“I’ll have to be getting back,” he said to himself, and was on the point of returning when he saw that which surprised him greatly. A cab whirled past the corner upon which he was standing, and on the back seat he recognized Mr. Wakefield Smith.
The pickpocket was alone, and ere Jerry could stop him the cab rolled down the side street out of hearing.
Our hero did not stop long to consider what was best to do, but took to his heels and followed the cab as best he could.
The cab gained a distance of nearly two blocks, and Jerry was almost on the point of giving up, when it came to a halt in front of what looked like a private club-house. Wakefield Smith alighted and paid the cabman, who went about his business without delay.
“Stop there!” cried Jerry to the pickpocket, as the man mounted the steps of the house. But whether the man heard our hero or not, he paid no attention. When Jerry reached the spot he was standing on a low porch.
“Did you hear me?” went on Jerry, and, to prevent Smith from entering the place, our hero caught him by the button of his coat.
To Jerry’s surprise, the rascal offered no resistance. Instead, he came down the steps backward, and fell on his back on the sidewalk, his hat rolling toward the gutter.
“Shay, waz you do that fer?” he hiccoughed.
Jerry gazed at the pickpocket in wonder. Then the truth flashed over our hero. The man who had robbed him was beastly intoxicated.
It would be hard to express Jerry’s feelings when he found Mr. Wakefield Smith was suffering heavily from intoxication. For the moment he could do nothing but stare at the man as he lay helpless on the pavement.
“Waz you mean, boy?” went on Smith, and he tried in vain to get up. “Waz you knock me down for, I demand to know?”
“Do you recognize me?” said our hero sharply, as he looked the pickpocket squarely in the face.
“No—don’t know you from Adam, ’pon my word.”
“I am Jerry Upton, the boy you robbed the other night.”
At the words Smith straightened up for a moment and a look of alarm crossed his face.
“If you haven’t, you’ve drank it up,” Jerry ejaculated. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Zat’s all right, m’boy, all right, I assure you. Come on and have a good time with me.”
With great difficulty Wakefield Smith arose to his feet and staggered towards the house he had been on the point of entering. Jerry pulled him back and held him. As our hero did this he saw Smith drop a ten-dollar bill. Jerry picked it up.