deceived Spofford, he felt sure, and he knew what the latter was thinking about--hiring him to help him in his schemes of robbery just as Marcus had planned. “See here, boy,” he said finally, “what’s your name?” “Call me Bob--Bob Grant.” “Can a fellow trust you?” “What about?” “Oh, in a little work.” “What kind of work?” “Well, making money.” “At cracking a box? Ha! ha!” “I guess you’ll do,” said Spofford. “Are you willing to come along with me, help me and ask no questions?” “That suits me!” replied Marcus briskly. “All right. Be ready at noon. Here’s some change to buy food if you need it.” Then Spofford, after handing Marcus some silver coins, arose and left the place. The latter went over to where Dean was seated, and explained what he had done. “I’m to go with them at noon,” he said. “Where?” “I don’t know.” “Am I to follow you?” “Yes; keep us in view. Something will develop. You keep us in sight.” “I’ll try to.” About eleven o’clock Spofford returned to the place. He went up to Marcus and said: “We’re ready. Come on!” They left the place together and Dean followed them at a distance. They walked down the street for several squares, and then at the corner met the man Daley, who stood with two satchels in his hands, evidently awaiting them. He glanced sharply at Marcus and then gave him the satchels to carry, while he walked ahead with Spofford. Finally the two men paused and entered a small shop. In front of it stood a stagecoach, and Dean at once recognized it. It was one of the coaches owned by Squire Littleton, and ran to and from Springfield and Millville. He saw Daley purchase some tickets. Then he and Spofford and Marcus got into the coach, the latter placing the satchels near the driver’s seat. There were several other passengers aboard, and the man in charge of the stage office seemed to give directions to the driver to start on his journey. Dean was dismayed and anxious. He scarcely knew what to do. These men were going to Millville, or at least in that direction.