"Yes, Horace," pleaded his wife. "I made a lot of trouble for Mr.

Garwell."

Horace Mann agreed readily, and soon he and the real estate broker and Nat left the residence. On the main streets of Trenton many stopped to stare after them. Among the number was the man who had spoken to Mr.

Garwell, and insisted that the real estate broker was Mr. Mann.

"I apologize," said the man, promptly. "But I reckon you'll admit the resemblance is simply wonderful."

"I do admit it," was the answer. "Still, that doesn't make me anybody but myself."

Horace Mann insisted upon taking John Garwell and Nat to dinner, and treated them to the best the restaurant afforded.

"After this I'm going to wear a badge, so my wife will know me," said the Trenton man. "And I'll never dare to come to New York, for fear of being taken for you."

CHAPTER XVIII

NAT MEETS HIS UNCLE

"Nat, if you wish to do me a favor, do not mention this affair to anybody in New York," said John Garwell, when the pair were on the train, bound for the metropolis.

"I won't say a word, sir."

"There was nothing wrong about it, but I don't want my friends to make a laughing stock of me," added the bachelor.

"I shall never mention it to anybody," returned our hero, and it may be added here that he never did. The matter was also hushed up in Trenton, so nothing more was heard of it.

Our hero was kept very busy for a day or two after his trip into New Jersey. Part of his time was spent over some books, and the balance was used up in running errands, and delivering important papers and doc.u.ments.

Once again he visited police headquarters, to learn if anything had been heard of Nick Smithers.

"We have learned that he visited Jersey City not long ago," said an official. "But before we could get the authorities to lay their hands on him, he disappeared. We rather think he is in New York again, and if so, we shall do all we can to round him up."

On the following day Nat was sent on an errand up to Forty-second Street. He had to deliver some real estate doc.u.ments, and this done, he stopped for a moment to look at the Grand Central Depot.

"Thank fortune, I am not quite so green as I was when I landed," he mused.

He was just leaving the vicinity of the station, when, chancing to look down a side street, he saw a sight that filled him with astonishment.

"Uncle Abner, and the Widow Guff!" he murmured. "What are they doing, talking to that seedy-looking fellow?"

Our hero was right. There, near the entrance to a big building, stood Abner Balberry and his bride, and a sharp-eyed but shabbily dressed stranger was talking to them very earnestly.

"Uncle Abner must have married the widow," thought Nat. "More than likely they are on their wedding tour. Wonder what that other fellow wants of uncle?"

Nat's first inclination was to leave the spot, so that his relative might not discover him. But he did not like the looks of the stranger, and so drew closer, to learn, if possible, what the interview meant.

The man had just come past Abner and his wife, and had pretended to pick up a pocketbook.

"Say, did you drop your pocketbook?" he asked, of Abner.

"I--I guess not!" stammered the farmer, and felt to make certain that his own wallet was safe.

"Queer, who did drop this," went on the stranger. "Pretty well filled, too," he added, opening the pocketbook and looking into it.

"Did you jest pick it up?" queried Abner, falling into the trap.

"Sure, right down there. Say, this is a find, ain't it?" and the man smiled broadly.

"That's what it is," said the farmer.

"I wish I could find a pocketbook," sighed Mrs. Balberry.

"I'd like to return this to the owner," went on the stranger. "I don't want to keep anybody's money."

"'Tain't everybody would say thet," was Abner's comment. He wished he had made the find.

"I suppose not, but I believe in being honest." The stranger scratched his head. "Hang me, if I know what to do," he continued.

"What do you mean?"

"I've got to go out of town soon--train leaves in ten minutes. I don't want to take this with me. It don't seem just right."

"I see."

"Can't you find the owner--I'm sure he would pay us a reward."

"Me find the owner?" stammered the farmer.

"Yes. You might advertise. The pocketbook has got at least a hundred dollars in it. The owner ought to give you twenty-five for returning it."

"Maybe he would."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said the stranger, earnestly. "You take the pocketbook, and give me ten dollars. If you can find the owner, you can claim twenty-five dollars reward."

"An' supposin' I can't find the owner?"

"Then you can keep the pocketbook."

The temptation was strong, and Abner looked at his newly-made wife.

"Might as well take it, Abner," she said, promptly. "I guess we can find the owner quick enough," and she pinched his arm suggestively.

The farmer drew forth his wallet, and began to count out ten dollars. At the same time the stranger gazed again into the other wallet.

"Must be about a hundred and fifty dollars in this," he said. "I'll trust you to do the square thing by the owner."