In his new location, out of sight of 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.