ed the New
Yorker.

"Yes, sir. He is in the railroad business."

"Ah, then that accounts for his filling your ears with locomotives
instead of steamboats," declared the man, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Now if I were to spin a yarn for you, it would be of steamboats because
that happens to be the thing I am interested in; I believe their history
to be one of the most alluring tales to which a boy could listen.
Sometime you get a person who knows the drama from start to finish to
relate to you the whole marvelous adventure of early steamboating, and
you see if it does not beat the railroad story all out."

He laughed a merry laugh in which Stephen joined.

"I wish you would tell it to me yourself," suggested the lad.

The man turned with an expression of pleasure on his red-cheeked face.

"I should like nothing better, my boy," he said quickly, "but you see it
is a long story and I am getting out at the next corner. Sometime,
however, we may meet again. Who knows? And if we do you shall hold me to
my promise to talk steamboats to you until you cry for mercy."

Bending down he took up a leather bag which he had placed between his
feet.

"I am leaving you here, sonny," he said. "I take it you are in New York
for a holiday."

"Yes, sir, I am," returned Steve with surprise. "My father and I are
staying here just for a few days."

"I hope you will have a jolly good time during your visit," the man
said, rising.

Stephen murmured his thanks and watched the erect figure descend from
the coach and disappear into a side street. It was not until the New
Yorker was well out of sight and the omnibus on its way that his eye was
caught by the red bill book lying on the floor at his feet. None of the
few scattered passengers had noticed it and stooping, he picked it up
and quietly slipped it into his pocket.

What should he do with it?

Of course he could hand it over to the driver of the bus and tell him he
had found it. But the man might not be honest and instead of turning it
in to the company might keep it. There was little doubt in Steve's mind
that the pocketbook belonged to the stranger who had just vacated the
place and it was likely his address was inside it. If so, what a
pleasure it would be to return the lost article to its rightful owner
himself. By so doing he would not only be sure the pocketbook reached
its destination but he might see the steamboat man again.

He longed to open the bill book and inves