The big consignment of books was
soon to arrive, and they must have even more room for it than had at
first been anticipated.
As he came down the Bowery at a rapid gait, a small figure crossed the
street directly before him, and stopped to gaze into the well-filled
window of a German bakery. It was the street Arab who had robbed Richard
in Park Row!
For an instant Richard could hardly believe his eyes, but, stepping
up, he took a closer view, and then grasped the urchin by the arm.
Instinctively the street Arab shrank away. Then he turned his pinched
and startled face around, and, seeing who it was that held him, gave
a loud cry of alarm.
"Oh, please, mister, please lemme go!" he pleaded. "I won't do it
again, please, sir, no I won't! Oh, don't lock me up, mister!"
That piteous appeal went straight to Richard's heart. If he had felt
any indignation, it melted away at the sight of that haggard, famished,
desperate look.
"What have you done with the stuff you took from my pockets?" he asked,
but his tones were not very harsh.
The boy began to whimper.
"I--I ain't got de money no more," he sobbed, "It's all gone, mister;
I spent every cent of it but two nickels fer medicine and de doctor.
Please don't lock me up, mister."
"Medicine and the doctor?" repeated Richard, rather astonished by this
unexpected statement.
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