, sir!" said the poor woman, overjoyed.

"I hope you won't suspect a gentleman again," said the thief, in lofty
indignation.

"No, I won't, sir. I was sure you didn't take it."

Andy, who had seen the trick, smiled, but he was satisfied with the
recovery of the purse.

The passengers looked puzzled. They had not made up their minds as to
the guilt or innocence of the man charge with the theft.

"You see, young man," said Andy's neighbor, in a tone of reproof, "you
were mistaken."

Andy smiled again.

"I saw him drop the purse on the floor," he answered, quietly.

"Bless my soul! Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

The passengers left the car, Andy and the thief among them.

Andy lost track of his acquaintance till, as they reached Fulton Street,
he heard some one hissing in his ear:

"Boy, you are too fresh! I'll get even with you yet!"

Then the thief, passing him rapidly, got into a Myrtle Avenue car, and
this was the last he saw of him for that day.

Andy walked about the streets of Brooklyn for a while and returned by
Fulton Ferry. Then he went back to his boarding place, arriving there
between three and four o'clock.

As he went up to his room he noticed that the door of the large room
opposite was open. A young man, of about thirty, was sitting in a
rocking-chair, reading.

He was of medium height and sallow complexion. He wore his hair long,
and had a high, narrow forehead.

"I suppose that is the man who has fits," thought Andy.

The young man had noticed Andy's entrance into his own room, and, rising
from the rocking-chair, crossed the hall and knocked lightly at the
door.

"Come in," said Andy.

"I suppose this is Mr. Grant," began the young man, bowing. "I am Mr.
Warren, and live in the room opposite."

"Won't you come in and sit down?" asked Andy, with a glance at the only
chair the room contained.

"Don't let me take your only chair. I'll sit on the bed, if you don't
mind."

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Warren," said Andy, with easy cordiality.

"So you know my name?"

"Mrs. Norris spoke to me of you."

"Did she? What did she say?" asked the young man, showing some
curiosity.

"I think she said you were literary--that you wrote for some of the
magazines."

"Yes; I am very fond of writing. Do you write?"

"Not for publication."

"Ah, yes, I see. You would be rather young for an author."

"Are you connected with any particular magazine?"

"No. I am a free lance. I contribu