the suspected youth, he said hoarsely: "I reckon he was
a pickpocket, don't you?"

"You can't tell," responded Steve, shaking his head knowingly. "Anyway,
you want to keep an eye on those bags every minute. I'll be right back,
though. Want to see my paper?" And Steve handed an _Evening Sun_,
purchased on the car, to his chum and wound his way through the throng
toward the entrance.

Left to himself, Tom looked at the clock and saw that the hour was
three-thirty-two, glanced apprehensively about him in search of possible
malefactors, dragged the bags closer to his feet and unfolded the paper.
But he couldn't find much to interest him in it. Besides, he had to look
at the clock every few minutes, and whenever a man in a uniform
appeared with a megaphone and announced the impending departure of a
train Tom had heart disease, seized both bags and crouched ready for
instant flight until he was assured that the word "Brimfield" was not
among the list of stations enunciated through the trumpet. It was after
he had sunk back with a sigh of relief on finding that a train for
"Pittsburgh, Chicago and the West" was not his that he discovered that
an empty seat at his right had been occupied during his strained
interest in the announcer. Glancing around he saw that the occupant was
the well-dressed, good-looking youth who had been seated next to him
before. The youth seemed very interested in the paper he was reading,
his gaze being apparently fixed on a column headed "Tiger's Football
Players Report," but Tom refused to be deceived. Only the fact that a
grey-coated station policeman was standing within hail kept him from a
second flight. Steve, he reflected nervously while he wound both feet
around the bags, would return in a minute or two and then they could go
to the train. Tom devoutly wished himself and the bags there now. Once
he was conscious of the fact that the youth beside him was glancing his
way, but he pretended not to be aware of it. Then his neighbour spoke.

"Princeton ought to have a pretty good team this year," he observed
genially. Tom, his heart in his mouth, nodded.

"Y-yes," he said.

"Interested in football?" went on the other. Tom dared a quick glance at
the smiling face and shook his head.

"No, thank you. I mean--yes, a little." He didn't want to talk because
he had read that confidence men always engaged their victims in
conversation before selling them counterfeit money or leading them to
gamble