“That is too far to walk,” said Frank.
“ ’Twon’t cost but six cents to ride,” said Dick.
“You mean in the horsecars?”
“Yes.”
“All right then. We’ll jump aboard the next car.”
The Third Avenue and Harlem line of horsecars is better patronized than any other in New York, though not much can be said for the cars, which are usually dirty and overcrowded. Still, when it is considered that only seven cents are charged for the entire distance to Harlem, about seven miles from the City Hall, the fare can hardly be complained of. But of course most of the profit is made from the way-passengers who only ride a short distance.
A car was at that moment approaching, but it seemed pretty crowded.
“Shall we take that, or wait for another?” asked Frank.
“The next’ll most likely be as bad,” said Dick.
The boys accordingly signalled to the conductor to stop, and got on the front platform. They were obliged to stand up till the car reached Fortieth Street, when so many of the passengers had got off that they obtained seats.
Frank sat down beside a middle-aged woman, or lady, as she probably called herself, whose sharp visage and thin lips did not seem to promise a very pleasant disposition. When the two gentlemen who sat beside her arose, she spread her skirts in the endeavor to fill two seats. Disregarding this, the boys sat down.
“There ain’t room for two,” she said, looking sourly at Frank.
“There were two here before.”
“Well, there ought not to have been. Some people like to crowd in where they’re not wanted.”
“And some like to take up a double allowance of room,” thought Frank; but he did not say so. He saw that the woman had a bad temper, and thought it wisest to say nothing.
Frank had never ridden up the city as far as this, and it was with much interest that he looked out of the car windows at the stores on either side. Third Avenue is a broad street, but in the character of its houses and stores it is quite inferior to Broadway, though better than some of the avenues further east. Fifth Avenue, as most of my readers already know, is the finest street in the city, being lined with splendid private residences, occupied by the wealthier classes. Many of the cross streets also boast houses which may be considered palaces, so elegant are they externally and internally. Frank caught glimpses of some of these as he was carried towards the Park.
After the first conversation, already mentioned, with the lady at his side, he supposed he should have nothing further to do with her. But in this he was mistaken. While he was busy looking out of the car window, she plunged her hand into her pocket in search of her purse, which she was unable to find. Instantly she jumped to the conclusion that it had been stolen, and her suspicions fastened upon Frank, with whom she was already provoked for “crowding her,” as she termed it.
“Conductor!” she exclaimed in a sharp voice.
“What’s wanted, ma’am?” returned that functionary.
“I want you to come here right off.”
“What’s the matter?”
“My purse has been stolen. There was four dollars and eighty cents in it. I know, because I counted it when I paid my fare.”
“Who stole it?”
“That boy,” she said pointing to Frank, who listened to the charge in the most intense astonishment. “He crowded in here on purpose to rob me, and I want you to search him right off.”
“That’s a lie!” exclaimed Dick, indignantly.
“Oh, you’re in league with him, I dare say,” said the woman spitefully. “You’re as bad as he is, I’ll be bound.”
“You’re a nice female, you be!” said Dick, ironically.
“Don’t you dare to call me a female, sir,” said the lady, furiously.
“Why, you ain’t a man in disguise, be you?” said Dick.
“You are very much mistaken, madam,” said Frank, quietly. “The conductor may search me, if you desire it.”
A charge of theft, made in a crowded car, of course made quite a sensation. Cautious passengers instinctively put their hands on their pockets, to make sure that they, too, had not been robbed. As for Frank, his face flushed, and he felt very indignant that he should even be suspected of so mean a crime. He had been carefully brought up, and been taught to regard stealing as low and wicked.
Dick, on the contrary, thought it a capital joke that such a charge should have been made against his companion. Though he had brought himself up, and known plenty of boys and men, too, who would steal, he had never done so himself. He thought it mean. But he could not be expected to regard it as Frank did. He had been too familiar with it in others to look upon it with horror.
Meanwhile the passengers rather sided with the boys. Appearances go a great ways, and Frank did not look like a thief.
“I think you must be mistaken, madam,” said a gentleman sitting opposite. “The lad does not look as if he would steal.”
“You can’t tell by looks,” said the lady, sourly. “They’re deceitful; villains are generally well dressed.”
“Be they?” said Dick. “You’d ought to see me with my Washington coat on. You’d think I was the biggest villain ever you saw.”
“I’ve no doubt you are,” said the lady, scowling in the direction of our hero.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Dick. “ ’Tisn’t often I get such fine compliments.”
“None of your impudence,” said the lady, wrathfully. “I believe you’re the worst of the two.”
Meanwhile the car had been stopped.
“How long are we going to stop here?” demanded a passenger, impatiently. “I’m in a hurry, if none of the rest of you
