The pickpocket glanced swiftly around at Arnold who was pressing closely against his left shoulder. Then his eyes darted up and down the avenue. At that moment the crossing officer’s whistle sounded shrilly and the signal turned. The little throng by the curb surged forward and with a sudden dart the man followed. But Toby had seized one arm and Arnold the other, and not fifty feet away was the policeman. The man in the brown overcoat tried, with a snarl, to throw off his captors, but they clung like leeches, and fearing to attract embarrassing attention the man slowed down to a hurried walk. Three abreast, the boys clinging affectionately to him, they crossed the street. Once across the pickpocket stopped of his own choice. “What is this?” he asked indignantly. “A hold-up?” “If you want to call it that,” answered Toby steadily. “All I want is the purse you stole from my pocket in Eastman’s. You hand it over and we’ll let you go.” “Aw, I never saw you before,” snarled the man. “Get out of here before I hand you something, kids. It won’t be no purse, neither!” He tugged in an effort to free himself from their grasps, but they held on hard. “Want us to shout?” asked Arnold significantly. The man’s belligerent gaze wavered. He cast a swift and dubious look toward the officer. “Well, what is it you want?” he muttered. “You know,” said Toby. “A small yellow coin-purse with eight dollars in it. Come on, now. You’d better be sensible.” “I ain’t got any purse, honest. You can search me, boys!” “Then you threw it away,” responded Toby. “It cost me seventy-five cents, but it was sort of ripping on the seams, so we’ll call it fifty. Eight-fifty is what I want from you then.” “Well, I’ll be blowed!” said the man with a trace of unwilling admiration. Then he actually chuckled. “Say, kid, you’ve got your nerve, all right, ain’t you? Say, I kinder think maybe you ought to have it. You was decent not to squeal to the cop. All right, kid, you win! But you got to let go my arms if you want me to dig for it.” Toby questioned Arnold with a glance. “Give him his right arm, Toby,” said Arnold. “If he starts to go, grab him again. I’ve got him here.” “Aw, say, can’t you believe a feller?” asked the man aggrievedly. “I said I’d loosen up an’ I’ll do it. Gee, you rich guys is the limit! What’s eight dollars to fellers like you, anyway? Why don’t you give the rest of us a chance to live?” He thrust the hand Toby had released between the buttons of his overcoat and fumbled an instant, while Toby watched narrowly and Arnold clung like grim death to the other arm. “Why don’t you pick out an honest way to live?” asked Toby. The man shrugged his shoulders. “Guess I wasn’t brung up right,” he answered, with a grin. “It ain’t so easy to walk the straight an’ narrer when you get started all wrong, kid. Here’s your money. I threw the purse away. It ain’t safe to keep purses around you. Let me have that other hand so’s I can count it off, can’t you?”