"Yes," she said, mechanically, and put her hand in her pocket for her
_porte-monnaie_, with a vague idea that she must pay him before she
started.

She uttered a low cry of dismay! Her pocket-book was missing! She
searched more thoroughly, but it was not to be found. Her pocket had been
picked. She turned a piteous face to the hackman.

"My money is lost, sir!" she said, "but if you will take me to a place of
shelter, I will remunerate you some way."

"Sorry to be obliged to refuse, ma'am," said the man, civilly enough,
"but I'm a poor man, with a family, and can't afford to keep my horses
for nothing."

"What is it, driver?" queried a rough voice; but in a moment a crowd had
gathered around poor, shrinking Margie, and growling, indignant Leo.

"The woman's lost her purse--"

"Oh, ho! the old story--eh? Beauty in distress. Should think they'd git
tired of playing that game!" said the coarse voice, which belonged to a
lounger and hanger-on at the depot.

"Looks rather suspicious, ma'am, for ye to be traveling on the train
alone," began the hackman; but he was interrupted by the lounger.

"That's the way they all travel. Wall, thank the Lord, I hain't so
gallant as to git taken in by every decent face I see!"