Mr. Barron, the rich banker in Broad street, was seated at his desk in his private office one day when the door was opened by the porter, who said:

“There’s a newsboy out here who says he must see you, sir.”

“Go and tell him to let you know what he wants. If it’s a situation, tell him we have none vacant.”

The porter went back to the outer office. In a minute or two the door opened again and the newsboy entered and closed the door behind him. The banker recognized him as the boy who had brought him the afternoon papers daily for a year back.

“The bouncer told me to go away, sir,” the boy said, doffing his hat as he spoke, “but I knew my business better than he does. There’s a couple of men putting up a big job on your bank, and I knew if I didn’t tell you about it they’d scoop you for a big pile.”

The banker wheeled his chair around so as to face the boy, and laid his gold glasses on the desk.

“Who are they, and how did you find out about it?” he asked.

“I don’t know who they are, but I found it out by overhearing their talk.”

“What is their plan?”

“A forged check.”

“Whose name is forged?”

“I don’t know, sir. They had a genuine check and were comparing it to the forged one. They said it was perfect and would be paid if presented when the cashier was busy.”

“Ah! I see. That means a little before three o’clock. Now, my boy, do you think you could point them out to a detective when they come up to the cashier’s window?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not afraid of them, eh?”

“No, sir. I am not afraid of anybody.”

The banker smiled, reached over on his desk and tapped a small bell. The door opened and a messenger appeared.

“Tell Caruth to come here,” the banker said to him.

The messenger disappeared, and a few moments later the bank detective came in.

“Caruth,” said the banker, “this boy tells me he overheard two men plotting to present a forged check to-day. Take him out there with you and arrest the man he points out to you. Let the man get the money, though, so as to make a good case against him.”

Caruth looked at the boy and said:

“I know you by sight. What’s your name?”

“Fred Halsey.”

“Well, go along with him, Fred,” the banker said to him. “It may be a bad business if you make a mistake.”

“Come on, Halsey,” and the detective led the way out into the public hall of the bank.

Fred followed him, and the two were soon in a crowd of people, who were coming and going all the time. Caruth took up a position near the cashier’s window where he could see every man who stopped there. Fred stood by his side and closely scanned the faces of those who came and went.

More than an hour passed, and still they stood there on the watch. The detective was used to it, but Fred had been more active, and he began to wish the men would come along. Suddenly he nudged Caruth with his elbow­nudged him good. Caruth leaned over till his face was on a level with Fred’s.

“That’s him­the man in the gray ulster.”

Caruth looked up and saw a man in a gray ulster and with gold glasses on.

“Do you see the other one?” he asked.

“No, I don’t see him.”

“Well, look for him. Sure you have the right man now?”

“Yes. That’s one of ’em.”

Caruth did not pretend to look at the man in the line. But he kept him in view all the time. The man finally got up to the window and presented a check. The cashier looked at the check and then at the endorsement. He gave the man a hasty glance and then began counting out a large sum of money, using bills of large denomination to expedite the counting. He handed out the money and the man gathered it up and was putting it into his pocket when Caruth laid a hand on his arm and said:

“The president of the bank wants to see you in his private office a few moments.”

Suddenly, and without any warning, the stranger kicked Caruth’s feet from under him, and he fell heavily on the tiled flooring, his head striking it so hard that he became instantly unconscious. The stranger made a break for the street entrance. Quick as a flash Fred Halsey sprang forward in front of him, darted between his legs, and caused him to fall forward on his face. The man was quick, though, and caught on his hands. He was on his feet again in an instant. Again Fred darted between his legs and threw him. This time he rolled completely over and Fred saw the handle of a revolver protruding from a hip pocket. He grabbed it, cocked it, and held the muzzle within a foot of the forger’s head, saying:

“I’ll shoot!”

The man lay still, glaring at the black muzzle of the weapon like one confronting a ghost. Mr. Barron heard the noise of the three falls, and rushed out of the office in time to see Fred aim the revolver at the head of the forger.

“Arrest that man!” he cried. “He is a forger.”

A forger is the one criminal most hated in Wall Street, and as soon as it was announced that he was one, the stranger was instantly surrounded and captured. A policeman came in from the street and put the nippers on him.

“Bring him into my office, officer,” said the banker. “He has a lot of the bank’s money in his possession.”

The officer took him to the president’s room, and Fred followed, with the pistol still in his hand. He was searched, and the money found in his pocket. The cashier brought in the check and said he did not believe it was forged.

“Send for Mr. Manson and see what he says about it,” suggested the banker.

Manson was a rich broker, whose name had been forged to the check. He was found at his office and came over to the bank immediately. Taking the check, which was for $10,000, he made a close examination of it.

“I never gave that check to any one,” he said. “It is a forgery, but such a good one that ordinarily I would not be able to detect it myself.”

“I took it in good faith,” said the stranger. “Can you swear it was forged?”

“Yes, for I have given out no check for that amount to-day.”

“The date is nothing. Is that your signature?”

“It is very much like it, but I did not write it, nor did I ever give a check to any such party.”

“You will swear to that?” Barron asked him.

“Yes­a thousand times.”

“Then I’ll take the responsibility of the man’s arrest and prosecution. You may take him away, officer.”

The policeman led his prisoner out, and a dozen prominent brokers got around Barron to congratulate him on the arrest. Barron looked around and saw Fred standing near the door, still holding the revolver in his hand.

“Ah! There’s the one to whom I am indebted for the arrest,” and he went over to where Fred was standing, extended his hand to him, and added:

“He not only came and gave me warning, but actually made the arrest himself. Caruth, our detective, was hurt, and the forger would have escaped but for this boy here,” and he, wrung Fred’s hand as he spoke.

“That’s so,” remarked a broker, shaking Fred’s hand. “I saw the whole business myself, but didn’t know what it meant. Shake, my dear boy,” and he gave him a hearty handshake. A half dozen others followed, and one said:

“Here, let’s set him up. We want to encourage boys like him,” and he drew a ten-dollar bill from the inside pocket of his vest and laid it on the desk. “Cover that with as much as you please, gentlemen.”

Seven other laid down similar amounts, and Barton remarked;

“Whatever you give, gentlemen, I’ll double it.”

“Very good,” said another, putting down a ten. “We’ll all chip in.”

The sum of $130 was laid on the desk while Fred stood there looking on, with his heart way up in his throat.

“Now, Fred Halsey,” the banker said to the newsboy. “I am going to double this sum, giving you two hundred and sixty dollars. What are you going to do with so much money?”

“Set up a bank of my own,” was the prompt reply at which the banker and the brokers broke into a roar of laughter.

“Gimme ten dollars,” Fred said, “and keep the rest in the bank for me.”

“Very well; here’s the ten,” and Fred took the bill and went out on the street, feeling richer than ever before in his life.