“LET ME look at the papers,” said Mr. Darke. As he did so he whistled.

“Tom,” he said, “this small bundle of papers is worth ten thousand dollars.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Tom, in amazement.

“Yes; I have made a rough estimate of their value. Now what are you going to do with them?”

“Return them, of course.”

“I thought you would say so. Luckily you will have no difficulty about it. On the envelope is the owner’s name and address—Samuel Perkins, No. 597 Pearl Street.”

“I will go there at once,” said Tom, promptly.

“Do so. The owner will be anxious if he has discovered his loss. When shall I see you again?”

“I will come to the city day after to-morrow.”

“I shall want to see you. I shall still be at the Astor House.”

While Tom is on the way to Pearl Street, we will precede him.

Mr. Perkins, on his return to his office, was for an hour or two engaged in business duties. Then a business98 friend, with whom he was also socially intimate, came in, and they found time for a chat.

“By the way, Darrell,” said Mr. Perkins, “I have been making a purchase. What do you say to my new overcoat?”

“It seems a very good one. Where did you buy it?”

Mr. Perkins told him.

“I bought it ready made, contrary to my usual custom, but it fits as snugly as a kid glove.”

“Where is the old one. If you have no use for it, I would like it for a poor man of my acquaintance.”

“Too late, Darrell. I gave it away in the store.”

“How was that?”

“I saw a bright-looking boy pricing a coat. He was apparently a country boy, and had no outer garment. You know I am not very gigantic; so, concluding that my old coat would fit him, I offered it, and it was gratefully accepted.”

“Then I am too late. By the way, I hope there was nothing in the pockets?”

He was startled at the effect of his words. Mr. Perkins jumped to his feet, while a look of absolute dismay overspread his face. He plunged both hands hastily into the pockets of his new coat, and exclaimed:

“What a cursed fool I have been!”

“What’s the matter, Perkins?” asked his friend.

“The matter? Matter enough! In the pocket of the coat I gave away was a package of securities amounting to about ten thousand dollars in value.”

“Good heavens!”

99

“And they didn’t belong to me. They belong to my ward. I got them out of the safe deposit vaults to-day.”

“That is serious. Do you know where the boy lives?”

“I don’t know his name.”

Darrell whistled.

“Are the securities negotiable?” he asked.

“A part of them.”

“I wish I could advise you what to do. Was your name on the envelope?”

“Yes,” answered Perkins, brightening at the suggestion!

“It is too much to hope the boy will return them to you.”

“I don’t know about that. He looked honest. He is a boy in whom I should have considerable confidence,” said the merchant, slowly.

Darrell shook his head.

“Your only hope is to offer a liberal reward. I advise you to insert an advertisement in the papers offering a reward of—say five hundred dollars.”

“I’ll do it.”

Mr. Perkins seized a pen, and proceeded to draw up such an advertisement as his friend had suggested, when the door of the office opened, and Tom walked quietly into the room.

“Mr. Perkins,” said he, “I have found something which belongs to you.”

The merchant looked up. No sooner did he see and100 recognize Tom than he sprang vivaciously from his chair.

“Did you find the papers?” he asked.

“Here they are, sir.”

“There, Darrell, what did I tell you?” he demanded, triumphantly. “Didn’t I s............