“I don’t see how I can,” answered Joe. “My train leaves in five minutes.” “Never mind the charge,” broke in a new voice. “I know this duck and I’ll look after him. On your feet, Clancey!” A clean-shaven, lean-jawed man had pushed his way through the crowd, and now he gripped the thief’s coat lapels and fairly lifted him to his feet. “Detective,” whispered a man behind Martin. “This guy’s wanted,” continued the newcomer. “Stand up, you’re all right, ‘Spike.’ Put up your hands.” The captive, finding that playing possum would not do, obeyed meekly and the detective ran quick and practised fingers over him. Then a pair of handcuffs were slipped onto the man’s wrists and he was being whisked through the throng. “Here’s your pocketbook, young man,” said the policeman importantly. “You’d not have it saving this feller here.” He indicated the boy whose football tactics had ended the chase and who, hemmed in by the crowd, was now striving to get away. “Better see if the contents is correct.” Joe had tried to express gratitude to the other boy, examine his pocketbook and listen to the low-voiced urging of Martin all at the same time, with the result that he was decidedly incoherent and confused. Martin was tugging at his arm and telling him that they had but five minutes to get the train. The policeman came to his rescue. “Move on now! Move on!” he commanded sternly, pushing right and left. “Stop blocking up this passage!” The throng dissolved almost as quickly as it had formed. Somehow, Joe and Martin, hurrying back to where Bob had returned to guard the suitcases, found themselves close to the boy who had made the capture. He had rescued his luggage, a large kit-bag, from a bystander and, too, was seeking the ticket window. “I’m much obliged to you,” said Joe. “I guess he’d have got away if you hadn’t stopped him.” The stranger nodded. “Yes, he was in quite a hurry. I’d just come in when I saw him swing around the corner and knew that something was up. I wasn’t sure he was the man they were after, but I thought I’d better take a chance.” “I’m certainly glad you did,” replied Joe emphatically. “It was mighty nice of you.” “Not at all.” The boy smiled and stepped into line at a window. Joe followed while Martin and Bob, bags in hand, stood ready to run for the gate. A moment later the stranger turned and found Joe behind him. “I can get a ticket for Lakeville here, can’t I?” he asked. “Yes. Are you a Kenly fellow?” “Not yet. I’m just entering. Are you going there?” “No, I’m Alton.” The other looked slightly puzzled and so Joe explained. “Alton Academy, you know. That’s twelve miles this side of Lakeville. We play you fellows at football and baseball and so on.” “Oh, I see. Maybe I’ll see you again some time then.”