A Cool Million Read Online Free

York.” “I intend to be
careful.”
    “Then you keep your money in a safe
place?”
    “I haven’t hidden it because a
secret pocket is the first place a thief would look. I keep it loose in my
trousers where nobody would think I carried so much money.”
    “You are right. I can see that you
are a man of the world.”
    “Oh, I can take care of myself, I
guess,” said Lem with the confidence of youth.
    “That comes of being a Pitkin. I’m
glad to know that we’re related. You must call on me in New York.” “Where do
you live?”
    “At the Ritz. Just ask for Mr. Wellington Mape’s suite of rooms.”
    “Is it a good place to liver
    “Why, yes. I pay three dollars a day
for my board, and the incidentals carry my expenses up to as high as forty
dollars a week.”
    “Gee,” ejaculated Lem . “I could never afford it—that is, at first.” And our
hero laughed with the incurable optimism of youth.
    “You of course should find a
boarding house where they give you plain but solid fare for a reasonable sum…But
I must bid you good morning, a friend is waiting for me in the next car.”
    After the affable Mr. Wellington Mape had taken his departure, Lem turned again to his vigil at the car window.
    The news butcher had changed his
cap. “Apples, bananas, oranges!” he shouted as he came down the aisle with a
basket of fruit on his arm.
    Lem stopped his rapid progress to ask him the price of an orange. It was two cents,
and he decided to buy one to eat with the hard-boiled egg his mother had given
him. But when our hero thrust his hand into his pocket, a wild spasm contracted
his features. He explored further, with growing trepidation, and a sickly
pallor began to spread over his face.
    “What’s the matter?” asked Steve,
for that was the train boy’s name.
    “I’ve been robbed! My money’s gone!
All the money Mr. Whipple lent me has been stolen!”

 
6
     
    “I wonder who did it?” asked Steve.
    “I can’t imagine,” answered Lem brokenly.
    “Did they get much?”
    “All I had in the world…A little
less than thirty dollars.”
    “Some smart leather must have gotten
it.”
    “Leather?” queried our hero, not
understanding the argot of the underworld with which the train boy was
familiar. “Yes, leather—pickpocket. Did anybody talk to you on the train?”
    “Only Mr. Wellington Mape , a rich young man. He is kin to the Mayor of New York.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “He did himself.”
    “How was he dressed?” asked Steve,
whose suspicions were aroused. (He had been “wire”—scout— to a
“ leather” when small and knew all about the dodge.) “Did he wear a pale
blue hat?”
    “Yes.”
    “And looked a great swell?”
    “Yes.”
    “He got off at the last station and
your dough-re-me went with him.”
    “You mean he got my money? Well, I
never. He told me he was worth a cool million and boarded at the Ritz Hotel.”
    “That’s the way they all talk—big.
Did you tell him where you kept your money?”
    “Yes, I did. But can’t I get it
back?”
    “I don’t see how. He got off the
train.”
    “I’d like to catch hold of him,”
said Lem , who was very angry.
    “Oh, he’d hit you with a piece of
lead pipe. But look through your pockets, maybe he
left you a dollar.”
    Lem put
his hand into the pocket in which he had carried his money and drew it out as
though he had been bitten. Between his fingers he held a diamond ring.
    “What’s that?” asked Steve.
    “I don’t know,” said Lem with surprise. “I don’t think I ever saw it before.
Yes, by gum, I did. It must have dropped off the crook’s finger when he picked
my pocket. I saw him wearing it.”
    “Boy!” exclaimed the train boy. “You’re
sure in luck. Talk about falling in a privy and coming up with a gold watch.
You’re certainly it. With a double t!”
    “What is it worth?” asked Lem eagerly.
    “Permit me to look at it, my young
friend, perhaps I can tell you,” said a gentleman in a gray